Chapter 2 - The Hidden Room
A Dark Psychological Horror. (CW: Graphic violence, medical horror, and mature themes. 18+)
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Leaving the hospital at exactly 20:01, I started walking back to the parking lot where I had left my car. When I arrived, I noticed that only a few vehicles remained, in stark contrast to the traffic jam that had filled the highway that morning.
At the manor, when I reached the service entrance, I was greeted by a heavyset man in his fifties, Mr. Dubois, the groundskeeper. In his left hand, he held a pair of work gloves and a bucket of water.
“Hi, welcome back, Doctor Hoffmann,” Mr. Dubois said, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Everything’s locked up for the night, and I’m done working on the west garden.”
“Very well, thank you, Mr. Dubois,” I replied, maneuvering the car near the gutter. “See to it that the north path is cleared of leaves tomorrow.”
“Will do,” Mr. Dubois said. “Goodbye, Doctor. I’ll be heading home now.”
“Sure,” I said, waiting for him to leave.
In the patio, Mrs. Moreau acknowledged my presence before she left. She was a petite, middle-aged woman, a motherly and timid figure. Mrs. Moreau had grown fond of caring for the manor. She was the one who maintained the place and prepared my meals. Both were instructed to leave the estate at 21:30 and to return precisely at 05:00 to resume their work, as I needed the time for myself and for the canvas.
“Good evening, Doctor,” she said, taking her coat from the hanger. “Your dinner has been prepared on the dining table. It’s beef brisket.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Moreau,” I replied, smiling at her. “Goodbye. See you tomorrow.”
She nodded, putting her scarf around her neck and waving goodbye as she descended the patio stairs.
When the estate returned to silence, I moved to the boiler room, where I began decontaminating every speck of dirt and trace of the city. I sat on the bench, removed my right shoe, and shook out a small, flat stone. Then the grey parka was placed in a biohazard bag, ready for incineration. Once the initial protocol had been completed, I scrubbed my hands with surgical-grade chlorhexidine, ensuring that everything was eradicated before I re-entered the main house.
Inside, the grand hallway was a faint luster, and the air felt cold. The Hoffmann-Kleine Manor had been passed down to me by my great-uncle Augustus, along with the remnants of his peculiar collections, including gothic novels, memento mori, mechanical automata, and taxidermized animals. The house felt more like a museum than a home. The paintings hung on the wall, and the darkness of the place felt even more claustrophobic when isolated. When I passed the hallway mirror, the reflection of the man looked even more distorted; it transformed into a fiend. It looked more like a stranger’s face, one I hardly recognized. There were times when I felt far removed from everything the reflection had ever shown me, as though I were observing a stranger through my own eyes. The man in the glass was nothing but a metaphor. A shapeshifter with a sullen, piercing gaze.
I immediately turned away from the sight, and retreated down the dark hallway until I reached the study. I pulled up the reading chair and rested for a while. The silence was broken by the vibration of my phone. Curious, I slid the screen and checked an email from my assistant containing a secure link to the patient’s pre-operative CT scan. I tapped open the attached file and reviewed the images, swiping through the monochrome slices of the facial bones and tracing the delicate structures hidden beneath the skin. To me, it resembled a honeycomb lattice of sinuses.
I was midway through reviewing the patient’s file when my phone vibrated across the desk. It was Mother. I let it ring twice before answering.
“Hello, Mother,” I sighed, tracing the pattern on my pants. “What is it?”
“Lucian, have you settled the estate’s property taxes?” she asked, her voice shattering the silence. “It’s irresponsible if you haven’t.”
“Yes, Mother, I’m looking at the files now,” I responded, pulling open the desk drawer. “I’ve been at the hospital all day.”
“Excuses,” she said, dismissing my response. “Just because you inherited the manor doesn’t mean you expect us to do the paperwork for you! Wait till your Papa hears about this.”
How could she trivialize my practice just because I hadn’t catered to her petty definition of a responsible adult?
“I’m sorry, Mother,” I said, clearing my throat. “I’ll prioritize it first thing tomorrow.”
“Certainly,” she said, before ending the call.
After the frustrating call with my mother, I pulled the documents out from the drawer, placing the papers neatly on the table. I noted the outdated blueprints and the Mairie’s ignorance of the renovations I had completed five years earlier. The permits described only a high-end preservation facility for the Hoffmann’s antique collection, which was lead-lined and HEPA-filtered.
When I compiled the documents, I sat on the reading chair for a while, massaging my forehead as I let the tension ease. I remembered the chamber I had prepared for Rose’s arrival and went to make a final assessment of whether it would match her taste.
In the bookcase, I pressed the panel and waited as it slowly opened. Inside was a narrow staircase leading to the wine cellar and the antique room. I checked the wall gauge to ensure it maintained negative pressure as I descended further. Deep in the hallway, I reached the antique room and continued into the corridor until I came to the door of the hidden chamber, secured by a digital code.
In the chamber, I examined the suite to ensure it was sealed and would not leak any noise. Of course, I arranged the whole place myself, with gold tapestries lining the walls. The ornate gold display cabinet housed the Imperial Fabergé eggs and other rare antiques I had collected from auctions. Even the queen-sized bed was purposefully chosen for the masterpiece; it had lace white linens and silver satin pillow covers. Everything was arranged based on my understanding of what Rose would like. The console played Chopin’s Nocturne in C Minor, adding the elegance I was aiming for. The whole place smelled just like her, of florals.
I let myself sink into the mattress and imagined that she was there. I hoped I could sleep with her there, watching her all day. Even the paintings on the wall had a purpose, as I had installed cameras in them. I stayed in the chamber for more than an hour, feeling increasingly restless. I suddenly caught my reflection in the frameless mirror. It halted my thoughts of Rose and pulled me back to that distorted image I had seen before. The fiend, as I called it.
My hands brushed through my wavy dark hair. When I leaned closer, my breath ghosted against the silvered surface. The eyes, that strange piercing shade of flint and moss, stared back. I traced the line of my jaw, a hard, clean sweep of bone that looked as if it had been carved from something unyielding. Even the slight hollows beneath my cheekbones did not feel like mine.
The whole thing made me feel so confused. Why did it feel like it was mine, yet when it stared back at me, it looked completely different?
Every detail in the reflection felt distant.
Now the man looked even more sunken, and the corners of his lips drooped downward. My chest felt tight and heavy, as if something were lodged in my throat. I gulped, forcing it down, hoping it would settle.
“One, two, three, four,” I said, inhaling slowly. It was that monstrous reflection that kept me on edge.
The reflection imitated my movements even when I closed my eyes. When I finally looked back at it, it grimaced, mocking me. I turned away from the mirror, my hands shaking with cold sweat. My legs were trembling and weak, and I almost lost my balance. I adjusted my neck to stretch and moved away, but the man remained in the mirror. I was gasping for air at the sight. I had never been defeated like this before.
I knew I was just tired and that it was all in my head.
Almost drowning, I suddenly saw Rose like a vivid image, expanding into something less suffocating. Slowly, she disappeared from view, leaving nothing but the silence of the room. It whispered a comforting alliance with the stranger in the glass. I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to rub away the fatigue as I adjusted the collar of my shirt. I decided to leave the chamber, locking it securely from the outside.
Later that night, I was trying to sleep. Images of Rose had infiltrated my mind, keeping me from falling asleep. The grandfather clock chimed three times. I pulled the robe from the closet as I headed into the hallway.
In the study, the eerie darkness hugged me before I flipped on the lights. At the computer, the clacking of the keyboard echoed through the room as I typed her name into the search bar, going back to her social media where she had left her photos unattended. I had not thought of touching myself at that point while I stared at her; it was something more. The hours of browsing her pictures drowned the room completely. It felt more like she was with me. Her friends were no match for her. I didn’t understand what she saw in that Moroz guy. The screen flickered as I blinked, still focused on her. I didn’t notice it was getting late. I had to go back to bed and rest.
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