Of Cats and Crosses

The silence in the dining room was a living thing—thick, crawling, pressing against my ears like static.

Seven pairs of eyes watched me as I slowly lowered myself into the high-backed chair Adrien had motioned toward. The air smelled faintly of wax, smoke, and… iron. No one spoke. No one moved. The revolver on the table gleamed coldly beneath the chandelier’s faint light.

I glanced at Adrien, trying to mask the unease in my voice. “Some kind of… family tradition?”

He gave a soft chuckle. “Let’s call it… symbolism.”

One of the figures at the table finally shifted. A tall woman with stark silver hair twisted in a braided crown. She wore a crimson pendant that pulsed faintly against her neck.

“Will the guest be staying long?” she asked in a voice as smooth as silk and just as cutting.

Adrien nodded. “As long as the house allows it.”

The house allows? What did that mean?

The woman smiled, but it didn’t touch her eyes. “Then I shall pray the house finds them... satisfactory.”

Another figure, this one a boy no older than ten, giggled softly, hands clasped beneath his chin. “We haven’t had a guest in so long. I hope you don’t scream as much as the last one.”

A shiver ran down my spine.

The revolver suddenly shifted slightly—just a fraction, as though nudged by an invisible hand.

I stood. “I… I think I need some air.”

Adrien rose with me. “Of course. Let me show you to your room.”

As we left the dining hall, I glanced back.

None of them moved.

---

The hallway outside was lit by dim wall sconces, their flames flickering as though resisting the shadows. The black cat padded silently beside us, eyes glowing faintly. I hadn’t even noticed it leave the table.

“Does your family always dine like that?” I asked.

Adrien’s tone was casual. “Only on days the wind comes from the east.”

I blinked. “What?”

He turned to me suddenly, smile gone. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”

Then, just like that, the grin returned. “Come, I’ll show you something interesting.”

---

He led me past a set of towering double doors into the mansion’s drawing room. Velvet curtains billowed despite the closed windows. In the center of the room, beside a broken grandfather clock, stood a heavy wooden cross.

It was slanted. Splintered. And stained with something that looked disturbingly like blood.

A soft sound made me turn.

The black cat was now perched on a table beside the cross, calmly licking its paw. Its gaze never left mine.

“What's with the cross?” I asked, unable to hide the tightness in my throat.

Adrien leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “That cross was taken from the old chapel on the hill before it was burned down. They say the fire didn't kill the spirits… it only made them angrier.”

The cat yawned.

I stepped closer, trying to inspect the wood grain. It looked… ancient. As though it had been pulled from the ground instead of carved.

Something flickered in my mind.

A memory?

No, not a memory. A feeling. Familiarity. Like I’d seen this very room before. Stood in this exact spot. Heard Adrien say those same words.

“Have I… been here before?”

Adrien’s head tilted slightly. “Some say time loops in places like this. Maybe your soul wandered in a dream.”

I backed away from the cross. “Or maybe I’ve made a mistake coming here.”

The cat meowed suddenly—sharp, loud.

The chandelier above us trembled.

Then the lights flickered.

Once.

Twice.

Out.

Darkness.

When the light returned, Adrien was standing inches from me.

His eyes glowed faintly red.

“You’re not here by mistake,” he said softly. “The house calls who it wants.”

I took a shaky breath. “And if I want to leave?”

He smiled again.

“That’s up to the house.”

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