They might be bats, possibly dolphins, or some other organisms that communicate using ultrasonic sounds, undetectable by human ears.

They're probably not dolphins, though... This is not the lost city of Atlantis, and I am not a mermaid. Ransford would make a very convincing dolphin with his mischievous grin, silver-sheened brown hair and smooth lines. 

Alaric is definitely a praying mantis. He has that whole 'I'm going to eat you alive while I stare into your eyes' vibe going very convincingly. The man would be a highly skilled praying mantis. A gorgeous one.

Whatever their technique may be, they communicate beyond my hearing frequency. About 20 minutes ago, when we entered the office, Ransford merely looked at Alaric, which caused the stoic man to frown in a forebodingly dark way, and then they took off. Not so much as a word was spoken that I could hear. Perhaps they can do the same mind-speaking tricks as the woman who warned me about the evil intentions lurking around me. 

Being alone is not really fun right now. I keep my eye on every corner of the office, watching out for shadows breaking away from other shadows while I try to work on my laptop. I wish I had eyes like a chameleon that can turn independently in every direction. I would've been able to work and look at the bookshelf behind me, making sure it didn't suddenly slide open, bringing me an unwanted visitor.

I wonder if Ransford is ratting me out to his brother and telling him all about my nasty habit of getting lost in the forbidden corridors and about my fanciful story of a scary woman with burning yellow eyes. So, instead of running to my room and having a much-desired shower to rid my body of hidden cobwebs and my brain of holes drilled by piercing tiger eyes, I patiently wait in the office to hear my punishment or be scolded. I'll probably be glared at with eyes that boil my soul much more pleasantly than the woman's eyes scorched through my brain.

"No, I'm not just sitting here because I'm too scared to return to my room!"

Yes, I am. I'm just sitting here because I'm too afraid to return to my room. I don't feel safe anymore. Hidden tunnels? Really?! What kind of garbage is that? I've looked behind me ten times in the last minute. I could turn around and face the other way, but then I'd be looking behind me again, just in the direction that is now the front. Logistically, it is not possible for there to be a hidden tunnel behind me... the second-floor hallway is over there... I think...

"Logistics are irrelevant in this place!"

 Are there any secret tunnels leading into my bedroom? What if there are more creepy people with cryptic messages hanging around waiting to have a nice little chat with me while digging their nails into my collarbone? It still burns! The skin is broken... and itchy!

I try to tell myself over and over that I probably imagined the woman. I mean... come on! Where did she even come from?!

"Yes, the wall! That's right! Very comforting! Thank you for reminding me!"

Did she mean me harm, though? She was a bit too strong to resist when she pushed me towards the nearest wall and those horrible talons of hers... but she talked about my salvation and safety, and I think she meant it very literally and physically, not just spiritually. She definitely did not mean the safety of my mental health because she told me to stay close to Alaric! Alaric, for crying out loud!

"I don't want to!"

I don't feel safe around him! He makes me so nervous. This morning, when I was sitting here having my coffee, I nearly sprouted a coffee nose fountain each time he glanced my way or made a sound. The man has a way of getting on my nerves just by existing. It is as if my entire being is sharply focused on his every move. He invades my thoughts, my heart, my very breath.

I already feel as though I'm keeping way too close to him just by being in this mansion with him. I've never experienced another person's presence in such an overwhelming way. I don't feel half as invaded when Ransford grins at me and says flirty things or... steals cream from my lips as I feel when Alaric just glances at me with those polished pewter eyes of his.

"I suffer from a severe lack of oxygen when he's around! I'll die of suffocation! That's not safe!" Every health and safety book and article on this planet suggests that breathing is essential for survival.

To be absolutely honest, I don't feel particularly unsafe around him either, and I do have a rather disturbing memory of calling out his name when I was terrified in my dream. Saying his name made the dream stop. Probably because I produced some sound, and it woke me up just enough to stop seeing long-dead men hovering above me, gazing into my eyes.

I nearly jump from my seat when the subject of my thoughts enters the office and strides to his desk. He doesn't look at me. He doesn't say a word. He sits on the chair with his back to the window and resumes working on his laptop, as if he isn't even aware of me hiding behind my screen, trying to remember how to breathe. 

See?! Not safe at all!

Did he scold Ransford for showing me the tunnels in the walls? That was a risky thing to do; I'm pretty sure that showing me that they exist does not serve the Slatherty code of secrecy and mystery. I cannot imagine anybody scolding Ransford, though. I get the feeling that he has never in his entire life not done exactly as he pleases with little regard to rules and regulations.

I also cannot imagine anybody telling Alaric what to do and what not to do... If someone tried it with Ransford, he would scoff at them and do exactly what he wants to while smiling like an angel as their head explodes. Alaric will incinerate them with his eyes before they can even finish their sentence. How wonderful!

"I love my job!"

"I'm glad to hear that."

I glance up, startled to hear Alaric mutter, but all his attention is focused on his screens. Perhaps he wasn't speaking to me. I don't have his super-powers of concentration. Try as I may, I cannot focus on my spreadsheet and the data I'm attempting to accumulate and capture; besides, I feel dirty after my lunchtime adventure, and I need to clean these small puncture holes in my shoulder before they become infected. Who knows where that woman's nails have been? I didn't think to show them to Ransford, and there is no way I'm showing them to Alaric.

I have to go to my room; there's no other way.

Taking a deep breath, I pack my laptop and phone and their chargers into the laptop bag and get to my feet, considering for exactly 0.342 seconds to ask Alaric to go to my room with me and keep watch while I shower and change and... then what?! I'm sure that would go down really well, and I can think of nothing more fun than hanging out in my room with him... except maybe having a root canal... without anaesthetics. 

I have a car at my disposal; perhaps I should move to the Three Barrel and One... or whatever... permanently and only come here by day like Diarmuid.

"Fat lot that is going to help!"

The woman came at me in the middle of the day, and my job involves exploring rooms, cataloguing and appraising everything in them. I cannot just show up for a few hours every day and spend all of them here in the office... close to Alaric... where, if I'm honest, I don't expect strange people to attack me. When he is around, he's the scariest thing in the room. Always!

"Excuse me?"

I freeze on my way past his desk, clutching my laptop bag to my chest as if it could possibly shield me against the effect of his proximity when I turn to see him looking up at me with a completely unreadable expression. I'm once again wondering about the possibility that he has mind-reading abilities.

"Help a fat lot with... what?" he asks when I just blink at him, having no idea how to ask politely that he stops listening to my thoughts. I've never had to ask someone not to do that before. I laugh breathlessly with relief at his words, realising that he didn't read my mind; I was talking to myself again. Unfortunately, that is also not a question I can comfortably answer.

I lick my lips, trying to think of something clever to say and am once again startled by the impact of his eyes when I dare to look into them. They are not silver or ice-grey right now; they are almost entirely black, their pupils dilated. The soft light of the sconces flickers over their gleaming surfaces in a mesmerizing display of sparkles. He has the most perfect eyes I have ever seen. Thick, long black lashes, clear veinless whites. Could he really be allergic to me?

What were we talking about?

"Do you need a tissue?" I hear myself ask, and a confused frown draws Alaric's perfect black eyebrows together in charming harmony. Even confused, he looks absolutely self-confident and unshakable. I watch him lift a hand and run a well-groomed, supple finger under his nose, probably trying to detect leakage.

There is none. I don't think this man has ever had a booger hanging from one of his nostrils or a hair out of place on his head at any moment in his life. He screams the word immaculate, causing an echo of perfection to shower him with praise.

"No, thank you," he says, his lips quirking slightly as if he is a little bit amused. Or perhaps he's getting ready to snarl and show me his fangs. I almost laugh out loud at the idea of Alaric having fangs... like a wolf. Wolves don't have eyes like his.

"How about some allergy medication?" I offer compassionately, though I don't see any obvious signs of allergies. His visible skin is flawless. He has no rashes, and the timid sunlight filtering through the few strands of ivy behind the silk-draped window at his back does not seem to have any harmful effects on him either. His eyes are not red-rimmed or puffy; he is quite symptom-free.

"Sheer perfection," I am horrified to hear myself sigh.

I can see he is about to ask me to excuse him again, so I hurry to clarify. "I have some in my room. They're perfect for basically all kinds of allergies." I don't know if that clarifies anything, and I also don't know if that is true, but... whatever...

"Thank you for your concern, Miss Dankworth," he says with a constipated smile, his narrowed eyes sliding over me as if looking for visible signs of injury. "I don't have any allergies."

I am relieved to hear that because, as a human being, I would hate it if my employer and his family were allergic to me, especially if it somehow put them in danger. Still, I'm also disappointed because I would've loved to be a little bit special.

"Are you struggling with your allergies?" he asks, and it doesn't seem as though he is just trying to be polite. If I didn't know any better, I would've thought that he really cared. Well, I have car keys on my nightstand upstairs that tell me he probably does care in a humane kind of way.

"Not right now, no," I answer rather breathlessly. "Usually in the spring, but only under drier conditions. I don't think they'll be a problem here. My eyes have been giving me a bit of drama, though. They've been itching," I admit, raising a hand to the offensive organs as I speak, my discomfort growing exponentially as I encounter bare skin and almost poke myself in the eye. "I've been struggling to focus, but..."

Since I returned to the office, I've been working on the laptop without my glasses. I can always get away without the top part of my bifocals in general, as long as I don't have to see anything in too much detail and only have to read things in large print at a distance, but I can never read a book or a laptop screen without my glasses! I need those bottom sections for reading.

"Miss Dankworth?" Alaric says, sounding alarmed when I fall silent, and I hurry to smile at him. I don't want him to see how freaked out I am right now. This is my first day on the job; I cannot start talking about miracles of restored vision just yet. Maybe tomorrow...

"I... uhm... Yes... ah... No."

Oh, so eloquent! I honestly am impressed by my extraordinary linguistic skills, and staring at Alaric with wide, astonished eyes, I can tell that he is too.

"I'm glad to hear that," I respond to his earlier answer to my question as if the rest of our conversation never happened and I didn't just discover that I left my glasses in a dark hallway and apparently don't need them anymore after more than ten years of needing them in overdrive.

Alaric narrows his eyes and starts to rise, a look of genuine concern on his face, but I know if he comes near me right now, I'll melt into a gooey puddle of trembling gunk. I smile and nod and run from the office.

I think I might be the one with an allergy to Alaric Slatherty's blood type. My skin has broken out in hives. Tiny little bumps are pulling my scalp together and causing shivers to run down my spine... and he never even reached me. No, it's not just goosebumps!

The astonishing discovery that I can see relatively well without my glasses (not perfectly, but manageable) spurs me all the way to my room. I drop my laptop bag onto the bed and hurry into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. Relieved to be closed up in here. This is one room I am 100% certain does not have any hidden tunnels, as there is only one windowless wall, and my bed is on the other side of it.

I hurry to rid myself of my clothes, drop them in the washing hamper and get into a warm shower. The cobwebs and dust are easy to get rid of, but the water is not penetrating my turbulent mind. The rushing sound of it is not doing anything to calm my nerves either, so I hurry to close the taps, dry myself off and pull on my dressing gown hanging behind the bathroom door.

Standing in front of the mirror, I pull the soft pink terrycloth from my injured shoulder and inspect the small cuts. They're startlingly deep though they haven't bled much. At least I didn't see more than a spec of blood on my blouse. I pull my small medicine bag from the cabinet under the basin, remove the disinfectant and some ointment and quickly treat the wounds. They're not bad, and as long as I keep them clean and they don't become infected, I'm sure I'll survive.

"Next time Scary Spice Girl comes for a visit, I'm using my nail clippers on her!"

I should not have said that out loud or even thought about that because I'd packed away the first aid kit and was about to leave the bathroom. Now I really don't want to. I could survive in here, right? Humans need water and air more than they need food, and if I get really, really hungry, I'll just eat the toothpaste... and the soap... and my sea sponge...

"Logic is really not your strong suit, is it Aubrey Dankworth?!"

Straightening my back and taking a deep breath, wishing I'd brought my phone into the bathroom with me, I finally force myself to open the door just a crack. I wisely turned on all the lights when I entered my room, and the curtains are open, letting in the afternoon sun. There aren't any shadowy surprises waiting for me, and there's nobody under my bed. I know that because after that first night with the terrible dream of... a girl... or... a baby... I don't remember, but when I woke up after pretending to be The Sleeping Beauty for over a day, I thought it wise to check under my bed to see if the luggage unpacking fairies were there.

The bed is a solid, beautifully carved slab of wood; there is no 'under', no drawers, no nothing. It is perfectly solid. I rather like that... except that I cannot hide under there either if I get another weird visitor. 

I carefully open one of the closet doors, belatedly thinking that I should've gotten a weapon ready first. Closets lead to completely different worlds, after all. Narnia comes to mind... in this case, a Narnia filled with men that gravity-defyingly hover over you and women that try to skewer you with their nails.

There's nothing in the closet except for my clothes, but I'm taking no chances and open all the closet doors, stepping back and glaring into the cavities. Most of them are empty. Who owns that many clothes?! I opened about eight doors! 

Almost the entire wall between my bedroom and the study next door consists of closets. I've barely managed to fill one with my small collection of skirts, slacks, dresses and blouses. One of the other closets contains a couple of boxes I brought with possessions I didn't want to part with. I have so much space, but nothing to put in it.

"This is just sad!"

After knocking and banging on the closets' interiors, I finally shut the surplus doors and take an old, ankle-length burgundy and grey paisley print, shirred waist dress with short batwing sleeves from the closet. It's one of my comfort dresses. Mostly because it never requires ironing, it flatters my figure, and I don't feel like I'm dressed when I'm wearing it. It's comfortable... even if the neckline plunges a little too low for my standards. It is too cold in here to wear it without a wrap of some kind, so I grab a fluffy, oversized cream cardigan as well...

I feel more like myself already!

I pull my laptop out of the bag and check if I can connect to the wifi from here. When I used it here last night, I didn't try since I didn't have the password. It's connecting now, but it is terrible. One bar, and it keeps on dropping off. I cannot get even one internet page to load properly. My phone is not doing any better. There's a signal, but it is weak, and while I try to connect the laptop to it to use it as a hotspot, all I'm achieving is a high level of irritation. I eventually give up, leaving all my disappointing devices discarded on my bed.

"How marvellous! The Slatherties are rich! Surely, they can afford a signal booster or two!"

I should try it in the study and see if it's any better there, but... 

No! I am not going to become this person cowering in a corner, too afraid of my shadow to move. I'm going into town and buying a Taser and pepper spray!

"And a sword!" No, I won't buy a sword; I just really like them. 

I can imagine Ransford with a sword, all nimble and pretty... in a very manly way... or Billy with bulging muscles and a fierce expression on his handsome face. Liam would also look wonderful wielding a sword... and he could teach me! I've seen what a patient and skilled teacher he can be. I'm starting to feel a little too happy now.

Alaric doesn't need a sword, not with those eyes!

"Right, you just had to intrude on my fantasies and ruin them!" I scold him, hoping he won't follow his brother's strange habit of appearing when I speak to or about him... or in general. 

It's been a while since Ransford popped up, though.

"That was not an invite!" I shout, turning full circle to make sure he's not in my room, stopping with my eyes glued to a painting on the wall between my bedroom and the room on its other side. There is no solid wall with built-in closets on this side of the room. Windows are letting in the light, and when I look out those windows, the neighbouring room's windows face me from a few feet away and in the U-shape between this room and the next is a section of the ground floor's roof. The windows don't fill the entire wall; they stop about two metres away from the hallway-facing wall.

I slowly walk towards that wall section, looking at the huge painting that takes up most of it. It is a breathtaking, turbulent oil painting of my first view of Slaughtaverty Manor, driving up the treacherous path with Billy. Restless sea, curling mist, dark forest and towering over it all, the unmistakable turreted contours of the mansion look like it is on fire in the sunset. 

I love the painting style and am not surprised to see 'William Turner - 1839' on the brass plaque set in the frame. He was an English painter during the Romanticism movement and created many famous paintings with expressive colouring. I am especially fond of his violent marine paintings. Though the themes can be disturbing, I find his explosive use of colour, brushstrokes and texture breathtaking. 

Slave Ship - JMW Turner 1840

Hoping I'm wrong, I feel along the edge of the frame in the same way I saw Ransford doing earlier in the hallway. Granted, I have no idea what he was doing with his fingers and what he was feeling for. All I can detect are smooth edges. I finally get frustrated and try to pull the painting towards me to see if there might be something hidden behind it, hoping I don't pull it off the wall, as it might crush me, and I have no money to replace a masterpiece created by a renowned artist. 

Besides, it would break my heart if I hurt the painting.

I'm about to accept that there's no hidden door here when I nearly faint with shock, startled by a crunching sound. The painting jumps at me, knocking me back. For a few seconds, I stare at it with no comprehension, checking for damage, and then I realise what had happened. I triggered a switch, and the entire wall section opened towards me.

"No! No, no, no, no, no... just no!"

I should close it! Yes, I should close it and block it... Definitely! I should not grab my phone from the bed, turn on the torch and stick a flimsy vanity chair against the door to make sure it doesn't close. Nope, that is not what I should do at all!

It is, however, exactly what I'm doing.

"You are an idiot!" I tell myself. "Shush! I know..."

Making sure that the door won't slide shut behind me, I take a step into the dark tunnel and then another. I am only walking about five paces into it to see if it is as scary as I thought it was earlier, and then I'll get out again.

It really isn't as scary as I thought it was... it is way worse! The darkness is wrapped in deeper darkness, and the shadows caused by the phone's light have more shadows in them. I can now tell that the tunnel slopes upwards slightly. The steps are so deep that I barely notice that I'm climbing higher a couple of centimetres at a time. I shiver as cobwebs once again tangle with my hair, and then I remember that I'm clean! I'm wearing a creamy cardigan! I just had a shower!

I'm about to turn back when I hear scraping sounds down a joint to my right, and I hurry to shine my light up and down that tunnel. I cannot see anything, and I jump with a yelp when a couple of rats run past me along the cross tunnel. Repulsed, I scan the tunnel again to see if there are more critters coming. 

Something is moving over there.

Lifting the phone to shine the light further down the tunnel, I jump back in fright when a form dodges from the shaking light, disappearing in the darkness. The phone's beam cannot penetrate far enough for me to see what is there.

I need to get out of here, because I am not alone in here! 

To my left, I can hear more shuffling sounds in another leg of the crossing tunnels, and I might be mistaken, but it seems to be getting closer. The light from my room doesn't quite reach here due to the climb, but it at least lightens the cloying darkness a little bit, helping the phone in its feeble attempts to illuminate the tunnels. I again flash my light down the branch where I'd seen the movement, but there is nothing, just more rats scuttling past, and turning around, I light the path of their flight too.

A loud scrape way too close to me to be comfortable causes me to twirl around again, and suddenly, a loud thud startles me into dropping my phone. 

The door closed!

The same frustrating principles that always cause the lid of a butter tub to land with the butter side down on the dirty floor also cause the phone to land with the torch facing the ground. 

I quickly bend to retrieve it, freezing in the spot when the screen turns off and darkness, thicker than death, wraps itself around me. Gasping to drag air into my fear-clogged lungs, I kneel to feel around where I'd last seen the phone, my trembling fingers encountering nothing but dust, cobwebs and small bits of gravel.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit..." I mutter, breathing in frightened gasps, panic digging its sharp nails in my chest in the same way the scary woman did earlier. I scream when something furry brushes past my hand, and I snatch it away, losing my balance and landing hard on my bottom.

Anxiety has frozen my voice, and the scream that made it from my tight throat was no more than a hoarse whimper. Getting back into a squatting position, I scurry around, continuing my quest for the phone, sobbing in relief when I finally feel the smooth surface and lift the device. Mercifully, the torch is still on! Rising out of the crouch, I wave it from side to side, looking for anything or anyone in the tunnels around me.

There's nothing but grey walls and black shadows, the light picking out silvery threads of cobwebs with spiders scrambling along them. Without the help of the open door, the phone is less effective in lighting the corridors, and I can see movement at the edge of the light. Bare feet? Can it be? The seam of a dirty dress? 

No. There's nothing there!

Shadows merge and part in the light as I fail to hold it steady, creating misleading images. When I think I've got my eyes trained on the movement and am trying to focus in the lousy light to see what it is, it's no longer there, but then I catch it from the corner of my eye again. Always just out of sight, just outside the pool of light the phone is creating.

I am shaking so badly I can barely get my feet moving, backing away, one step at a time, not daring to lower the phone or take my eyes off the junction as I move along one branch. When another loud scrape comes from my right, it spurs me into action, and I spin around and run back to where the opening into my room should be.

Shining the light on the dead end and feeling all over the wall, I cannot find any indication of there even being a door. How do I open it? Ransford said one has to know where the doors are and how to open them. I have no idea, and I can hear shuffling coming from every possible angle now, crowding me. I don't know how much of it is my own actions; I'm making a lot of noise, and I almost lose hold of the phone more than once. The sound of my terrified whimpers is scaring me, and with my heart beating in wild spasms in my chest, I throw myself against the wall at the end of the tunnel, feeling its solid surface scraping and bruising me.

A sound in the tunnel too close to me makes me turn around, pressing my back against the wall, holding the phone out in front of me, feverishly searching the encroaching shadows. Something is moving disjointedly, slowly coming towards me, the light tracing the dusty outline of what appears to be a girl. Adjusting my grip on my phone, afraid of dropping it again, I try to focus my eyes, peering sharply into the gloom.

And then my finger touches the button on the side of the phone and the screen turns on, blinding me.

~~~