Deadly touch

Evelyn

“Don’t be such a coward!”

The taunt echoed in my head—my own cruel whisper—as I clutched the cold, wrought-iron gate. Before me loomed the mansion: vast, decaying, and terrible in its beauty.

Moonlight slashed through the skeletal trees, twisting shadows into monstrous shapes that seemed to dance across the moss-stained walls. It wasn’t a home; it was a warning.

“I’m crazy,” I muttered, breath frosting the air. What sane person would come here alone, at midnight, to a place whispered about in fear? People said the house wasn’t merely haunted—it was alive.

But curiosity had always been my curse.

It whispered louder than fear, the same voice that had driven me toward every secret, every forbidden truth. I’d been obsessed with myths—dragons, shapeshifters, vampires—stories mortals dismissed as nonsense. But I knew better. I had proof.

My reality shattered long ago, the day I learned that not all legends were lies. That day marked me, burned the truth into my skin: nothing is born of fantasy. And I… was not entirely human.

Even as a child, I knew I was different. Crowds made me uneasy, yet people were drawn to me, compelled by something they couldn’t name. I pushed them away—not out of cruelty, but necessity. My secret was a curse. My touch could kill. One brush of bare skin, and life snuffed out like a candle. Every time, the same horror. Every time, the same guilt.

I wore gloves like armor, lived alone like a ghost. Only my grandfather knew the truth, and his dusty library became my sanctuary. Among books, I could touch without harm, live without fear.

But tonight, standing before that forsaken estate, even my gloved hands trembled. To my right, the remains of a cemetery glimmered faintly—crooked headstones jutting from the weeds like broken teeth. Every instinct screamed to turn back. Yet something deeper pulled me forward, the same reckless curiosity that had always led me to ruin.

The mansion had once been alive—its grand ballroom the heart of endless celebrations. Then, one day, the laughter stopped. The guests vanished. The gardens turned wild, swallowing the beauty whole. No one knew why. No one dared return.

Until now.

I drew a breath that stung my lungs and gripped the gate tighter. My boots scraped the bars as I began to climb. The metal bit into my palms—but before I could reach the top, the vines lacing the gate began to move.

At first, I thought it was the wind. Then they writhed—slow, deliberate—curling toward me. The horror hit like a blade. They were alive.

A strangled cry ripped from me as I scrambled upward, vines coiling around my legs. There was no way down—the base was a churning mass of black foliage. I had one chance. Up. Always up.

I reached the top, panting, pain searing through my arms. The vines snaked higher, brushing my boots. Panic surged. Without thinking, I threw myself over, plunging into darkness.

The ground hit like a stone. Agony exploded through my body—something cracked. I bit back a scream as my vision blurred, stars bursting behind my eyes. Through the haze, I saw the vines again, slithering across the ground toward me. They were coming fast, hungry.

I couldn’t move. My leg throbbed with blinding pain. Desperation clawed at my chest. There was only one way to survive—one thing I had sworn never to do.

I tore off my left glove.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, voice shaking. “I have no choice.”

I pressed my bare hand to the nearest vine. The reaction was instant. The plant convulsed violently, jerking away as if struck by lightning. I gasped, watching as the entire mass recoiled, retreating in one sweeping motion. The vine I touched bore a perfect, blackened hole where my fingers had been—but it wasn’t dead. It simply… fled.

Then the whispers began.

They came from everywhere—from the trees, the earth, the air itself. A thousand voices, murmuring over one another, soft and rustling like leaves in the wind.

“Can’t be. She’s the one,” hissed a voice behind me.

“It’s the Queen. The Master will be pleased,” breathed another.

“Welcome back, our Queen. We didn’t know,” dozens chanted, low and reverent.

“We meant no harm. We guard the Master’s home.”

I froze, heart hammering. Their words tangled in my mind—nonsensical, impossible. Queen? Master? What were they talking about?

Before I could think, the tone of their whispers shifted—panic, sharp and wild.

“The Master is coming! The Master is coming!”

“He’ll be angry if he finds we hurt his Queen!”

The air thickened, heavy with an unseen pressure. The whispers fell silent, replaced by something worse—a presence. It rolled through the darkness like a cold tide, ancient and immense. The plants themselves seemed to shrink from it, their rustling dying away into fearful stillness.

And then I felt him.

Not a man. Not exactly. A force.

A being older and more dangerous. The weight of it pressed against my chest, stealing my breath. The air hummed—low, resonant, alive with power.

From the depths of the mansion’s shadowed halls, something moved. Each footstep was deliberate, echoing faintly against the stone. I could feel him long before I could see him.

My pulse thundered, drowning out everything else.

I tried to crawl backward, but pain lanced through my leg. I was trapped—half on the ground, half in the moonlight, surrounded by a garden that bowed to something I couldn’t yet see.

The gate creaked behind me, slow and mournful, as though acknowledging his approach.

A shape emerged from the darkness—tall, indistinct, cloaked in shadow. The air around him seemed to ripple, bending the light, distorting the night itself. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t even scream. My body betrayed me, frozen between terror and awe.

He stopped only a few paces away. I couldn’t make out his face, only the faint gleam of eyes—silver, like liquid moonlight. They fixed on me with unearthly intensity, sharp enough to slice through my thoughts.

The silence stretched, unbearable.

Then, in a voice that seemed to echo through both the air and my mind, he spoke.

“So,” he murmured, each word slow, deliberate, filled with quiet amusement, “you’ve finally returned.”

I didn’t understand. I wanted to deny it, to tell him he was wrong, that I’d never been here before in my life—but the words died on my tongue. The weight of his gaze pinned me in place.

Behind him, the vines trembled, bowing low to the earth.

He took another step forward, and the cold around me deepened until I could see my breath again. My heart thudded painfully in my chest.

I opened my mouth to speak—to ask who he was, what he wanted—but the world tilted sharply. My vision swam, and the whispering returned, louder, frantic.

“Don’t faint!” someone cried from the darkness.

“She must stay awake! The Master will—”

But I was already falling, the voices fading into a storm of sound. The last thing I saw before darkness swallowed me completely was the figure’s hand reaching toward me—long fingers, tan as gold—and a single thought burned through my collapsing mind:

The hunter had found me.

And I was his prey.