Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

- “Do you want me to drop you off at the front door ?” the cab driver looked at you through the dash mirror, his finger tapping impatiently on the steering wheel..
- “No, I’ll walk the rest of the way.” you thanked him, handing him the money you owed him.

He nodded, watching you step out of the car before dashing out of here, the wheels stirring up a cloud of dust that caused you to cough once it filled your nostrils. You watched the cab drive away in a state of semi-disbelief. You knew people didn’t particularly liked this area because of its history, but to this point, really ? You took a minute to pat some of the dirt off your clothes to look presentable and stared at the imposing steel gate standing in front of you. Maybe you should turn around and forget about all of this, your voice of reason told you. Maybe taking this nanny job was a terrible idea. This was your chance to back off, the wise choice. But you had never been known to act wise now were you.

You crossed the portal and started walking on the stone path towards the residence of your, hopefully, future employers. No one could miss it, even from a mile away; a gigantic, antique looking Victorian style mansion that emanated wealth. Though its stone exterior gave it more of a gloomy castle vibe than a fancy manor, the only thing adding some color to it was the red rooftop that crowned it all. You remembered it looking redder than the washed out, dull, rust-red color it was now, probably due to the damage of time. Each of the many windows felt like eyes staring down at you for trying to peek behind their curtains that hid a life of luxury. It used to scare you, leaving you intimidated by the grandeur of it all, but now, not so much. Before you knew it, you reached to end of the driveway and started to slowly walk up the stairs to the large front door, taking a minutes to catch your breath. Your heart was pounding in your chest, the voice of reason inside your brain telling you once again that this was a very bad idea. But you had made it all this way, there was no backing out now. Your friends would’ve looked at you in disbelief, shaking their heads in confusion if they saw you right now. What was so scary about a job consisting of taking care of a child for a couple of months, with all expenses paid by its rich parents ? Well, the problem wasn’t the job per say. You were good with kids, so you were confident that you would do a good job looking after a child. No, the problem was the employers themselves. But why would they cause trouble to anyone? The Heelshires were an old couple who kept to themselves and looked absolutely charming from a quick glance. And yes, you remember them being nice enough, although there was this feeling around them that was…odd. The problem was that you had a certain unpleasant history with the Heelshire family.

More specifically, you and your deceased cousin Emily Cribbs.

When you were younger, every summer (or at least a large part of them) would be spent at the Cribbs’s house in the English countryside. You and Emily were inseparable: from fishing at the nearby pond, playing make believe with dolls and costumes far too big for you two to wear, or staying up late watching television when your parents told you two to go to sleep. It was always (Y/N) and Emily, Emily and (Y/N). Those were some of your best childhood memories. Then one year, you and your parents arrived at the Cribbs’s, like so many years before, but this time, things would be different. Emily had a new friend to present to you. He was a boy, a year younger than you and shorter too, dressed in a tailored suit that would look more suitable for a fancy recital or in the 1950’s rather than going out to play with friends in the dirt. He didn’t smile, nor did he show a lot of emotions actually. Everything about him seemed almost…fake, plastic. You had never seen someone be this perfect looking before.

- “(Y/N), this is Brahms Heelshire. Brahms, this is my cousin (Y/N). She comes to visit me every summer, so I hope you two will get along.”

Emily gave Brahms a small nudge and he extended his hand for you to shake, which felt a bit robotic. At first, you found your new companion quite weird. He wouldn’t really speak and kept to himself, his nose lost in books or his thoughts. Sometimes, you forgot he was even there in the first place. You tried some small talk from time to time, but it never led anywhere, leaving the atmosphere in the room awkward until some other factor came to break it. You started to think you would never be able to ever befriend him. That was until one day when you saw him read one of your favorite classics in the living room of the house. You sat next to him and asked him if he enjoyed it. There was a moment of silence, before he nodded, stating that he was enjoying the story so far and explained his thoughts about it further. You both exchanged points and arguments about it for what was maybe a good hour, but felt like a few moments for you two. Then you realized that it was the first time you saw him talk with that much enthusiasm, even almost smile. Maybe you did manage to crack his shell after all.

Over the next few days, you both bonded over your favorite books and music and soon enough, you had befriended Brahms Heelshire, who became more comfortable in your company. Maybe too much for some. Everywhere you would go, he would go and if he couldn’t follow, he would watch over you like a hawk. This switch in behavior baffled Emily, as she told you that she had never seen him act this possessive with anyone else. You excused his behavior as him thinking of you as the big sister he never had since he grew up as an only child, but thinking about it years later, it’s true that it was odd. Once, you did go visit the Heelshire residence with Emily and remembered being astonished by how big it was. You even got lost in its labyrinth of seemingly endless corridors. You also met Mr and Mrs Heelshire for the first time too. Mr Heelshire was tall and always had a stern expression on his face. Mrs Heelshire on the other hand radiated a little more warmth at first glance, but still had the aura of a high lady you saw in period dramas. You were shocked at how old they looked, you didn't even know it was possible to have children this late, but made sure not to let it shown to not be rude. One other thing that you remember clearly from this visit was the giant portrait the family had made of them that they hung above their grand staircase. You thought that maybe this was a normal thing for rich families to do, though it did creep you out how…perfect it was made to be. Brahms looked even more like a flawless copy of himself, and he already kind of looked like a flawless doll in real life. You remember asking him what he thought of it, to which he stayed silent and changed the subject. You never talked of it again with him.

Eventually, the end of the summer came and it was finally time for you to return home. When he learned about it, Brahms threw a tantrum, only calming down when you promised you would eventually return. That summer, you made a new friend and plenty more memories to cherish. Although it would be the last of these summers you would have, for tragedy hit your little group like a bus. When your parents told you that Emily had passed away, you didn’t understand. The concept of death was foreign to you at that time. A freak accident, people said, though you did hear whispers the adults around you conversed around themselves about how odd the circumstances of her death were. The only person to have most likely been with her when she died was Brahms, and he had died soon after in a fire. Over the years, you heard many theories as to what truly happened in these woods that day : some said that the Heelshire couple were the true culprits, while others theorized that a third party had to be involved. But these held no real ground without proof. Eventually, people started to forget about it and resumed their lives, with their own lot of troubles to take care of. But you were never able to forget this tragedy and the mystery surrounding it. You tried many times to talk to your parents about it, but each and every time they would change the subject and tell you that the past was the past and that you should move on. This leads you to a few weeks ago. You were with two of your friends at a local pub, celebrating the start of a well earned weekend. While one of them left for the bathroom and the other left to get drinks, you flipped through the newspaper to pass time. In between the miscellaneous local news, you found an ad for a couple looking for a nanny to take care of their son. An ad you would’ve overlooked if it weren’t for a certain familiar name that caught your eye.

Looking for nanny to watch over our young son Brahms for a period of a couple of months. For more information, contact XXXX Heelshire at XX(XXX) XXX-XXXX…

At first, you thought you were seeing things, but after reading the ad over three times, you confirmed that you saw right. How was this even possible ? Brahms died a long time ago, and if he were still alive today he would be an adult. So why would the Heelshires need a nanny to take care of their dead son ? You talked about it with your friends and many theories emerged from your discussion, with the most likely being that the Heelshire just ended up having or adopting another kid and named him after their perfect first born child. Still, this all seemed fishy…

And that’s when an idea lit up in your mind.

This job offer was actually the perfect opportunity for you to look into the mystery of Emily’s passing that haunted your childhood. Also, as pointed out by your friends, this job would most likely pay pretty well. So you noted the phone number and called the Heelshires the next day to see if the job was still available. It was Mrs Heelshire that answered the phone and, after a little back and forth, agreed for an interview.

Which is how you found yourself in the situation you’re in now. You inhaled the crisp autumn air around you and exhaled, taking a crumpled note out of one of the pockets of your jacket. On it were written directions for you to follow to get to the manor and instructions on what to do once you arrived. You were to wait in the parlor until Mr or Mrs Heelshire came to meet you. Pretty simple to follow. You turned the doorknob of the main door, which was unlocked, and entered in what felt like the den of the beast. Even after all these years, you were still amazed by the place and its fancy wooden engraved walls, chandeliers and lavish decorations. Nothing had changed, still how you pictured it in your memory. Now…where was the parlor. This was one detail Mrs Heelshire forgot to mention in her instructions. Was it on the first or second floor ? You decided to try your luck on the second floor, slowly climbing the creaking wooden stairs and passing in front of the giant family portrait that still looked so oddly perfect and untouched by time. On the second floor were many rooms and on the wall of its halls were hung many portraits that showed generations upon generations of Heelshire family members. It felt like a more artistic way to illustrate a family tree. You peeked through most of the rooms : boudoirs, bathrooms, bedrooms, storage closets, but no signs of the parlor. The last room you checked though, made you stop.

A child’s bedroom that you were familiar with, that still looked the same as in your memories. The same red and golden sheets were neatly arranged on the bed, with the same old wallpaper and toys scattered around.

This was Brahms’s bedroom. Clearly, the Heelshire kept it untouched since his death, which didn’t sound too weird to you since you had heard of parents doing the same thing after the passing of a child to help with their grief. What was weird however was that this was seemingly the only child bedroom in sight. Did the Heelshire made their current child sleep in that room too ? You turned around and looked left and right to make sure no one was coming before entering the room. Today was one of those rare sunny days, so the room was fairly well illuminated by the soft rays coming through the window. A wave of nostalgia came over you as you quietly walked around the room, your fingertips grazing the wood of the small desk close to the window. On the shelf next to it were neatly organized books ranging from illustrated encyclopedias to litterary classics sumarized for young children and binders filled with music sheets of classical music. Not what you would expect a child to be into, but it was definetly something Brahms would be into. Come to think of it, the room did feel like a mix of a bedroom and a study. There was also the rocking horse in the corner, who always looked like something that was passed from generation to generation, with the paint covering the wood starting to chip in places. You once asked Brahms why he kept it in his room since he was clearly too old to play with it and he simply explained that his mother insisted on keeping it there. You then moved to the bed, admiring the finely embrodered quelt covering the sheets. There were no folds or creases anywhere on it. Honestly, now that you looked closely at it, you started to doubt a living child ever slept and played here. As much as your curiosity tried to push you into snooping around more, you decided to go against it. It wouldn’t look good for a first impression if the Heelshires caught you. As you were about to exit the room, you stopped in your tracks when you heard the sound of faint footsteps, but when you turned around, no one was there.

That’s weird, I swear I heard…

You thought, before shrugging it off. It was an old house, weird sounds were bond to be heard. Eventually, you did find the parlor and sat down on one of the many velvet covered chairs, waiting for someone to come get you. You tried not to touch any of the decorative trinkets placed around here and there, out of fear of breaking one of them and putting yourself in years of debt. After some time, an old woman entered the room, standing with grace and class. Her silver hair was neatly curled and styled, with not one hair out of place and the dusty pink cardigan and green plaid skirt she wore made her look like the picture perfect grandmother.

- “Miss…(L/N), is that right ?” she spoke, her voice sounding so familiar.
- “Yes.” you got up from your seat to meet her. “I hope I didn’t arrive too early.”
- “Not at all, you’re just in time.”

You shook each others hands, exchanging polite smiles. You could feel Mrs Heelshire’s gaze examining you from head to toes, as if she was looking for something. Your nerves were starting to grow uneasy and a chill ran down your spine.

- “Is…there something wrong ?” you asked hesitantly.

Mrs Heelshire paused, then shook her head and the thin esquisse of a smile could be seen on her face.

- “No, everything is fine.” she then motioned you to follow her. “Now, come along. We’ve kept them waiting long enough.”

She led you to what seemed to be the living room, who was similar in decoration to the parlor, except bigger, with a fireplace, paintings adorning its walls and many filled bookshelves. You noticed a man crouching in front of a chair, seemingly talking to someone in front of him, presumably their child. Mrs Heelshire cleared her throat to announce your presence, which made the man get up and turn to face you. His tall, well dressed figure towered over you.

- “Ah, Miss (L/N), welcome. I hope the instructions we left you on how to get here were clear.” he extended his hand for you to shake. “Our chauffeur could’ve brought you here if you would’ve liked.”
- “Oh no it was no problem.” you shook his hand, surprised by his strong grip for his age.

Mrs Heelshire moved to her husband’s side and both exchanged a look before revealing who was sitting in the chair Mr Heelshire was talking to. Or rather…what was sitting in that chair.

- “Miss (L/N), please allow us to introduce you to our dear son, Brahms.”

Sitting right in front of you was a child size porcelain doll, which looked just like how you remembered Brahms. Same hair, same suit, it was like it jumped right out of the hall painting. Out of everything, you did not expect…this. You felt the Heelshires eyes on you as they waited for a reaction out of you. You quickly snapped out of your shocked state and moved towards the doll. A mix of childhood nostalgia and a bit of apprehension filled you. Then a feeling of pity joined in. You started to pity the Heelshires. They had never gotten over their son’s death in the flames, but couldn’t bear to live without him, so they made a doll as a replacement. To love and care for, like no tragedy had ever cursed their family. You could still feel their gaze pierce the back of your skull, so you took a deep breath and smiled, crouching in front of the doll. If you wanted to get the job, you needed to play along.

- “It’s a pleasure to meet you Brahms. I’m (Y/N), I hope we’ll get along just fine, okay ?”

This reaction seemed to please the couple, with Mrs Heelshire sighing in relief, smiling at her husband. It was like you had passed a test of some sort. After this introduction, Mrs Heelshire explained to you that, if you were to take care of Brahms, there would be some rules to follow around the house and a strict schedule to follow. You listened carefully to everything. You had to wake up Brahms at the same time every morning, dress him up, have breakfast, then you had "class time", since Brahms was homeschooled (which consisted to read books out loud), then rinse and repeat. It seemed a bit farfetched how strict said schedule was, but you didn’t argue. The rules though made you raise an eyebrow.

First was that no guests were allowed at the residence, which was fair enough that they didn’t want any strangers walking around their house and their valuable belongings. Second was to never leave Brahms alone, again, fair enough since you were to treat him like a real child. It was around the third rule that things got weirder. The third rule was to save any extra meals (mostly those made for the doll that it couldn’t eat) in the freezer instead of being thrown away. When you asked why, Mrs Heelshire reminded you that the manor was located in a secluded area, surrounded by wildlife and that she had no intention of attracting any unwanted critters around her house. The fourth and fifth were to never cover Brahms’s face and to always read him a bedtime story. The sixth was to play some music using the old, but still functioning gramophone loud enough to be heard all around the house. Mrs Heelshire explained that music was Brahms’s whole world, which was true. You even remember him being a talented violinist. The seventh rule was to clear the rat traps around the house everyday to prevent rats from getting in. Mr Heelshire later showed you where the traps were located and how they worked. You watched him take out a bloody rodent carcass from one of the box traps like it was nothing, which made you gag a bit. As he threw it away, he suddenly turned to you, a bittersweet expression that made him look ten years older than he already was.

- “I know all of this must look odd to you, Miss (L/N). To be honest, I’m not sure how everything ended up like this myself…I guess this is what time does.” he cracked a smile, revealing the wrinkles around his tired eyes. “Whatever it might look like on the outside, our son is very much here with us.”

You didn’t know what to think of this and why it felt a little bit like a confession of sorts.

The eighth rule was that only Malcolm, the Heelshire’s delivery boy that you had yet to meet, was allowed to bring groceries to the residence. The ninth rule was to never bring Brahms outside the house and the final rule was to always kiss Brahms goodnight. After this little “How to take care of Brahms 101”, the Heelshires excused themselves with their “son” to talk to him. You waited outside the room, walking around back and forth in anticipation. You were a bit worried that you may have done something wrong or that they remembered you as being affiliated with the Cribbs, but that last one was unlikely. If they did recognize you as Emily's cousin, you doubted that they would've let you into their home, especially with all the rumors surrounding what happened to Emily and their son. After a few minutes, you tried to eavesdrop on the conversation happening in the room in front of you, but couldn’t hear anything clearly. Although you could’ve sworn to have heard a child’s voice along the Heelshires’s. After a few more minutes, the old couple exited the room, a satisfied look on their face.

- “He has accepted you--no, chosen you Miss (L/N).” Mrs Heelshire moved closer, wrapping her arms around you in a hug. You were hesitant at first, but reciprocated the embrace.

You only returned to the manor a few days later, with your personal affairs this time. Before they left, the Heelshires prepared for you a written list of the rules, to make sure you wouldn't forget about them. Mrs Heelshire reminded you once again how to properly hold Brahms, which weighed more than you expected a doll his size to weight, but still you could handle him with little to no problem. Once their private chauffeur arrived, you thought it nice to help him put the many suitcases the Heelshire had prepared for their vacation in the car. But once you grabbed one of them, you were surprised to see that it weight little to nothing. The chauffeur noticed it too and opened one of the larger cases, and stupor shone on his face once he saw that it was empty. All of them were. Yet the chauffeur just shook his head and continued to toss the suitcases in the back of the car, muttering something under his breath. Soon after, the old couple came out, finally prepared to leave. Mr Heelshire looked oddly nervous, which when you asked him if he was well, told you that it was just that it had been so long since him and his wife left for a holiday, so he was a bit anxious of leaving the residence. He also mention that he did regret that he didn’t get enough time to explain to you more about their son and his peculiar ways, but he was confident that you would figure it out just fine. Then Mrs Heelshire walked out, holding Brahms in her arms. She kissed her son one last time before handing him to you, in a way that felt almost too solemn, like a passing of the torch. Their whole attitude felt too solemn. They were supposed to leave for a vacation, yet you could sense their tensed nerves and see through their fake smiles. It was like they were leaving for a funeral instead. Before she followed her husband in the car, Mrs Heelshire held you in one last embraced, telling you in almost a chocked whisper.

- “I am so sorry…”

Her words rang back on repeat in your mind as you watched their car drive away in the distance. What did she mean by that ? Before you could answer that question, the chilly autumn air started to make you shiver, so you moved back into the house, carefully closing the door behind you while holding Brahms in your arms. At that moment, the silence that filled the immense Heelshire residence made you realized that you were now truly alone, which made you feel uncomfortable. Well, you weren't completely alone, you thought, as you looked at the porcelain doll in your arms.

And yet, even knowing that it was only you and that doll in that house, you coudn't help but feel invisible eyes on you watching your every move.

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When morning finally came and you awoke from your slumber, the first thing you felt was the cool and slippery surface of the ivory bathtub against your skin. The second thing you felt was the ache in your muscles, your joints cracking and popping at every movement you made. You found it funny how, if you were years younger, you could’ve fallen asleep in that same bathtub, in the most improbable positions and still wake up fresh in the morning. While now, your back would give up on you, requiring a lot of stretching to recover. Aging felt kind of weird sometimes.

You slowly rose up from the bathtub, although it looked more like crawling really, making a promise to yourself to never fall asleep in a bathtub like that ever again. Judging by the little amount of rays of sunlight managing to break through the thick clouds outside, along with your rumbling stomach, it was most likely late in the morning now. Damn, now you’d have to increase your efforts to finish all your daily chores in time, you'd have to say goodbye to your freetime of the day–

You paused, your brain soon put those worries in the back of your mind as the memories from last night’s events came back to you in a flash. It was as if it was telling you that you had more pressing matters to think about than what you’d cook for dinner today or what room needed to be vacuumed first.

There were no doubts in your mind that it was Brahms’s voice you heard last night on the other side of that door. You could recognize that tone of voice that borders on snobbish anywhere. There was no way someone could’ve replicated it with such precision. And this caused you to feel mixed emotions about it. On one side, you now had definitive proof that you had not been hallucinating all those paranormal events around the house. If your friends were here with you right now, you’d tell them “I told you so” with a satisfying smirk on your face. But on the other hand…how could a ghost even talk ? The doll didn’t have a mouth capable of moving and as far as you knew, the dead do not have a voice. At least, not a vocal one. They usually use a medium to make their voice known, like a ouija board or spirit boxes. Then again, you were not an expert on the paranormal and trying to explain the unexplainable seemed like a fruitless endeavor. But the one thing that shook you to your core the most wasn’t hearing Brahms’s voice, although it did shock you deeply to hear it again as clear as day. No, the thing that was still fresh in your mind is how insistent he was on trying to open the door. Although the image of the small doll frantically reaching for the doorknob looked silly in your head, the feeling of dread over the idea of what would’ve happened if he did get in made you shiver. Even though he sounded so apologetic after you screamed at him to leave you alone, that did not erase the sound of the metal doorknob being frantically turned side to side from your memory.

Stopping by the sink, you made sure the splash some cold water on your face to wash off the dried mascara streaks on your cheeks and the dried snot of your upper lip. At least now you didn’t look like a mess anymore. As much as you wanted to avoid opening the door to leave the safety of your improvised bunker to face whatever was potentially outside, your growing hunger was proving to be stronger than your anxiety. Besides, Brahms would never hurt you…or at least, that's what you preferred to believe. And anyways, even if the doll had evil intentions, what was it going to do, hit you with its little porcelain hands ? You slowly opened the door, the creaking hinges resonating down the hall. You half expected something to jump out at you, but nothing was waiting outside, no doll, nobody. As you advanced slowly down the hall, you thought about what to do next. Maybe if you acted like nothing had happened, you could return to the routine you had with Brahms before the incident and survive until the Heelshires returned. You’d also need to call Flora to apologize, even though there was a high possibility of the conversation ending into an argument. Besides, even if she managed to convince you to leave, you had no way of contacting the Heelshires to tell them. Which was odd, usually parents always leave a phone number for the person that’s taking care of their kid to reach them in case of an emergency. Sure, you didn’t expect the Heelshires to have cellphones, but leaving the number of the hotel or place they would be staying at would be a good start.

When you walked past the dining room, you had to stop in your tracks when you caught the smell of…toasted bread ? Why would it smell like toasted bread ? You backtracked and once you crossed the doorway, you were met with a surprising scene. Sitting at the table was Brahms, his glass eyes staring towards the doorway as if waiting for your arrival. The table had been dressed for two, with finely knitted placemats underneath the plates and silverware arranged on either side. You cautiously moved towards your designed spot, noticing the toasts on your plate, with next to it a bright colored mug of your favorite color filled with tea, the tea bag still seeping inside. It wasn’t your idea of a perfect breakfast, but it was the thought that counted. The idea that a ghost would even be able to make toasts was preposterous to you, but it wouldn’t be the most surprising thing Brahms ever did so far. Also, you wouldn’t expect a child to cook a five star breakfast, with eggs, sausages, hash browns and freshly pressed coffee. When you touched the mug, you were happy to see that the tea was still warm, but when you took a sip, a strong bitter aftertaste made your face twist into a grimace. On the other hand, the toasts were warm, but lacked the satisfying crunch of freshly toasted bread. They had most likely been waiting for you on that plate for a while. It also felt a bit silly to have all that fancy tableware set up in front of you, only for you to not use it to eat your toasts. But it was probably a habit Brahms picked up from his parents.

It reminded you of the first time Brahms stayed for dinner at the Cribbs’s home. You were helping setting the table up when Brahms asked you why there was only one fork, knife and spoon for each person. You were confused by his question, but he continued by asking where were the salad forks, the cheese and butter knives, along with the dinner spoon. You first thought he was joking, but when you noticed the genuine perplexed look on his face, you asked him what he meant by that. He explained to you that back home, for every service, there should be a knife and fork designed for the meat, fish and salad respectively, a knife and dish designed for butter and bread, along with a spoon for the soup and another for dessert alongside another fork. This made your head spin and you had to stop him, explaining that here there was no need for that. One fork, one knife and one spoon for soup (if there was some on the menu) and another for dessert was enough. At that moment, it felt like the both of you experienced a culture shock and you could feel how, behind his usual cold facade, Brahms was nervous to be put in a situation he wasn’t familiar with. It was a ridiculous situation, but if you laughed at the absurdity, there was no way Brahms would ever forgive you. So instead, you decided to stay by his side during dinner to calm his nerves and even though he never thanked you out loud, the way he held your hand showed you that he was grateful.

You stared at Brahms in silence, wondering why he would even do something like that for you ? Was it his way to apologize for his brash behavior yesterday evening ? If he wanted to ask your forgiveness about something, it would most likely be about the incident in the bathroom, not how he acted towards your friends. For as long as you knew him, Brahms wasn’t the type to say sorry, even if he knew he was wrong, so for him to actually try and apologize was a moment to remember. You couldn’t help but crack a smile.

- ”Thank you for the breakfast.” you said, taking another bite of toast. “I’m sorry if you’ve been waiting a long time. You probably didn’t eat anything yet…” you wondered, noticing the empty plate in front of the doll. “...I’ll cook you something good later, okay ?”

*

Since your back still hurt pretty bad, you decided to take a bit of a day off your chores, only focusing on the vital ones like checking the traps outside. It left you with an hour or so to kill before starting on making supper. You decided to stop by the library, making sure to bring Brahms with you. It has always been one of your favorite rooms, with its large window bringing comforting light in, the many bookshelves inviting you to explore their shelves of magical worlds and knowledge, with plush, red velvet armchairs that you could just sink into. There was also a small fireplace, which you weren’t sure was functional compared to the larger one in the living room. Besides, you weren’t planning on using it and take the risk of an ember falling out and burning everything to ashes. You sat Brahms down onto one of the armchairs and started to look around the many bookcases that surrounded you. Everything was so pleasing to the eye, all divided by colors and sizes. It was like a picture straight out of an aesthetic collage you'd find online. Your fingertips brushed against the book spines, once in a while taking one out that caught your eye to read the back resume. Most of the volumes consisted of old tales and classics, with the occasional more recent release. Some of them seemed even older than you and you were a bit scared that the minute you would open them, they would disintegrate in your hands. Fortunately for you, you weren’t picky about your choice of literature and classics are called classics for a reason. You ended up hesitating between three : The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde, Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë and Frankenstein by Mary Shelley. Books that seemed fitting with the gloomy weather outside. After some deliberation, you made your choice and sat down to get comfortable. But before you could open the book and start turning its pages, your eyes stopped on Brahms, sitting across from you. You paused, thinking a bit before sighing, moving your chair to sit next to the doll.

- ”...Do you want me to read to you out loud ?” you asked, almost anticipating a response.

But the doll remained silent, leaving you a bit disappointed as you half expected it to talk. Come to think of it, you shouldn’t call Brahms a doll anymore, or “it” for that matter. The soul of Brahms is in there, and you should treat him accordingly. You put Brahms on your lap and opened the leather bound book you had chosen, starting your narration. Your voice is accompanied by the sound of pages turning and the wind howling outside, making the tree branches and their leaves dance to its rhythm. Soon you found yourself getting quite comfortable, sometimes even stopping to talk to Brahms, wondering what he thought about this passage or that quote. Something you did often as children, which felt immensely nostalgic to you. But your questions remained unanswered, saddening you that you couldn’t have a full discussion.

But then you had an idea. You closed the book, putting it on the small writing desk next to you, and moved Brahms from your lap onto the armchair. You picked up a sheet of paper and a pen from the writing desk before laying them on Brahms’s lap. You knew Brahms had the ability to write, so why not take full advantage of it and use it to communicate ?

- ”I think it would be a good idea if we used writing to communicate from now on, don’t you Brahms ? It’ll make it easier for you to tell me things without…” you paused, trying to pick the right words. “Making too much of a ruckus.” you knelt in front of the doll. “Like for example, is there anything in particular you want me to cook tonight ? Is there a dessert you’d want ?”

You decided to give him some time and left towards the kitchen to do the dishes. You knew you weren’t supposed to leave Brahms alone, but in this situation, you thought it could be an exception to the rule that would be understandable. The Heelshires unfortunately didn’t have a dishwasher so unfortunately you had to wash everything by hand. It wasn’t so bad most of the time and you had gotten used to scrubbing dishes and pans everyday, the amount of scrubbing required depended on what you had cooked earlier in the day. Seriously, for all the money they had, the Heelshires should definitely invest in a good dishwasher. You filled the sink with warm water, put dish soap on the rough sponge and started scrubbing. There was a small window above the sink that gave you a nice view on the forest nearby, so it gave you something to stay entertained in the meantime. If there was a bird feeder installed right outside, you would even be able to watch the birds leave the branches of the trees to visit you on the windowsill. You never got the chance to explore the woods when you went to play at the Heelshire mansion, the weather wasn’t clement and Mrs Heelshire didn’t want her son to catch a cold. Although you doubt you and Emily would’ve managed to pull Brahms into your games of pretend ; where sticks became swords, pebbles became coins and the terrain became the stage for your imagination to go wild. But maybe it was a good thing you never went into these woods in the first place, considering Emily’s fate.

You were about to put aside a coffee mug you had just finished washing to dry off when you noticed something strange in your field of vision. Something that shouldn’t be there. You rapidly blinked a few times to make sure your weren’t seeing things, but even after you rubbed your eyes, it was still there. Behind a tree at the edge of the woods, as if trying to hide in plain sight, was the silhouette of a man. Or at least you assumed it was a man, judging by the wide shoulders and tall build of the silhouette. One of their hands was held up to their chest, with something small and rectangular in it. Then a small light flashed for a moment from the object, making the person holding it panic and almost drop it. Your best guess was that it was a phone. Were they an acquaintance of the Heelshires, like another worker hired by them like Malcolm ? Not likely, Mrs Heelshire would’ve warned you of their potential visit and existence ahead of time. And why would they need to take a picture of the house anyway ? You turned your gaze away for a moment to pull the plug from the sink and when your attention returned to them you froze when you realized that they were now imobile, staring straight towards the window. Straight at you. Could they see you from such a distance ? No, that’s impossible…at least, you hoped it was. Then the tension was broken by the sound of knocking at the front door, making your heart skip a beat. You weren’t awaiting any visitors today, so who could it be ? Could it be that the Heelshires were back and just forgot to call you ahead of time ? As much as you didn’t want to leave the silhouette out of your sight, you couldn’t just not open the door. So you dried your hands on a dishcloth and rushed to the front door, opening it hastily. Standing on the front porch wasn’t the Heelshire couple, but a man. The first thing you noticed on him was his trench coat, which reminded you of what a detective in a film noir would wear. He was startled to see you open the door so suddenly, almost falling backwards.

- ”Oh !” he took a moment to regain his composure. “I’m so glad someone is here, I was starting to lose hope.” his tone was jolly, with a light accent that punctuated each of his sentences, a smile illuminating his freshly shaven face. “I’m really sorry to bother you, but you see, I’m new to the area and I think I took a wrong turn on the road. I-I’m a photographer and I’m here visiting the English countryside to take some pictures. There’s a real exquisite beauty to it you know–” he stopped his rambling, noticing that you were starting to lose patience with his unending discourse, a hand nervously scratched the back of his head. “S-Sorry, anyways, I think I took a wrong turn and I’m lost. Would it be okay if you indicated to me where the nearest town is located ?”

You looked the man up and down as he talked, trying to judge his character. You couldn’t help but feel that this whole situation was really shady. What would a tourist in search of good spots to photograph do here, in the middle of nowhere ? Was he really that much a fan of gloomy looking forests with fog surrounding them ? Maybe it was the memory of the silhouette stalking the edge of the woods you saw earlier that put you on edge, maybe it was your sixth sense speaking to you, but in the end you took pity on the man. He truly seemed apologetic about disturbing you and he looked respectable, so you explained to him the right turn to take to go back in town. This seemed to satisfy tourist, who thanked you many times before rushing down the driveway towards the entry gate. You watched him go for a while before finally returning into the safety of the mansion, making sure to lock the door behind you. Your first reflex was to return to the kitchen to see if the figure was still out there, but when you checked through the window, it was gone. Maybe you should’ve been relieved to see that the figure had now left, but no, instead the fact you didn’t know where it could be now filled you with dread as you checked the locks of the kitchen backdoor, making sure they were still locked.

Then you remembered that you had left Brahms in the library and suddenly, all of your attention went away from the mysterious figure. You rushed to the room, ready to apologize for taking so long to come back, which you did once you crossed the threshold of the room. It didn’t take you long to see that the paper and pen had moved on Brahms’s lap, whiles the doll had not moved an inch. Your eyes lit up in excitement as you rushed to pick the folded piece of paper up and when you saw words written on it, you couldn’t help but let out a cheery laugh. Your theory was correct. You could communicate with Brahms in a far easier way now ! You put the paper in your back pocket and you picked up the doll, a bright smile on your face as you twirled around in place a few times. Suddenly, it was like the house felt more comfortable…more homely.

*

Before you knew it, the weather started to grow colder, the leaves coloring the trees started to fall down their branches and it was already the end of October. Now that you felt completely comfortable interacting with Brahms, your job was made a lot easier and you felt a lot less lonely. When you need to ask Brahms something, you’d write it down a piece of paper, leave it on the doll, leave the room for a bit and once you’d return you’d have your answer. This could go back and forth for a bit, like you were having a friendly banter with a friend. Of course, this would not avoid Brahms’s tantrums and once he was set on something, more often than not you just plied to his demands if they weren’t too exacerbating. You were still dealing with a child after all, spirit or not. But even if everything was going well for you now, there was still one thing that bugged you. It had been months since the Heelshires left and they still hadn’t contacted you in any way, shape or form. So when Malcolm stopped by to bring the groceries, you asked him about it.

- ”Say, Malcolm,” you asked as you put away the carton of milk you held into the fridge. “Would you happen to know a way I could contact the Heelshires ? It’s been a few months now and I still have yet to hear from them.”

- ”Sorry, no I don’t. The only number I have is the home phone.” he responded, perplexed. “You really didn’t hear from them for that long ?”

You nodded, making him look pensive for a moment.

- ”That’s weird…With the other nannies, Mrs Heelshire would always call to make sure everything was fine.”

- “Maybe their vacation is out of the country and that’s why they can’t call ?”

- “That would make sense, it’s been so long since they’ve had a real vacation so they probably want to make the most of it.” suddenly, his eyes lit up. “Oh ! By the way, I got the pumpkins you asked me for.” he rushed outside to his truck, bringing back inside two big pumpkins. “I took the best ones from the market.”

You freed his arms by taking one of the pumpkins and putting it on the counter, thanking him in the process.

- ”Are you planning to cook some delights with them or are you gonna carve them up for decorations ?” Malcolm asked, putting the other one down next to the other on the counter.

- ”Both.” you started to look in the drawers and cupboards for knives, spoons and large bowls. “I’ll save some of the flesh of the pumpkins to make soups or bake something with it and the seeds to roast.” you turned back, putting all your needed tools on the counter. “But yes, I’ll carve them up to decorate a bit for Halloween, it’ll add a bit of a festive spirit around the manor, even if I doubt any trick-or-treaters will come by. I tried to find some decorations, but clearly the Heelshires aren’t the types to put festive decorations around.” you sighed, disappointed. “But I think Brahms will like a bit of color, even for just an evening.”

- ”Seems like you and Brahms are getting along pretty well. That’s good to hear.” Malcolm added, a bit of what seemed to be relief in his voice.

- ”Yeah, we are.” you smiled, laying against the counter. “What ? Did the other nannies not get along with him ? I think you mentioned to me before that I wasn’t the first to notice the strange occurrences around the house but was it that bad ?”

- ”Not exactly…” he sighed. “Look, I don’t wanna freak you out (Y/N), especially since everything is going well with Brahms, but I think you should know nonetheless." he paused, moving closer to you, his eyes staring straight into your own. "Like I told you, I’ve seen many nannies come and go and even though some of them just ended up deciding this job wasn’t for them and crossed the threshold of the main door to never come back, others just…disappeared.”

- ”Wait…disappeared ?” that word felt heavy on your tongue and for a moment you thought Malcolm was messing with you. It was October, maybe it was just an early Halloween prank. But Malcolm’s unchanging expression quickly made you realize that he was serious. “Like...“vanished into thin air” disappeared, or “they stopped working here and left before you could notice” disappeared ?”

- ”A mix of two I guess...There was this one girl that worked here two years ago, her name was…Maggie, I think ? She was looking for a summer job to save up money to go study abroad. I talked to her a couple of times when I came to do my deliveries and things seemed to go well. But the last time I saw her, she looked as if she hadn’t slept in years and she was jumpy from any noises around the house. The last thing she ever mentioned to me was that she was persuaded there was something in the walls and that she would check it out later to see if she was just imagining things or not. The next time I came for a delivery two weeks later, I saw two police officers talking to Mrs Heelshire on the front porch. Turns out Maggie was always calling her mother every evening to chat about how she was feeling and she hadn’t called for a while now, which made her mother worried sick. They searched the house but they never found any traces of her, it was like she just disappeared out of thin air.”

- “I doubt Mrs Heelshire liked having people search her home.” you said to yourself, imagining the old woman’s disapproving expression as officers searched her property top to bottom. “Did the officers try to contact the previous nannies for their statements ?”

- ”That’s the thing, from what I heard, many of the nannies were unreachable, as if they had disappeared too. I didn't ask any questions, because, well…they're my employers and I didn't want to seem rude. But things didn’t look good for the Heelshires, especially with the Emily Cribbs case still fresh in everyone’s memories.” your heart jumped when he mentioned Emily. “But in the end, they just left since there was no concrete proof against them.”

- ”Speaking of the Cribbs case…” you hesitantly spoke. “...What do you know about it ?”

- ”As much as everybody I’d say." he closed his eyes for a second, as if trying to remember some things. "But some of the theories I’ve heard people say are just absurd. Like, I once heard a lady say that the Heelshires killed the girl and their son as some sort of dark sacrifice and that was how they maintained their wealth.” Malcolm shook his head. “People will really gossip about anything these days.”

- ”And…what about you ? What do you think is the truth in all of this ?”

- ”Most likely a series of tragic accidents. The Heelshires are odd, but they’re good people.” it seemed like he was about to say something else before he looked at his watch, getting sidetracked. “Sorry, I gotta go, I still have one delivery left and I'm running a bit late.” he grabbed a pen from his jacket and picked a napkin nearby, writing something on it in haste before handing it to you. “If anything happens, here’s my number. I don’t live too far, so don’t be a stranger, okay ?”

You promised him you would, smiling and waving goodbye as he exited the mansion.

*

That night, you couldn’t manage to find sleep, turning over and over on the hard mattress of your bed, trying to find a good position to relax in. Your mind was still stuck on the conversation you had with Malcolm this afternoon, about what that nanny had told him about “something being in the walls”. She must’ve been talking about the paranormal events every nanny, including you, seems to have experienced. Or maybe it was rats that managed to sneak into the walls ? But the fact she went missing right after investigating it troubled you the most. Now that you thought about it, there was something weird about how noises from within them always followed you everywhere you went, and it didn’t seem to be linked to Brahms, as they followed you and not the doll. Could there really be something up with the wal–

Your train of thought was interrupted when you heard what seemed to be footsteps downstairs. Usually, this wouldn’t worry you anymore, you had gotten used to all of the paranormal shenanigans. But what was unusual about them was the hurried pace of the steps and the sounds of what seemed like someone rummaging around. It wasn't the slow, methodical footsteps you were now used to. You tiptoed out of bed, slowly pushing the door midway and squeezing your way out through the small opening to avoid any loud creaking noises from the old hinges. You made your way down the hallway, noticing how the door to Brahms’s room was still closed. You peeked inside, not opening the door all the way to avoid noises and saw that the doll was still sleeping in bed, like you had tucked it in earlier. Now you were starting to get worried. If Brahms wasn’t making these noises, then…who was ? The noises downstairs suddenly got louder and you heard a male voice curse as the sound of glass shattering resonated everywhere. You sneaked to the top of the staircase and when you saw what was going on downstairs, it felt as if your knees were about to give out.

Coming out of the dining room were two men, dressed in dark clothes, both with large backpacks in hand. You observed them, making sure to stay out of sight, as one of them berated the other to be more careful when handling things. You recognized the man who was now profusely apologizing to his partner in crime. It was the man who had asked you for directions a few weeks earlier. Although now he had traded his beige trench coat for a darker one and looked like a nervous wreck compared to the man accompanying him. Said man was tall, standing proud and on alert, like a wild animal. You couldn’t make up his face though, as it was obscured by the hood of his coat. The way he stood kind of reminded you of the person you had seen at the edge of the woods, the same day the man in the trenchcoat knocked at the door.

- ”You sure there’s no one here ?” the tall, hooded man asked as he approached one of the many paintings adorning the hall, examining its details carefully.

- ”Yeah, I’m sure of it.” the other responded. “I saw the owners drive away earlier today, so we’re fine.”

He must be speaking about Malcolm when he came by this afternoon. For how long had they been surveilling the house ? Had it been ever since they first came in contact with you or had you been watched for far longer ? The thought made your skin crawl. Many times you had wondered what you would do in a situation like this, alone against intruders. But no matter what scenarios you had made up in your head, there was a big difference between imagining it and actually being in the situation in question. It was like time was standing still, your blood feeling cold in your veins, your breathing growing unsteady, your feet feeling as if they were sinking into the ground. The only thought on your mind was that this couldn’t be happening. This had to be a bad dream ! You begged for it to be a bad dream. You even promised to yourself that you’d never complain about the mattress of your room anymore if you woke up in it right now. It was the pain of your nails digging in your closed palms that brought you back from your frozen state, making you stumble backwards. You managed to catch yourself before you could fall, however, that shift in weight was enough to cause the old wooden floorboards to creak, the sound bouncing on the walls of the hallway.

- ”Did you hear that ?” you heard what you thought was the hooded man speak.

- ”It’s an old house, its normal that it makes all sorts of weird noises.” the man in the trench coat added, in a tone that sounded more like he was saying this to reassure himself rather than his partner.

But it didn’t seem to satisfy the man and not even a moment later, you started to hear footsteps coming up the stairs. You knew you had little time to react and get somewhere safe, so you ran as quietly as you could to Brahms’s room, which was the closest to you. You slipped through the half opened door, your eyes immediately darting around frantically to find a hiding spot. You quickly realized to your horror that the only place available to you was underneath Brahms’s bed. One of the most cliché hiding spot possible. But when you heard that the men were now upstairs, you didn’t wait any second longer and slid under the bed. You had just enough space to squeeze yourself underneath by contracting your stomach and holding your breath. You watched as the door was slowly pushed opened, the sound of the old hinges breaking the ambient silence. A pair of boots then crossed the doorway, dirtied by mud and dirt which left a trail behind each slow step they took. The way the man moved around the room made it clear he was looking for something. Your eyes never stopped following him, the sound of your own heartbeat becoming louder in your ears when the man’s attention turned to the bed. With each step he took towards it, your body felt as if you were free falling down into an abyss, your mind feeling almost light headed. You were persuaded you were going to faint when the boots stopped inches from you. Any minute now, the man would find and drag you out of your hiding spot, you thought. Was this how you were going to die ? Away from everyone you loved, stuck in an old mansion in the countryside ?! You didn't even had time to apologize to Flora, or call your mom to ask her how she's been lately, or finish that one show you promised you’d continue, or work on achieving your dreams. No no, you refused for this to be the way you'd leave this earth. God you wished you had your phone with you right now so that you could call the police, but it was in your room down the hall and now it was evidently too late for you to go and grab it.

- ”See ? I told you it was nothing.” the man with the trench coat finally made his way in the room, sounding a bit out of breath, gaining only a grunt from his partner who, to your relief, started to move away from the bed. “Did you find anything valuable ?”

- ”Hm…” the intruder paused, before moving towards the bed again. ”This looks like something we could sell at an antique shop.”

You heard the hooded intruder pick up something from the bed, your eyes widening in horror when you realized what was the something he was talking about. You didn’t even want to entertain the idea of them dropping and breaking Brahms. If they did, then you didn’t know which fate awaiting you would be worse : getting caught by the intruders or having to face Mrs Heelshire’s wrath ? For her, it would be as if she was losing her son a second time and if the rumors were true, you didn’t want to end up like one of the previous nannies…Not to mention what would happen to Brahms’s spirit if the doll was destroyed ? Would the spirit be freed and move on or would it still roam the grounds of the house endlessly ?

It felt like an eternity before the man in the trench coat managed to convince his partner to let Brahms be, saying that they had collected enough valuables, that the doll looked so cursed no one sane would want it and that it was best to just get out of this place, mentioning how he felt like something was watching him through the walls. This caused his partner to scoff and brush off his concerns, but he still put Brahms back in his bed. The tension your body was under slowly began to melt like snow under the sun as you watched the intruders march towards the door. Maybe you did have some luck in your misfortune after all and everything would be okay. Once this was over, you'd still need to call the police and survey what was missing from the house, but with Brahms unharmed, you were sure the Heelshires would be comprehensive to some degree. Maybe they'd lose some antiques, but their son was priceless and worth a thousand silverware or original paintings and trinkets. Also it wasn't your fault burglars decided to show up in the first place and that the Heelshires didn’t have a home security system ! You were so caught in your thoughts that you didn't even notice the sigh of relief you exhaled from a breath you didn’t even realize you were still holding in. An involuntary reaction, almost inaudible to the ear.

But in the quiet of the dark, being almost inaudible is not enough to stay hidden.

You only realized your mistake once you noticed that the room had grown quiet...too quiet. Like the calm before the storm kind of quiet. The atmosphere became heavy when the dirty boots of the hooded intruder stopped in their tracks, turning around to scan the room once again. The man in the trench coat turned back as well, pressing his partner about leaving. The hooded intruder didn't answer, instead continuing to pace around the room to the exasperation of his partner. You tried to follow his movements, but it was difficult to do so when he moved out of your field of view. Although you didn't have to wait for long for him to show himself again. After a few minutes of silence, you felt a strong hand grab your ankle, yanking you out of your hiding spot. You tried to anchor yourself to anything, your nails leaving scratch marks on the floor, leaving your fingertips scraped and bloodied.

- ”I knew there was a rat hiding here.” you raised your head to meet the hooded intruder's gaze as he let go of your ankle, his mouth opened in a predatory smile that exposed yellowed teeth.

Immediately you tried to make a run for it, your fight or flight instincts kicking in full speed. But you were quickly pulled back by the intruder's hand grabbing a handfull of your hair. You screamed in pain as you fell into the intruder's arms, who quickly restrained you in a bear hug.

- “You said there would be no one at the house tonight.” you heard him say to his partner, who had screamed in surprise when you were dragged out of your hiding spot.

- ”B-But...I swear I saw a truck drive away this afternoon, so I thought that–” the man in the trench coat struggled to answer, his face turning pale at the sight of you struggling against his partner’s grip.

- ”Well clearly you thought wrong.” the hooded intruder spat out in annoyance, although you didn't know if the annoyance was due to his partner's miscalculation or him having to restrain you and your attempts to break free. No matter how you tried to use your feet to stomp on his or kick his legs, or hit his chest with the back of your head, the intruder did not flinch. It felt as if you were fighting against a marble statue. “Now what do we do with her ? We can't let her go, that's for sure. She saw our faces, she heard our voices..." the man paused, his grip tightening as you began to squirm your way around his arms. "She's a loose end."

- ”H-Hold on !" the man in the trench coat moved towards his partner with hurried steps. "I don’t know what you’re insinuating, but we are NOT here to hurt people." you were surprised to see how the man you thought was a shy, bumbling fool could get so serious and firm like this.

- "Then what are you suggesting ?" the hooded intruder asked.

- "I don't…I don’t know, we'll just tie her up somewhere and leave. By the time the police gets involved, we'll be long gone out of town."

The man in the trench coat began rummaging into his backpack, pulling out a pair of zip ties from one of its front pockets. When he began approaching you, he kept repeating for you to please not struggle and that everything would be okay in a weak attempt to calm you down. You tried to look into his eyes, pleading and looking for any amount of sympathy from him. But when you eyes met, he quickly averted his gaze in shame. He clearly didn't want to do this but he had no other options. You almost felt pity for the guy...Almost. When he got close enough, you felt the hooded intruder's grip loosen, giving you what would be maybe the only opportunity you’d have to fight back. You bended your knees to give yourself a boost and jumped upwards to hit the intruder's jaw with the top of your head. The shock and pain from it making the hooded intruder let go of you and stumble backwards, grunting in pain. The man in the trench coat eyes grew wide, moving fast to try and get a hold of your wrist. However the moment his fingers closed onto your wrist, you chomped down on his hand, your teeth digging into his flesh with ferocity. The loud screech of pain that followed felt like nails on a chalkboard to your ears, the iron taste of blood starting to fill your mouth, making you feel nauseous. Once you let go, the man in the trench coat fell to his knees, holding his injured hand against his chest whilst muttering curses behind clenched teeth, recoiled on himself like a scared child.

Unfortunately, the hooded intruder recovered quicker than you anticipated and before you knew it, he rushed towards you. It felt like you were a rabbit caught in the jaws of a wolf when the intruder pulled you back and turned you around to face him. Then came a sharp pain in your stomach that cut the wind out of you as the intruder punched your gut. For a moment, you thought your knees would give up and the contents of your stomach would be puked out all over the floor. You looked up at the man and froze when you noticed the rage in his eyes that had finally been unleashed from its shackles of patience.

- ”You crazy bitch !” then came the back of his hand hitting the side of your face so hard that your left ear began to emit a high pitch buzzing sound. "I'll show you what happens to disobedient brats."

You fell backwards into the wooden bookshelf, books falling down around you as your head slammed violently against one of the shelves, your eyes shutting tightly upon impact. When you opened them, your vision was blurry, duplicating the silhouettes of the intruders in front of you like a mirage. You felt something warm and wet drip from your nose to your upper lip, the warm crimson color of your blood staining your fingertips when you wiped it off..

The world was spinning around like a record and you were right at its center, fighting against the current to stay conscious. Not only was the world spinning, but the house felt like it was shaking, the sound of groans and creaks of wood and pipes screaming everywhere. It was like the house itself was alive and decided to show its displeasure. The men also noticed it, the hooded intruder helping the man in the trench coat up before the two of them began to look around the room. They looked like rats in a trap, trying to locate where the sounds around them came from.

- "Wha...W-What the fuck is that ?!" the man in the trench coat cowered against his partner, looking on the brink of a breakdown as his head turned frantically in all directions.

- "Didn't you mention that it was normal for an old house to make noises ?" the hooded intruder replied calmly, yet you could discern a hint of growing fear in his tone.

- "Not like that they don't !--"

The man in the trench coat was about to argue further before falling dead silent once the noises around the room came to a sudden stop, leaving the atmosphere heavy. It was so silent that you could hear a pin drop on the other side of the room. You didn't dare move a muscle, hoping that you would melt into the dark and the intruders would forget about your presence, too preoccupied by whatever sounds the house emitted. The silence didn't last long however, for footsteps began to be heard in the darkness of the room. Footsteps you were familiar with. You turned your head to your right, focusing into the darkness to keep your vision from becoming too blurry once again. What you saw emerging from it, illuminated by the small rays of moonlight peeking through the curtains, made you gasp out loud.

Coming into view, like a ghost gaining form, was a man. Your eyes widened at how much more imposing he looked compared to the hooded intruder who had handled you with ease earlier. It was hard to see any details about him with your impaired vision, but the one thing you noticed that seemed odd was how pale his face looked from afar, how it did not seem to change expression, like frozen in time. Almost like...a doll. Was it a mask he wore ? When you shuffled lightly on the floor, the pain your head was causing you, making you wince loudly, the man turned his head towards you swiftly. For a moment, you felt as if your eyes locked, even though it was hard to tell when all you could see where his eyes should be were dark sockets. You should've been terrified of the fact that another intruder, or ghost, appearing out of nowhere, but...you weren't. You could've almost sworn to see the man's posture relax when observing you so carefully, not like a predator would look at a prey, no. It was almost as if he was...mesmerized ? Could that be the right word ?

The moment was however soon broken by the hooded intruder demanding to know who was there, almost in a way to try and intimidate the man wrapped in shadows. This caused him to turn his head from you to them, his body language changing drastically to something more aggressive. The next sequence of events happened fast. The man rushed towards the hooded intruder, who managed to push the man in the trench coat out of the way before being tackled to the ground violently in a loud thud. You watched as the hooded intruder received punch after punch from your mysterious savior. Sure, he blocked some of the hits, but when you're faced with an unstoppable force, there's not much you can do about it. You heard bones crack as the fist of the man connected with the intruder's collarbone and jaw, blood spurting from his mouth along with a tooth or two. You heard him beg for the man in the trench coat to help him, his voice trembling in pain and terror. The man in the trench coat on the other hand, stood in the doorway, his chest rising up and down frantically and a hand gripping firmly onto the wooden doorframe. His mouth opened and closed, as he was trying to say something but the words remained stuck in his throat. He flinched at every punch, every bone crack and twist, staring at his partner’s face who was wet with blood and tears. Then, without warning, he ran off, dropping his backpack on the way and leaving his partner screaming for help and mercy before his voice became nothing more than a gargle after a loud, wet crunch resonated throughout the room. The intruder's body twitched for a few seconds before falling limp, only then did the man removed his hands from his neck, his breathing heavy and uneven like a wild animal. You were lucky to have your vision blurry at the moment, it spared you the sight of the gory aftermath.

You struggled to pull yourself up on your feet, using the bookshelf behind you as a ladder, your goal being to go back to your bedroom and call the police. However, you severely underestimated the state of your head injury and you could only manage to walk two steps forward before your legs gave out. Before you could crash to the ground, the man who had come to your rescue quickly took noticed of you and rushed to your side in an instant. You let out a cry of surprise when you felt one of the man's arms wrap around your waist tightly, making your body crash against his. Your gaze was met with two dark sockets staring down at you. You both stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, your body tensing in anticipation of what the man would do next. Even if he had saved you from the intruders, that did not mean he could not change his mind any minute now. When he raised his free hand towards your face, you couldn't help but flinch, your heartbeat only slowing down when you felt his hand softly cupping your cheek, his thumb wiping the dried blood from your upper lip. His touch was gentle, almost hesitant, like he didn't want to scare you into a panic. Also now that the man stood closer to you, your vision stabilized a bit and you could confirm that it was indeed a mask he wore behind the dark locks of his hair. A porcelain mask that despite some cracks and dirt here and there on it, still looked impressively done. And so familiar too...The round features...the shape of the nose and mouth...

Wait...now you got it. Who this mask reminded you of. It looked just like..

- "Br...ahms ?" you said in a weak voice, your strength finally leaving you as your vision went dark.

The last thing you felt before finally passing out was the man picking you up, holding you close against his chest as he exited the room.

Chapter Text

- ”This is ridiculous.” Brahms pouted, clenching the colored cards in his hands. “You must’ve cheated. There’s no way you could’ve won two times in a row.” he pointed at the pile of cards in front of him, as if he was presenting them as evidence of a crime.

- ”Hey, it’s not my fault I’m good.” Emily sharply responded, offended by the accusation, her face crisping into a frown. “Besides, you’re the one that wanted to play again so don’t go be a sore loser.”

Who would’ve thought that playing a card game could bring so many virulent arguments between friends…

It all started when you, Emily and Brahms decided to spend the afternoon playing some board games to pass the time since you three couldn’t go play outside due to the bad weather. Sure, it was just raining and that wouldn’t have stopped you from playing outside, you had your rain coat and rain boots at the ready, but Brahms firmly refused. When you asked why, he explained that he didn't want to risk getting his clothes dirty, or even worse, catch a cold, to avoid his mother's reprisal. Seeing the worried look hidden in his eyes, you couldn't help but wonder what his mother's anger looked like. Your mind tried to imagine the look of Mrs Heelshires icy eyes staring right through your soul, her arms crossed against her chest as she shook her head in disapointment. You couldn't help but shiver a bit at the thought and agreed to stay inside.

The Cribbs owned many games, all stacked neatly in a cupboard in the living room. From board games like Snakes and Ladders, to card games like Go Fish, they had it all. It was difficult to just pick one, but after much deliberation, you all settled on playing Uno. As you all got set around the wooden coffee table, you had to explain the rules to Brahms since he had never played it. It didn’t surprise you. As common as Uno was for many households, it wasn't to be found at the Heelshires's. You remember when you visited Brahms's home, you noticed that his parents didn’t own many games other than an old version of Monopoly that collected dust and a chess and checkers board. Not the most appealing games for a young child. Luckily for you, Brahms always picked up things quite easily and it didn't take long for him to get a hang of the rules. He even scoffed at how simple it was. You even thought that for a moment, as Emily passed the cards amongst the three of you, you saw what seemed like the shadow of an arrogant smirk appear on his face. You had to admire his confidence of thinking that victory was already within his hands.

During the first round, Brahms lost miserably.

Little did he know that Emily was an absolute monster at this game. She had no mercy, not even for you, and she did not hesitate to hit Brahms with draw fours and skip cards over and over again. You were persuaded that he would give up right there, since he is the type to always want to do something right the first time he tries it. As Emily put her last card on the pile in the middle of the table, a big toothy grin on her face as she sung the two syllables of Uno in victory, Brahms mouthed under his breath that this one didn’t count before demanding another round…which he lost, again. This time he would've walked out for sure, but when you encouraged him by saying that he did better this time than the last, it seemed to calm him down and rekindle his confidence.

- ”And mind you, I’m pretty sure (Y/N) let you off easy a couple of times.” Emily turned to you, shaking her head in disbelief. “Seriously (Y/N), I didn’t see you hit Brahms with not even ONE draw two or four the entire time. You didn't even make him skip a turn !”

- ”That’s just a coincidence.” you brushed it off as you reached to collect all the cards to neatly pile them up to shuffle, trying to act nonchalant about it all. "Besides, I don’t mind losing fair and square.”

Actually, you did mind losing and you did go easy on Brahms. Many times you were given the perfect opportunity to change the current color of the pile of cards to your advantage or free yourself from these draw four cards that itched your fingers with anticipation. But the last thing you wanted was a potential tantrum on your hands, so you decided to swallow your pride and keep the peace. You could tell Emily didn’t buy one word of what you said, but she decided to not insist further. Instead, she got up to go to the kitchen to get some refreshments for everyone. You were about to follow her to lend her a hand when you felt a tug on the sleeve of your shirt, stopping you in your tracks.

- ”Is it true what Emily said ?” Brahms asked, his tone serious. “Did you lose on purpose ?”

You looked down at the boy gripping your sleeve with his pale fingers, hesitant as to what you should say next. What was worse : telling him the truth and risk hurting his pride, or lie and risk him realizing your deception, hurting his feelings in the process. You were stuck between a rock and a hard place. You wished Emily would come back right now and change the subject. In the end, after taking a deep breath, you opted to tell him the truth. That yes, you did go easy on him because it was the first time he was playing the game and that you wanted him to have fun. You just made sure to omit the part about you acting this way was to avoid one of his tantrums at all cost.

You couldn't read Brahms's expression at first. Was he angry, sad, disappointed, all of the above ? It made you nervous and you began to try and think of something to say. But when you saw a light shade of red cover his pale cheeks as he looked down at his feet, you realized that what he was feeling was embarrassment. He was so confident to excel in the game, most likely because he's used to excel in most things he does. Not to mention that you noticed his subtle glances your way all game. You first thought that it was because he was trying to check your cards, but turns out that the reason why he was looking at you was to make sure your attention was on him when he was about to play a "genius move" to seize victory. So him learning that, actually, he had in no way, shape or form impressed you since you were already holding back your game...his ego must've been crushed at least a little bit.

- "But hey, that's not the end of the world !" you quickly stepped in to reassure him. "Just because you didn't win doesn't mean you're not smart. You're a genius when it comes to chess and I'm sure you'd mop the floor with Emily if you played against her."

- "I heard that !" you heard your cousin's voice booming in the distance from the kitchen, making you laugh.

This seemed to please Brahms and his ego. Even though he nonchalantly said that he knew he was good at chess and that you didn't need to remind him of that, the fact that it was you who gave him the compliment seemed to mean so much more to him. At that moment, Emily finally came back from the kitchen alongside your aunt, who brought a platter on which was three glasses of juice and a small bowl with some sweet snacks inside.

-"How's your game going ?" your aunt smiled, putting the platter on the table. "Are you about to start another ?"

-"Not really since Brahms is a big sore loser." Emily stated a bit arrogantly, still reeling from her victories as she reached for a glass before her mother put it away.

-"That's not very nice to say, Emily." her tone was strict, waiting for her daughter to apologize before putting the platter back into her reach.

-"I think what she means is that we were about to play something else." you said to brighten the mood as you put the cards back in their box before grabbing a handful of the sweets at your disposal.

-"Then I think I have the perfect activity for you three to enjoy that hopefully won't turn into a competition."

Your aunt disappeared out of the living room for a few minutes and came back with a big cardboard box. Once she opened its contents to show all of you, you realized it was filled with craft supplies. Colored papers, glitter pens, scissors, glue sticks, coloured pencils and markers, stickers, ribbons...a crafter's dream. There was also a book on how to make paper crafts in there, a pretty old one judging by the shape of its chewed on corners and fragile spine.

-"I used to do these all the time when I was a kid." your aunt explained, her eyes bright, as if her inner kid was taking over for a moment. "I'm sure you kids will enjoy doing some too."

She then left the three of you to your creativity. You browsed throughout the small book, checking what crafts were available to do. It was separated into three sections. The first was the novice section, which like its name suggested, contained the easiest crafts to do, like a paper plane, small stars and a few simple animal faces. The intermediate section was for those who were more familiar with paper crafts. The ones that caught your eye were the paper crane, the jumping frog and the crab. Then the master category contained the most complicated ones, like a blooming rose, a rabbit and a dragon. You each picked a craft to work on, picked the colored paper of your choice from the large pile and began to fold, often having to fight for the book to look at the instructions. You settled for the paper crane, something not too complicated but not too easy either. Emily chose to make the rabbit, one of her favorite animals. You wondered if she would be able to do it, since it was one of the hardest one to do and Emily wasn't the artsy type, but she was confident in her skills. Brahms was the last to pick, picking the rose. You watched him read the instructions very carefully, as if he was taking in the information, printing it somewhere in his brain before putting the book back. You don't even think he touched it again the moment he began to work on folding and unfolding his paper neatly.

Unsurprisingly enough, after a few tries, Emily gave up on her rabbit...or what was supposed to be a rabbit and not a messily folded square. She instead settled on making the stars from the novice section, mumbling under her breath that if the instructions had been more clear she wouldn't have had any problems finishing it. As for you, you were on your third crane, each made with a different colourful paper that you embellished with decorations and your signature on the bottom of each of their right wings to show that you were the one that made it. You tried to look at Brahms's progress, but every time you would try to take a peak, he would hide his progress, telling you he wasn't finished and shooing you away with a flick of the wrist. Eventually you gave up and returned your focus on your own project.

When you were finished, you looked at your creations with pride. Your first two cranes were both made of a matching floral paper, accentuated by a bit of glitter on the top of the wings. These you were planning to give to your aunt and uncle. The third one was made with a pink paper with white stripes, on which you glued a pretty bow around its neck. That one was for Emily and in exchange she gave you a small bag of paper stars made with a glittery paper. The last one was made with a paper that looked like a parchemin covered with musical notes, like an old sheet of music. When you picked it, Brahms made sure to mention that with the way the notes were arranged, it would only play a bunch of nonsense. You added some black rhinestones to it to add the finish touches. This one you gave to Brahms, who seemed taken aback when you handed it to him. You teased him a bit, telling him that you hoped he would accept the crane despite its incorrect musical score. That took him out of his stupor as he gently took the crane in his hands, as if it was made out of glass.

-"I'll cherish it forever." he promised to himself softly, a look of vulnerability on his face that took you by surprise. Then it hit you that since he had no friends other than you and Emily, this was potentially the first gift a friend had ever given him.

Before he had to eventually leave by the end of the day, Brahms finally showed you what his paper rose looked like. The first thing that came to mind when you saw it was how impressive it looked, each fold crisp and neat. The paper he had chosen was a textured, velvety red. He even managed to attach a stem made from a rolled up green paper, which you were pretty sure was not even in the instructions of the book. You knew Brahms was a literary and musical genius, but you didn't know he had an artistic side as well. Brahms handed it to you, his gaze averting yours as he mouthed that he made it for you. You accepted the gift with a big smile, despite Emily pouting a bit about the fact that she didn't get a rose too.

You remember putting the rose in an unused vase that your mother had laying around, displaying it in your room by your window. After Brahms and Emily's passing, it became very precious to you and you kept it as long as you could. It's probably still in your childhood bedroom back at your parent's house since you forgot to bring it with you when you left to live on your own. Sometimes, you wondered if Brahms did keep the crane you gave him or if it got lost in the fire along with him...

*

You didn't know for how long you had been unconscious. It could've been hours, days or mere moments, but when your eyes fluttered open you were laying back in the safety of your bed, tucked under many heavy quilted blankets. Your head felt as if it had been through a storm of a thousand slaps, with a sharp pain running from the base of your neck up to your skull. You groaned when the faint orangy glow of sunrise peaked through the curtains, hitting your eyes and making you pull the covers over your head. Usually you would've just slept the pain off in your makeshift cocoon of warm comfort, but right as you began feeling comfortable enough to fall back to sleep, it didn't take long for it to be disrupted by a flash of memories of last night's events. Your first thought was that it was all a dream, mostly since you were alive and well in your room, right where you fell asleep. A nightmare probably caused by all the things Malcolm told you about the nannies disappearing and other events that he witnessed over the years. It was a comforting and logical explanation.

But those memories felt too real to be just a dream.

You could almost still hear the sound of thundering heartbeat in your ears as you hid under the bed in Brahms's room, the sound and pain of your nails scraping on the floor as you were dragged out of your hiding spot, the iron taste of blood filling your mouth when you bit one of the trenchcoat wearing intruder's hand, the air being knocked out of your lungs when his accomplice punched your stomach, the wild rage in his eyes when he backhanded you so hard you fell backward as if you just had been hit with a brick, the pain of the impact your head made with the bookshelf traversing through your body like lightning...

No, it couldn't have been a dream.

Although, your memories starting from the point your head hit the bookshelf became blurry. You remember bits and pieces, like an incomplete puzzle. The only piece that shone bright in the fog of confusion was the masked man who came to your rescue. But it was also the part of your memories that your mind had the most difficulty making sense of. For every question that popped into your head about him, two more appeared. First of them was : who was that man ? Clearly he wasn't with the two intruders, otherwise he would not have helped you out. But if he wasn't with them, then what the hell was he doing in the house ? Where did that man even come from ? It was like he just appeared from the darkness. And the mask he wore...why did it look like a carbon copy of Brahms's face ? Why would anyone have a life-sized mask of a child that died years ago ? You do remember Malcolm telling you how Emily and Brahms's passing was the talk of town for ages and you know that some people have an interest in true crime cases...But would someone really break into a house, wearing the mask of a child victim, just to satisfy their curiosity over a cold case ? But then again, you did take the nanny job from the Heelshires just to find clues about what happened to Emily...

Suddenly, an old memory came flooding in. The night Flora and Miles came to visit, you saw the shape of someone hiding in Brahms's room that you first confused for Miles and they disappeared in the shadows in the blink of an eye. Was it him you saw in the dark ? Had he broken into the house multiple times before without you knowing ? When you heard those footsteps at night, was it him ? A cold sweat ran down your spine at the realization of this possibility. All that thinking was all well and good, but now that you thought about it, there was one thing that you needed to do immediately and that was call the police to report everything you experienced. Hopefully none of the intruders or the masked man had stolen anything, especially Brahms. If he was to be taken, the Heelshires would kill you that's for sure and you'd join the list of missing nannies that reside in the unsolved case folder of the police's system--

CREAK

You paused your reasoning, holding your breath to ensure complete silence in the room. Silence that had been broken by the meek sound of the floorboards creaking. At first you thought that it was just because you shifted on the bed, but when the floor creaked again, you knew you weren't the cause of the sound. You peeked from the safety of your pile of covers and started to survey around your small bedroom. It didn't take long before you thought you saw something move in the corner of your eye, swiftly, like a cat trying to hide. By that time, you had fully raised your head from the covers to get a better look. You didn't see it at first, only shadows broken by some rays of light. But soon enough, the presence in the shadows made itself known when it tried to discreetly move out of sight.

Maybe it was because of your still half asleep mind, but you didn't react at first. But once the alarm bells began to ring loudly in your head, your body acted on its own and you almost jumped out the bed, throwing the quilted covers on the ground in the process. Before you could scream however, the figure bolted towards you and covered your mouth with their hand, pushing you back against the hard mattress of the bed. Your panicked state made you struggle against their firm, yet surprisingly gentle grasp, their hushed pleas for you to calm down falling on deaf ears. Your eyes shut tight and the memories of your interaction with the intruders came back. Was it one of them, were they back to finish the job ? You felt like you were about to pass out when, after what felt like an eternity, a familiar voice softly called to you.

-"(Y/N)..."

Your body became as stiff as a statue when you heard it...

That childish tone that was still so fresh in your memory. Your eyes opened hesitantly and when you saw the white porcelain face of Brahms hovering over you, you first thought the doll had come to life. But once your vision cleared, you saw that it wasn't the doll, but a man wearing a mask of the doll. Your masked savior to be precise. Aside from the mask, you recognized the dark, messy curls adorning his head as he looked down at you and his imposing stature. Despite how close you both were, you still couldn't make out his eyes behind the black slits of the mask, almost as if there was no face underneath it at all. Seeing how you seemed to finally have calmed down, the man released his grasp on you, removing his hand from your mouth and taking a step back from the edge of the bed to give you space. You raised yourself to be in a sitting position and stared at him for a good moment, your mouth opened agape in shock. You tried to speak but words were stuck in the back of your throat. Did...did that man just say your name ? No, wait, that's not the thing that should alarm you right now.

How was that man able to replicate Brahms's voice ?

It was a perfect imitation, with the same pattern of speech and tone. It was uncanny. You knew that it was possible for people to mimic voices, you had seen it before on television with ventriloquists and magicians. But was it possible to the point of copying a voice so perfectly ? It wasn't just a mimic of Brahms's voice, it was Brahms's voice. The only way that man could've known how to copy his voice so perfectly meant that he had to have known Brahms when he was alive. Was he a childhood friend, one that was so affected by Brahms's death that he became obsessed with it to the point of breaking into his parents'house wearing a mask of his face ? No, it's unlikely. Brahms didn't have any friends beside from you and Emily, so he would've needed to have made that friend in the short window between the end of summer where you left and the time of his death. But even if he was a childhood friend or just an obsessed fan of the crime case, it doesn't explain how he knew your name or could copy Brahms's voice to the point it was like he was standing right in front of you.

Wait...unless...

-"Wha..."

You whispered in disbelief as your heart began to race in your chest, your head began to spin. It was an insane idea, a theory straight from the mind of a mad man and yet...Something in you told you that it could be true.

-"Are you...Brahms ?"

When he heard your voice, he froze for a moment, his breath seemingly stolen away. It was like your voice put him in a daze and lost him in his own head. Soon enough, he seemed to come back to reality and you could catch the slight nod of his head, his body language translating into what a nervous child would act like. How you wished you could see what was going on inside his head right now. Was he afraid of your reaction, of you not believing him ? Would you run away, be angry at him ?

You stared at him like a deer in headlights for a good moment, which seemed to make the man even more on edge. Probably because of the awkward silence that followed. Instinctively, you pinched the skin of your forearm to confirm that you were truly awake right now, the sharp pain that followed confirming that you had both feet in reality.

-"...Holy shit I'm not dreaming." You whispered to yourself, your head seemingly starting to spin faster now.

Brahms was alive.

The more you repeated that statement in your mind, the more it confused you. How was that possible ? He had been declared dead years ago, there even was a funeral. But then again, you remember the news articles mentioning that they never found a body, unlike with Emily. It was just assumed Brahms had died due to the severity of the fire, if not by the flames then from asphyxiation, leaving his body to burn to ashes. But if he was alive all of this time, why would the Heelshires make a doll in his image that they treat like their own son ? Are they even aware he's still alive ? How did he even survive the fire ? Why was he wearing a mask ? Maybe you were wrong about everything ? Maybe that man was just going with it to avoid getting in trouble, and yet...

You opened your mouth to ask a question, but all you mustered was a dry cough. Your throat was starting to feel as if you had swallowed sand, making it hoarse and painful. Oh how you would kill for some water right now, doesn't even need to be ice cold too, just anything to ease discomfort. As if reading your mind, the masked man reached for something on your nightstand to hand it to you. You jumped back a bit in surprise of his sudden action, but when you saw what he reached for, you relaxed. It was a large glass of water, one that he must likely had put there for when you would wake up. You stared at it for a good minute before finally taking it. In the process, your fingers slightly brushing against his, a move that you swore made him shiver and almost drop the glass as he recoiled his hands. Its surface felt cool against your fingertips, the droplets of condensation running on the side feeling like rain drops racing down a window. You didn't even hesitate to drink it in one go, the liquid feeling divine as it fell down your throat. You could imagine your mother's disapproving look right now, her who drilled in your head to not accept any drink from strangers. But if the man in front of you was Brahms, then he wasn't a stranger and wouldn't do anything to you. You closed your eyes, savoring the moment of delight.

-"Thank you..." you spoke, your voice now sounded clearer as you put the glass back on the nightstand.

This seemed to satisfy the man, who seemed to relax a bit. Before he could turn away and leave, you couldn't help but call out to him, making him stop in his tracks. You hesitated, thinking over and over about if what you were about to do was a good idea. But you had to be sure. You had to.

"If...If you really are Brahms...then can you prove it to me ?"

You knew it was a risky thing to ask. You knew that, in the case the man in front of you was an imposter, that question could potentially trigger him to become hostile and drop the charade, which could put you in danger. But your instinct told you that you were right, you felt it in your bones. The man did not react, but you could see his hands nervously clench and unclench, as if thinking about what to do next by calculating all the possible outcomes. Eventually, he turned back to face you, taking a few steps towards you before kneeling to be at eye level with you. His hand reached for something in the pocket of his cardigan, something which he then gently put in the palm of your hand. Your eyes widened in shock when you saw what it was.

It was a small paper crane. The paper had yellowed a bit due to the passage of time, but the musical pattern on it still felt fresh in your mind, along with the rhinestones that added a bit of shine, although you could tell some had fallen off. When you saw your name signed underneath its right wing, you recognized it. You made that crane. You made it for Brahms. At that moment, you knew there weren't any doubts left. As crazy as it seemed...

It truly was Brahms in front of you and before you even knew it...

Everything was about to change.