There was no sound and no light in the room. It was a small room with a bed in the middle and haphazardly arranged furniture of only the barest minimum. The clock on the bedside table with its garish red light glared, and the time changed by a minute. And while the world was still, the dreams came.

India knew this was a dream, but she couldn’t seem to pull herself out of it. She looked around the room that she’d had for almost four years. The room slowly morphed into a different room with rich expensive furniture. Her heart thudded sharply, and she swallowed, hoping that it would give her time to calm down. The dreams always began like this—the richly furnished room of her mother’s house and a cesspool of memories she would have been happier without. And just like every other time, the dream pulled her away from her room with its clean floors and fresh air, dragging her across the hall to the smell of blood, tangy and metallic. She whimpered in her throat, pinching herself, hoping to wake up, but to no avail, the doors opened wide with an ominous creak, and she saw the blood. Thick, red, congealing against the hardwood floors. A scream stuck in her throat, refusing to leave. She shivered, goosebumps dotting her skin.

“I’ve seen enough. I don’t want to see it anymore,” she begged. Hoping that the force that drew her to this room would leave her be, but the dream wasn’t done until she’d seen the end. Tears slipped from her eyes, and she stifled a sob. Like always, she saw feet, then legs, and hands. Finally, revealing a face streaked with blood, two bodies lined next to each other side by side, but today, unlike the other times, there was a third body. She swallowed deeply and crept toward its hands, stretched to turn the body around. She put her hand on its shoulder and turned it around. The scream that had bubbled in her throat escaped when she saw her face staring back at her.

“Don’t be a coward,” the body mouthed. 

With a silent scream, India jerked awake. She glanced around the room, her heavy breathing filling the silence. It was dark outside, but she wouldn’t fall asleep again. She sighed. She should be used to it by now. The dreams had been a permanent part of her life ever since the horrible events of her past—a past she had never come out from the same.

Standing from her bed, she stripped off the t-shirt and boyshorts she had on. She walked a few steps to the bathroom and slid open the door. Turning on the shower, she got under it and let the chill of the water clear the remaining fog of the horrible dream. When she was sufficiently awake and shivering, she took her towel and wrapped it around her body. She left the bathroom and sat on her bed. 

The clock turned six thirty, and she could see the streams of light working their way into her bedroom. The darkness that had filled the room was now interspersed with light. 

Sometimes India wished the darkness would never end because while it boasted of monsters, you were always aware of them. The dawn only hid them so they could hurt you. She glanced at her phone machine, which was full, and she pressed to play. A few messages came from companies looking to sell something, the last one from a lawyer. Her mother’s lawyer, it seemed.

“Miss Kadnnon, I’m calling to inform you about the Gresville manor—” she pressed stop on the machine and stood. She’d been trying to outrun that place, and she pressed play again.

“We would like to see you and discuss your plan for the property...” 

He rambled on, but she missed more words than she heard. Silence filled the room, and she didn’t make a move to fill it. She couldn’t, anyway. Besides, she was tired of crying, and that seemed to be all that was left to do. She’d thought the past was gone as well as its hold on her, but it seemed the past was here to collect.

***

The town looked the same. Gresville had its charm, a small community of about a thousand people when she’d last lived here. It was closer to nature than any other place, as its welcome signs boasted. 

When her mother had moved them here, it was so she could be the belle of the society. To her, though, it was the same miserable place where she had lost her happiness and normalcy. 

The taxi had dropped her right in front of the manor. The Gresville manor had been the joy of her mother. She had boasted about being able to buy a house that belonged to an aristocrat—a  luxurious summer home. India would snort if the sound left her throat. Tugging her coat around her frame, she gripped her bag tightly and climbed up the stairs. She heaved a sigh, her chest rising and falling slightly, pushed the key into the lock, and turned it. It made a sharp click, and she pushed open the door and went in.

It still looked the same, with dark furniture mixed in with artifacts that ranged from medieval to mystical. Anything that was expensive and tasteful that her mother got her hands on was displayed in the home. 

She caught a glimpse of the Darkling, a painting her mother had been fond of. She strode in, abandoning her bag at the door. It thumped behind her. She walked further inside, memories flashing behind her eyelids like a vivid wet painting. 

She could smell blood—a rusty smell that was likely her mind playing tricks on her, reminding her of what had happened here long ago. She drew her fingers over the banister as she climbed the stairs. It came away stained with dust. She could hear the whispers of her childhood calling to her, even as the past tried to wrap gnarly fingers around her. 

She steeled herself to enter her mother’s room, a sacred ground that she had never entered in all the years her mother had been alive. Her fingers wrapped around the knob she stalled, her grip flexing against it. Tightening until her fingers turned white and then loosening periodically.

Turning the knob, she opened the door. It was a room made for a queen and likely fit her mother to a T. An ornate headboard and fine silk sheets in the deepest red. She shivered, the hair at the back of her neck standing on end, staring at the mirror on the wall above the bed. The glass shone, and a face appeared sad and drawn.

“Why did you kill us? Why?” it moaned, blood dripping from its eyes, black and sticky like tar. All at once, voices roared louder and stronger,  the dead wailing in their sorrow and their grief for justice and revenge. Scrambling away, India pulled the door shut, collapsed on the floor, and let out silent sobs that racked her whole frame. She should have ignored the lawyer. Why did she come back here?