Nesting (Demonic Games Book 1)

by Sara Clancy

  “Don’t mind me, Bunica, you were doing great.”

  His smile dropped as the door swung wider. The space before him was filled with clutter. Odd objects, furniture and forgotten things were stacked into almost every available space. It broke the sunlight into shards and splayed deep shadows across the floor and walls. A grand piano stood alone in the middle of the room.

  “Hello?” he called before huffing a breath. What’s Romanian for hello? How did I forget that? “Grandma? Bunica?”

  The room clung to its silence as he inched his way towards the piano. He checked the keys, his brow furrowing to find a thick layer of undisturbed dust still settled upon the ivory. It was impossible for someone to play a piece like that without smearing it. Unable to believe what he was seeing, he reached out and tapped one of the keys. The small internal hammer swiftly hit the string and released a resonating tone. A small cloud rose up from both points of contact, thick enough that he could smell it. He could feel the particles on the pad of his fingertip.

  Presented with the physical proof, he looked helplessly around the room again. A castle this size must have a few musical instruments. And sound does carry around here. The key lurched under his finger. He threw himself back, watching in horror as the slips of ivory continued to dip and pound, controlled by unseen fingers. The deafening music rang in his ears, leaving no doubt that he was hearing it. Seeing it.

  He bolted for the door.

  Grabbing the handle as he passed, he slammed the door shut behind him and barricaded it with his body. The music cut off instantly. Without it, his heartbeat sounded like a thundering drum. He didn’t dare move. Not while a part of him still expected whatever was in there to try and battle its way out.

  But there was only silence.

  Swallowing thickly, he tried to calm down enough to think this through. A slight hiss made him look down to see a slip of wood sliding out from under the door and between his legs. A Ouija board. Mihail broke into a sprint. He had no idea where he was going. But he knew he wasn’t going to stop until his body gave out.

  Chapter 3

  Mihail managed to stagger a few more steps before his legs threatened to give out. Grabbing the nearest solid item, he tried to brace himself as he sunk down onto the floor. Still huffing for breath, his legs crumbled and he slumped down with a painful thump. A fine sheen of sweat covered his face as he let his eyes close and dropped his head back. Whatever he was leaning against gave a metallic ring at the impact.

  “Mihail?”

  He snapped his head up to find Draciana standing before him. How does she keep sneaking up on me? Shaking off the thought, he forced a smile and struggled back to his feet. Despite his determination, his legs were still like rubber and his lungs were on fire, so the cabinet behind him had to take most of his weight. It was a bigger struggle to hold on to his smile, but he forced himself to do it. No point in scaring her, he told himself. You don’t know what just happened. Don’t scare her.

  “Hey, Bunica,” he said.

  Hesitantly, she cast a glance around the room. Mihail used the opportunity to check the surroundings as well. Somehow, he had managed to find the kitchen. Compared to the other rooms, this was almost claustrophobic. The roof was low, arching down to the floor to make a tunnel instead of actual walls. Mihail reasoned that they must have been under the castle itself, because it seemed like the whole room had simply been chiseled out of one slab of stone. The heavy wooden cabinet he was leaning against was just one of a long row that ran the length of the room. On the other side, space was gouged out for the electronics. Some time ago, the castle had been outfitted with the basic appliances, all of their slick, back surfaces dulled under layers of dust. Bunica Draciana obviously avoided the space. He couldn’t understand why. It was the first room he had found that was actually warm.

  Mihail’s attention was brought back as Draciana made her way across the room to the deep sink. Unlike his bathroom, there hadn’t been any attempt to make the faucet pretty. She turned a tap and a thin slip of stone slid aside, allowing a stream of water to gush out. As she filled a glass, Mihail hurried to stand beside her and get a closer look. What is the pipe structure in this place? he wondered. And now that he thought of it, he couldn’t understand how there could be electricity this far in the middle of nowhere. He remembered reading in a guidebook about a few rural towns forced to go without.

  Draciana shoved the glass at him while she turned off the tap. Drinking without thought, he watched as the stone slid back into place and cut off the stream. He could even hear the brickwork grinding together. Turning to her, he quickly thanked her for the drink, remembering half a second later that this too would have to be translated. At least he knew that one.

  She nodded, a small smile crossing her face, and she reached up and patted his arm. Age had made her skin so delicate that he could feel each bone as she squeezed. A thought hit him and had him scrambling in his pocket for his mobile. Unable to use it on the plane, he had shoved it into his backpack and had forgotten about it. He was glad he had. It spared it from being in his pocket when he had fallen into the lake. With a few clicks, he connected to the Wi-Fi. His first thought was to have a talk with her about internet safety. The second was utter confusion as to how he managed to get such a strong signal. Both thoughts were put aside as he pulled up a translator app.

  The night before he left his boarding school, one of his friends had downloaded it for him. At the time, he had been offended that no one believed he would be able to master his native tongue. Now, he had made a mental note to thank his friend in his next email. Draciana watched him with curiosity as he typed in a message. He hit the button to translate before he thought better of his message. ‘Is this place haunted?’ might not be the best question with which to start their interactions. Maybe pick something that doesn’t make her question your sanity, a voice in his head said. He changed the text to ‘I don’t suppose you have a map for this place’.

  Mihail held the phone steady as she peered at the screen, reading the translated message. The smile that spread across her face made her features light up. She gave him an amused look and shook her head. Encouraged, he quickly typed another message.

  ‘I was looking for the front door’.

  This time, she released a breathy laugh. It was hard to properly spell the few words she spoke, even as she over pronounced them for him, but with a bit of fumbling he was relatively sure she was teasing him about being really lost. He smiled at her and helplessly shrugged. It made her laugh again.

  With the aid of the app, they managed to lumber through a conversation. Since she refused to type, there was some miscommunication. But it didn’t take long for her to develop the habit of looking at him after reading the messages. Expectantly, she would just smile, not replying until he read the words out. Mihail thought that his pronunciations were close. Draciana, however, was quick to laugh at him. Then, she would begin the process of correcting him. Only after he had managed to wrap his lips around the foreign sounds would she get around to answering.

  The technique made even the simplest question take ten minutes, but helped him to shake off the anxiety that simmered in his blood. Now, in the warmth of the kitchen, laughing with his grandmother, it was hard to believe that he had seen what he thought he had. Jetlag, he decided. Or stress. After all, he’d been through a lot lately. The flight from Vermont alone had been ten hours. Add to that the taxi ride out here, and it was obvious he was sleep-deprived. He was starting to think he hadn’t been pushed off of the battlement. He had just fallen asleep from exhaustion.

  With this realization in mind, he asked his grandmother if she had any coffee. She patted his arm and bustled to a little doorway carved out of the far corner of the room. A perfectly circular room stood beyond. A pantry with floor to ceiling shelves. Every bit of shelf space was taken up by perfectly organized produce. There was more than enough room for him to follow, but he was starting to feel his own exhaustion, so opted for leaning
against the doorframe and looking in. The shelves were broken up by two doors. When she opened one to retrieve some milk, he could see that the walk-in fridge was just as full as the pantry. He could only think that the freezer would be the same.

  The sight made his smile falter for a moment. Piecing together the few things his mother had let slip over the years, Draciana wasn’t a stranger to hunger. He couldn’t prove it, but he was sure that his great-grandparents had been Romanian, and had faced the same fate that most gypsies had when the Nazis came to power. No one told him how Draciana had been spared, but his mother had mentioned an orphanage once or twice. Mostly, she described how Draciana’s attitudes about food had been passed on to her. Always have a stockpile. Eat everything on your plate. Never waste a crumb. Mihail had never been faced with that kind of hunger, and he was sure that starvation wasn’t the worst of what Bunica Draciana had faced. The few stories he had heard of Romanian orphanages back then made them seem like a special layer of hell.

  Draciana reemerged from the fridge and Mihail forced himself to grin brightly. “Multumesc.”

  By her answering smile, he knew that he had finally learned to pronounce ‘thank you’ correctly. Moving swiftly past him, she started getting together the bean grinder and brushing the dust off the espresso machine. All this food and she never uses the kitchen, he thought. A new notion made him smile and he quickly typed out a message, asking when she would want dinner. She waved him off dismissively, almost rolling her eyes at the notion. It took him a while to convince her that he was a good cook. First, he had to explain that his school offered a culinary course as an elective. Then, that he had been at the top of his class since he was ten. And finally, he just took to reminding her that the entire reason he was here was to make her life easier. He was a glorified maid and the kitchen was now his domain. This last bit made the elderly woman roll her eyes. Still, she reached up and smooshed his cheeks. One swift pull and she dragged him down enough to plant a kiss on his forehead.

  She said something to him as she gracefully swept out of the room. It took him a while to properly translate it. Having only heard it once, trying to spell it out was like the world’s most annoying game of Scrabble. In the end, he was relatively sure that he had won the debate. She wanted an early dinner, and she was going to pass the time by drawing up that map he had jokingly asked for. Feeling rather proud of himself for his detective skills, he lowered his phone and felt his heart give a throb.

  He was alone again.

  Even as the evidence was gathering around him, Mihail was having a hard time admitting that he wasn’t finding the solitude as easily as he thought he would. Truthfully, he had never been alone before. Every building he had been in had always been filled with people and noise. Teachers, other students, cleaners, and roommates had cluttered his life to the point that he had never really experienced silence. Real silence. The kind that made his ears ring and turned the slightest sound into a roaring boom. And he was starting to suspect that he wasn’t exactly built for it.

  Of course, it’s going to be an adjustment, he told himself. Food and a good night sleep will make everything seem better. Still, he pulled out his phone and turned on some music. The dome-shaped roof of the kitchen nurtured the sound perfectly. If he closed his eyes, he could swear that the symphony was in the room with him. The familiar songs helped him breathe a little easier. He took a sip of his coffee and breathed deep. It was strangely indulgent to have coffee in a mug of bone china, and it also made it far more enjoyable; as though the coffee tasted better. This is going to be good, he promised himself as he was forced to push aside his intruding thoughts. He was too tired to even begin unraveling the things he had been seeing. It’s your first night here. Have a good meal, get some sleep, and everything will make sense in the morning.

  By the time he finished his coffee, he had convinced himself that it was true and was looking forward to showing off his skills a little. Putting the mug in the deep sink, he headed back into the pantry. He perused the shelves of fresh produce, the canned goods, dried spices. The fridge and freezer were stocked with every kind of meat, poultry, and fish. Anything he could think up, no matter how obscure, he would eventually discover on the shelves. And it was all perfect. There wasn’t a single sign of wilting or decay. Not so much as a spot on an apple. Warmth bubbled up inside him as he looked over the massive amount of produce. They couldn’t possibly eat it all, but Bunica Draciana had ordered it anyway. He figured that the only reason for her to subject herself to it was that she wanted to make sure that his tastes were tailored to. It seemed like the whole pantry was a giant welcome sign just for him.

  Deciding to return the gesture with the best meal she ever had, Mihail piled up some items in his arms and headed back into the kitchen. Already looking around to try and decide where she would have the pots and pans hidden away, he dumped the items onto the counter near his phone. The sudden crash made dread seep into his stomach. He had just bought the phone and doubted he could replace it around here. It was still playing. That was a good sign. Fetching his lucky button, he held it in his hand and refused to look.

  “Please let it be okay,” he said before peeling open one eye and glancing down.

  Fractured shards that had once been a fine china mug were scattered across the floor. He winced. That antique cup probably cost more than his phone. Crouching down, he collected a few of the larger shards and dumped them in the sink. They could wait there until he found where the bin was. Confusion made him pause as he found himself looking down at the empty metal sink. Where’s the mug? The thought bubbled in his mind as droplets wet his fingers. He flipped the shards over in his hands, noticing the dark droplets of coffee that dripped from the edges. But I put it in the sink. It was impossible for it to have dropped. Impossible for it to get to the other side of the room. Not unless someone threw it.

  The idea made him spin around. He pressed back until the edge of the sink dug into his spine, but he still felt exposed. Everything was still, just as it had been. He was the only one there. Or at least it looked that way. But then, it had looked that way before. You’re freaking out over nothing, the more rational part of his mind chirped.

  He hated to admit it, but all of this seemed like decent proof that his teachers were right. Mihail didn’t pay attention, so he was always caught off guard. He could almost hear his principal now. He would have a field day with all of this. Did someone push you, Mihail, or were you distracted and tripped? Did you even think to check if your ‘haunted’ piano was the self-playing kind? And, of course, his favorite line, the one he had heard at least once a week for the majority of his life; thinking you did something is not the same as actually doing it, Mihail. Chuckling to himself, Mihail was grateful that he hadn’t said anything to Bunica Draciana. It allowed him to keep a little bit of his dignity. Finding a kitchen towel, he went back to cleaning up the smashed mug.

  ***

  During the hours he spent cooking, Mihail made a game out of trying to find a single item that was cheap. Something, anything, which was made of plastic, or was already chipped. The game carried on into the dining room. Even the cutlery was real silver. It made him grateful that he had set out to impress. Pizza wouldn’t have exactly looked proper sitting upon the gold trimmed plates. As they finished eating, Mihail made a mental note to take some pictures of them when his grandmother wasn’t around. He wanted to brag but didn’t want to explain that to her.

  She had suggested taking their dessert to the sitting parlor. Given his increasing exhaustion, and propelled by his happily full stomach, he had readily agreed and crossed his fingers for a reclining sofa chair. No such luck. Now, as he sat on the loveseat and resisted the urge to put his feet up, he was starting to see why he had been sent away so soon. The place wasn’t exactly child friendly. Bunica Draciana took her last spoonful of the homemade ice-cream and placed her crystal bowl onto a nearby table. The smile she gave him made it clear that she had approved of the meal, and he damn near
beamed with pride.

  Holding up one finger, she reached into the breast pocket of her bear coat and pulled free a slip of paper. He almost laughed as he took it. Of course she’s an artist, he thought, glancing over the floor plans. The lines and shadings were so perfect that they popped out the page like a 3D display. Two floors were displayed on each side of the paper. That surprised him. Running around blind, it seemed like there had been a lot more. She pointed out where they were now and the quickest ways to get to his room and the front door. It took a while, but he managed to get her to label the more important spaces. He failed, however, to even find the storage room with the piano on the map.

  They listened to her records, bonding over the fact that they had very similar tastes, and he even convinced her to take a few selfies that he could send to his parents tomorrow. She was reluctant at first. But a few photographs in and she became absolutely fascinated by Snapchat; especially the dog filter.

  All too soon, Bunica Draciana began to yawn. While he was reluctant to have their first day together end just yet, he couldn’t deny that he was starting to feel the strain too. He didn’t argue when she offered to make sure that he got back to his room okay. As they climbed the stairs, it struck him again how easily she moved. There was no need to help steady her, and the long staircase wasn’t enough to make her strain. It made him think that she hadn’t asked him to come because she needed the assistance. She just needed company.

  This time, she set a lazy pace, giving him time to look around and take note of things he could use to orient himself later. Now that the night had settled in, the silver gargoyles glowed with a ghastly beauty, drenching the halls in platinum moonlight. As they reached his bedroom door, Mihail turned to say his goodnights and found his grandmother’s attention captured by the massive portrait on the other side of the door. It was impossible for Mihail to miss the physical similarities he shared with the man. Grandpa, a sorrowful voice in his head whispered. He clenched his teeth to try and keep in all the questions that wanted to rush free. What was he like? Did anyone ever find out what happened to him? Why won’t anyone talk about him? When Bunica Draciana turned to him with a soft, sad little smile, Mihail knew he had made the right choice to keep his silence.