empty halls

    Painted sat at a table. It was long, empty. Made of some kind of dark wood and coated with a shiny finish. She could see some of her reflection in it, a vague silhouette. She hadn’t looked in a mirror in a long time. Every time she saw herself, she saw her mother’s face; The face of the woman she sent to prison for life. 

    The old house was empty and quiet and dark, like it had been for the past few months. Most of their assets had been seized. After all, almost all of the money wasn’t theirs. The house stayed, though, in her father’s name. It had been in the family for years, longer than anyone could remember. They hadn’t managed to pin anything on him yet, though they were probably working on it. He had disappeared shortly after her mother’s trial and hadn’t showed up since. She figured she wouldn’t see him again. At least, not until he ended up on a newspaper headline. The false facade of a proper family had been the only thing keeping him around, and now that was gone. 

    She tore her gaze away from the silhouette, deciding to stare out a window instead. The silence was deafening. She didn’t like hearing her own thoughts so clearly. She wasn’t even sure why she had come back to the house— She knew it would be empty and barren and cold. It had never brought her comfort, yet she expected to find exactly that here. She let out a long sigh and learned forwards, resting her arms on the table and burying her face in them. 

    Suddenly, she heard the familiar sound of something bang against the door. 

    She shot up, startled. She stumbled out of her chair, nearly tripping and falling onto the ground. It definitely wasn’t a knock, and it couldn’t be a mistake. No one came here. The news of her mothers arrest and the firm’s downfall had been plaguing the media for weeks. The house was a staple of the family and had been for years, with its elegant exterior practically putting their wealth on display. Everyone knew it, and they avoided it like a bad luck charm. 

    Another loud bang. 

    Someone was trying to get in.

    Painted was frozen. She was on the second floor, and the bangs were coming from the first. There was no way out. Not unless she wanted to risk going down there and slipping out of another door. The back door was close by, just down the other set of stairs, but she couldn’t force herself to take a single step towards them. 

    Another.

    She quickly ran up to the third floor, ducking into an empty room. She closed the door and locked it. She stood there by the door, grasping onto the handle as tightly as she could. She tried to steady her breathing. She couldn’t tell how successful her attempts were, as she could hardly hear anything over her own heartbeat in her ears. She tried to rationalize the noises in her head— Maybe it was her father, or maybe even Madison or Basil. She doubted it. None of them would come back here willingly, even if they thought the house was empty. No one should’ve known she was here. Suddenly, she felt like a criminal, standing there in a home that didn’t belong to her. 

    Finally, the banging stopped, replaced by faint footsteps. Then talking. She pressed her ear against the door, trying to make sense of the stranger’s muffled words. She couldn’t tell if there were multiple voices, but it sounded like it. Or maybe that was just her own paranoia. The voices were so distant she couldn't understand any of it.