Father, please do not abandon me with the new maternal figure. She arrives to engage in malevolent activities. The young girl’s voice was scarcely audible, yet it resonated more profoundly than any scream.

The rain drummed on the windowpane in a ceaseless cadence, a lullaby for some, but not this evening. Michael positioned himself in the corridor adjacent to his daughter’s bedroom, the door slightly open. The illumination from the corridor cascaded into the room in a golden shaft that illuminated her diminutive bed. Lena, his six-year-old daughter, sat upright beneath the covers, wide-eyed and grasping her teddy rabbit. Her voice quivered as she gazed at him, harbouring a terror that no child of her age ought to have. “What do you imply, dear?” Michael entered the room and crouched beside her. “Mother adores you.” “That is not Mother,”

Lena remarked, her hold on the plush bunny intensifying. “That is the new mother.” The individual you wed subsequent to Mother’s passing. She resembles her, yet she is not. Michael experienced a sensation of nausea. This was not the first occasion on which Lena had made a similar remark after his remarriage. Following the death of his wife Sarah in a vehicle accident two years prior, he was profoundly affected, struggling to maintain composure for Lena’s benefit. However, Elise arrived—a compassionate and astute woman who assisted him in reconstructing the fragmented aspects of his existence. She relocated six months prior. Initially, circumstances were favourable. Subsequently, the nightmares commenced. “She arrives at night,” Lena murmured, her gaze darting towards the wardrobe in the corner. “During the absence of light.”

She opens the wardrobe and converses with an individual within. Subsequently, she undergoes a transformation. Michael directed his attention to the wardrobe. It appeared unremarkable—merely a wooden door with a brass handle. He rose, approached, and yanked it open. No content available. Garments displayed orderly, footwear organised in pairs. No anomalies detected. No concealment. Nevertheless, the room abruptly felt colder. Darling, he murmured softly, “there is nothing in the closet.” It may have been a dream. Lena asserted, “It is not a dream.” I concealed myself there once. I observed a transformation in her expression. It elongated… and her eyes became obsidian. She was unaware of my observation. She conversed with the man in the darkness. He resides within the wall behind the wardrobe. Michael became immobile. Behind the wardrobe was only aged plasterboard and a masonry chimney stack from the living room beneath.

There was no “man in the wall”; at least, there ought not to be. That night, Michael scarcely slumbered. Elise reclined beside him in bed, serene, exhaling gently. Her presence was soothing, her arm draped across his chest. However, his daughter’s voice reverberated in his mind like a malediction. “Please do not abandon me with the new mother…” The following day, Elise prepared cookies with Lena in the kitchen. She appeared to be ordinary, even content. Lena smiled, although her gaze locked with Michael’s, conveying a silent plea: Do not be deceived by her performance. That evening, when the house became silent and night descended once more, Michael stood in the hallway, gazing at Lena’s door. He needed to be informed. He needed to ascertain the source of his daughter’s fear. He discreetly opened her door. Lena was in slumber. The wardrobe was closed. Michael entered quietly, his heart racing. He opened the closet and, contrary to every rational thought, ascended inside. The room was confined, scarcely sufficient for him to crouch behind the suspended garments. He remained in anticipation. Time elapsed. Subsequently, the bedroom door emitted a creak. Gentle footfalls. The voice of Elise. Melodious, kind, and erroneous. “It is time to awaken, dear child.” Lena stirred and spoke something indistinct. “You did not inform Father, did you?” Elise enquired. Lena muttered, “No.” “I did not.” Elise exhaled audibly.

“Satisfactory.” Due to his lack of comprehension. He perceives me merely as an attractive new spouse. However, you and I possess greater insight, do we not? I am senior to this residence. More ancient than the remains of your mother interred in the earth. Michael’s blood congealed with terror. He saw through the fissure between two coats. Elise’s expression changed. It liquefied. Her skin undulated like water, her features contorting into something… monstrous. Her mouth expanded, exposing a series of diminutive, needle-like teeth. Her eyes became obsidian—devoid of reflection, empty of substance. Merely perpetual, primordial obscurity. She then turned slowly towards the wardrobe. “I am aware of your observation, Michael,” she said, her voice transformed. “It is now too late.” Michael became immobile. Michael was immobilised. His legs would not comply. His breath caught in his throat.

Every instinct urged him to escape—retrieve Lena and flee—but he was confined within the little, dim space of the closet, gazing into the eyes of a being that ought not to exist. Elise—or the entity donning her skin—stood at the centre of the room. Her head was slightly inclined, her eyes an obsidian hue, barely radiating like extinguishing embers. Her lips gradually retracted into a smile, exposing irregular teeth that were incongruous with any human anatomy. “I have exercised extreme caution,” she remarked, her tone a nauseating blend of sweetness and decay. “Half a year of domesticity, culinary endeavours, mirth, and bidding you goodnight with a kiss.

“Everything for her.” She redirected her gaze to Lena once more, her grotesque figure gradually reverting to Elise’s recognisable visage. Blond hair, delicate features, and kind eyes—yet it was merely a facade today. Michael discerned the seams. Lena remained stationary. She sat rigidly on the bed, her gaze fixed on her father’s concealment. Her lips slightly opened, however she remained silent. “Children exhibit distinct differences,” Elise said, as though narrating a bedtime tale. “They possess the ability to perceive through masks.” They recall matters that society wishes them to overlook. That is the reason I require her. She is capable of opening the door. Michael’s fingers grazed the closet floor. He was perspiring. Despondent. His phone resided in his pocket, although he was unable to use it without generating noise.

He possessed no armament. Absence of a plan. He was acutely aware that he needed to reach Lena. “You ought to have believed her earlier,” Elise said. “However, you now belong to me as well.” The wardrobe door abruptly closed by itself. Complete obscurity. Subsequently, stillness ensued. Subsequently, scratching. From the rear. Michael rotated his body, his back against the closet’s rear wall. The scratching originated outside the room. The sound originated from within the wall behind him. As Lena stated. The plaster creaked, subsequently fracturing. A narrow fissure developed in the brick, as though an entity on the opposite side were attempting to penetrate it. A voice crept through the opening. Profound. Frigid.

“You have brought him.” Excellent. We will now take the heart, and the girl will unlock the gate. “No,” Michael whispered. This is not authentic. This is not— The bricks exploded outward. A long, pale, skeletal hand extended and seized him by the chest. Michael inhaled sharply, struggling, as the wall collapsed and an entity emerged. It possessed no ocular organs.

Merely layers of grey tissue encasing a cranium-like head. It traversed with a fluidity that was both astonishingly rapid and excruciatingly languid simultaneously. It emitted a sound in a manner that grated against his consciousness like shattered glass. Michael kicked, struck, and shouted, yet the entity pulled him through the wall into the abyss beyond. Subsequently— Illumination. He was reclined on the floor. The wardrobe had disappeared. Lena was also included. He hastily rose to his feet. The chamber was frigid, vacant, and dim. Absence of furnishings. Absence of toys. Merely fractured plaster and dust. The residence was forsaken. He faltered into the corridor. Stripping wallpaper. Spider webs.

The stairs groaned underfoot as he descended. The front door stood ajar, with the breeze flowing through akin to a sigh. The exterior environment appeared bleak and lifeless. Silence. Not an avian creature. Not even his vehicle. The passage of time seems incongruous in this place. Minutes elongated into infinities. Hours elapsed in mere seconds. The sun remained stationary beneath immobile black clouds. Subsequently, he perceived her presence. Lena. A faint and remote murmur. “Father…?” “ He pivoted. She positioned herself at the terminus of the corridor. Identical outfit. The same rabbit grasped in her hand. He sprinted towards her.

“Lena!” ” She remained stationary. Upon his arrival, she gazed upward with tears in her eyes. “I apologise, Father,” she stated. I unlatched the gate. I did not intend to. However, she compelled me to articulate the words. We are currently in a predicament. Michael experienced a profound sense of despair. “Where is she located?” Elise? ” Lena pivoted and gestured towards the wall. A door was etched into the plaster with blood-red symbols. Not an actual one—merely the silhouette of one. However, it throbbed as if it were inhaling and exhaling. Lena stated, “She is currently situated behind there.” “Anticipating.” Should we attempt to depart, she will emerge once more. Michael gazed towards the door. “Consequently, we shall prevent her.” He extended his hand towards his daughter. She disengaged. “You are not Father,” Lena said. Michael fluttered his eyelids. “What?” ” She retreated. Her eyes brimmed with fresh terror. “You emerged from the wall.

” Michael gazed at his hands. Insipid. Grey. Not his own. He opened his mouth to scream, yet the sound that emerged was not his voice. It belonged to her. “It is time to awaken, dear child.” Lena sprinted. Subsequently, the door begun to open behind her.