The sun sits high above, its heat blanketing the estate. The front yard
sprawls out before you, perfectly manicured grass surrounding a marble
statue and a fountain that gurgles softly. The statue—a tall, faceless
figure—stands with its arms raised, almost in greeting, though the lack
of features makes the gesture unsettling. Water spills from the fountain,
the sound too rhythmic, too precise.
You glance around the yard, noting the sharp lines of the hedges, the pristine garden beds. Everything is meticulously arranged, not a leaf out of place. It’s peaceful in a way that feels wrong, too controlled.
Then, a distant sound breaks the silence. At first, it’s just a low hum, but it grows louder—mowers, leaf blowers, weedwhackers. You turn and see the landscaping team arriving. They move quickly, machines roaring to life, disrupting the stillness. Grass clippings and leaves are whipped into the air, swirling around the statue and fountain, the perfect scene suddenly chaotic.
The noise grates on your nerves, growing unbearable. You don’t think; you just move. You dash toward the mansion, the nearest escape from the mechanical din. The front door is already open, and you push it wider as you step inside, the cool air of the grand hall enveloping you instantly.
Inside, the silence is heavy, a stark contrast to the noise outside. The rooms open up on either side, still perfect, still untouched. You walk further in, trying to shake the feeling that something about the house is wrong, but the relentless ticking of the grandfather clock keeps drawing your attention. It ticks slowly, as if counting something other than time.
You glance around the yard, noting the sharp lines of the hedges, the pristine garden beds. Everything is meticulously arranged, not a leaf out of place. It’s peaceful in a way that feels wrong, too controlled.
Then, a distant sound breaks the silence. At first, it’s just a low hum, but it grows louder—mowers, leaf blowers, weedwhackers. You turn and see the landscaping team arriving. They move quickly, machines roaring to life, disrupting the stillness. Grass clippings and leaves are whipped into the air, swirling around the statue and fountain, the perfect scene suddenly chaotic.
The noise grates on your nerves, growing unbearable. You don’t think; you just move. You dash toward the mansion, the nearest escape from the mechanical din. The front door is already open, and you push it wider as you step inside, the cool air of the grand hall enveloping you instantly.
Inside, the silence is heavy, a stark contrast to the noise outside. The rooms open up on either side, still perfect, still untouched. You walk further in, trying to shake the feeling that something about the house is wrong, but the relentless ticking of the grandfather clock keeps drawing your attention. It ticks slowly, as if counting something other than time.
You don’t linger. The oppressive air in the hall presses on your chest,
urging you to leave. You step back out into the sunlight, grateful for
the fresh air, but your relief is short-lived.
A man stands near the
driveway, beside a sleek, black limousine. His posture is casual, but
there’s an intensity in the way he watches you. He raises his hand and
motions toward the car, a silent invitation. The landscaping team works
on, oblivious to the scene unfolding just beyond them.
You hesitate,
glancing back at the house, the door closing softly behind you. The
man waits, patient, still gesturing toward the open door of the limousine.
You walk toward him.
