That sudden realisation struck me. Those photos hadn’t been some chance finding for Lars. He’d planned this. He had orchestrated it all. The timing, our parents going away, an empty house, me alone with him for two weeks. I stood frozen to the spot, waves of panic washing over me. Air think and constricting, closed in around me, suffocating.

  The bright, evening sunlight dimmed, a shadow flickering across the window. The room seemed suddenly smaller somehow, the walls pressed in on me. My chest tight, every breath became a forced effort.

  How long had he known about those photos? How long had he been waiting? What did he want from me? Was this simply for revenge or was there something more, something darker? My mind spun with these thoughts as I once again found myself trying to make some sense of the situation.

  Jaw tightening, teeth clenching, eyes widening. My lips parted in a soundless gesture. Lars seeing everything in my face, sensing my innermost fears, placed a hand on my shoulder. I recoiled, his touch seemingly sending a searing jolt down my arm.

  “Oh, come now, Sister Dearest”, Lars’ voice hollow, echoing around the room. “aren’t you looking forward to a bit of quality time with your brother? A good opportunity for us to get to know one another again, some bonding time. Just you and me, alone in this house”.

  Alone in this house. Those words of his lingered in my ears, their whispered promise repeating over and over. Alone. The way that he said that word haunted me. I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what, but it felt dark, menacing even.

  “Two weeks”, I muttered those words, my voice small and broken. Two weeks. My stomach turning, twisting inside of me. I had never wanted him to see me so visibly shaken. I had promised myself to be strong, to try to hold on to some level of control. But the revelation, the thought of two weeks alone with him, that glint in his eyes, the look of a predator stalking its prey, my blood ran cold.

  My gaze lifted towards him, a tremor rippled through my body as our eyes met. His, that piercing blue held me. No warmth, no emotion. His face expressionless, cold and blank.

  “I’ve been looking forward to this film night for quite some time now. Why don’t you go and make yourself comfortable on the sofa and I’ll go and fetch a few little treats that I picked up for us earlier today”.

  What was he planning? A cold, tingling sensation inside my chest told me that this was more than just blackmail. Taking a step backwards, eyes wandering to the front door desperate to find an escape route. The thought to make a run for it briefly crossed my mind but Lars was too close, I would never get there in time.

  A few minutes ago his eyes had seemed frosty, his lips thin and his voice hollow, lacking emotion, but something had changed. His skin seemed paler, something new flickered in his eyes, something unnatural. A slight, almost cruel smile curved his lips. His shadow stretched out across the floor, reaching towards me.

  His eyes widened, the smile broadening across his face, a look of satisfaction. I had no choice, my shoulders slumping I stepped into hallway, evening shadows starting to creep along its length. Each step, slow, shuffling, dragging my feet on that long walk towards the lounge.

  Despite the warm Spring evening outside, the air in the lounge bit me as I entered with an unseasonal chill, a shiver rippled over me, muscles tensing. The chill that I’d felt earlier in the hallway seemed to be amplified in here.

  The room was usually the central point of our family life. Buzzing with conversation and laughter, today felt cold and empty. The open fireplace was bare. The lightly painted walls, usually giving the room a bright and airy feel, on that day felt cold and featureless. The maroon carpeted floor offered no warmth beneath my feet. The heavy burgundy curtains drawn, casting the room in a grey, dim gloom. In front of me, its back to me, facing the television, suddenly seeming large and intimidating was our sofa.

  Breath shaking, rasping in my lungs, I walked over to that red sofa and took a seat.

  The red, corded cushions offered me little comfort, the rough texture rubbing at my skin like sandpaper. My body restlessly shifting, trying to find a position I could settle in.

  The heavy thud of Lars’ footsteps on the hallway floor echoed around the room, followed by an ominous, soft, pat pat pat on the carpet as he approached.

  I tried to keep my eyes fixed on the blank screen of the television as Lars rounded the sofa and settled down next to me. A shiver once again rippled through me, deeper this time. That icy chill hanging in the air now seemed to be radiating directly from his body, a malevolent aura surrounding him.

  When Lars next spoke, his voice had changed. He had taken on an almost cheerful tone although there was something about it that felt forced. It was just a bit too warm, just a bit too eager. “Well, isn’t this going to be lovely. Just like when we were little. Do you remember when we used to cuddle up under a blanket and watch films together?”, I felt his eyes turn to me, pupils fixing on me as if expecting an answer. When he received none, he continued. “I’ve got us a few treats to enjoy, a nice bottle of red wine and some chocolate. Look, they’re your favourites. Do you remember?”

  He didn’t wait for a response from me this time. Leaning forward, he placed a large bar of chocolate onto the coffee table in front of the sofa. That was followed by a couple of wine glasses which he set down carefully with a soft clink. He smiled back at me, a strange smile. A wide smile, welcoming and friendly. His eyes however, narrow, peering at me with an unsettling gleam, told a different story.

  I fixed my stare onto the black of the television screen, Lars’ form, a shadowy shape in my peripheral vision. A bright light danced in the corner of my eye, a reflection from the bottle that Lars held in his hand. Carefully he twisted a corkscrew into the cork, squeaking shrill with every turn. Gradually the cork was eased from the neck, a pop as it came free. Placing the cork down on the table, he proceeded to pour out two glasses of wine, a stream of blood red liquid filling each.

  “Do you remember what our favourite film was?”, glancing at me sideways, he didn’t take his eyes off me until a nodded.

  “Willy Wonka”, I named the film softly, my voice a small whisper. It was a film that we had watched together countless times as children. Whenever we opened a bar of chocolate we would always cross our fingers, hoping that inside there would be a golden ticket. A ticket to that wonderful world of music, chocolate rivers, fizzy lifting drink and everlasting gobstoppers.

  Lars smiled again, a warm smile that was betrayed by the heartless look that he still held in his eyes. “Well what better film for our first film night together than Willy Wonka.”, with those words he picked up the television remote, pressing the play button.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  The VCR started with a click and a whirr, the sound seemed to echo all too loudly in that quiet room. The TV flickered to life, it’s light causing shadows to dance across the walls. The colours of the opening credits splashed across the screen, the theme tune, once a nostalgic comfort now felt like a taunt, a mocking reminder of those happy times.

  Leaning forward, Lars picked up the chocolate bar. He began to peel back the bright yellow wrapper, revealing the shining brown chocolate within. “What do you think, Sister Dearest? Do you think we’ll find a golden ticket in here?”, his eyebrows pulled down, his as lip pouting in feigned disappointment, “oh looks like we’re out of luck.”

  He broke of a piece for himself before offering the bar to me.

  The bar wrapped tightly in its bright yellow wrapper, that familiar logo of Freia milk chocolate, bright and red. It had been my favourite growing up. Dad would often buy me a bar as a treat when I’d been good. I would skip excitedly down the stairs in the mornings to find that yellow treasure, shining, shimmering, magically in the morning sunlight. Just waiting for me on the kitchen table.

  Now it was Lars, hand reached out towards me, his grip tight, offering me that prize. Twisting, corrupting that memory from our childhood. People often said that they had the look of one and other, Dad and Lars. Their eyes shared the same deep blue, but Dad’s eyes were large, filled with love and kindness, bright and radiant like the summer sun. Lars, looking at me now with eyes narrow, creased, calculating and cruel, pale and frigid as the midwinter moon.

  My hand quivering, I reached out to take the chocolate, his fingers brushed mine as he handed it to me. Something unsettling passed across his face at that moment. A flicker of an eyelid, a twitch of his cheek. It was a look that I would come to know very well in the months and years to follow, a look that would come to terrify me.

  Hands fumbling, I snapped off a small square, placing it into my mouth before dropping the rest of the bar back onto the coffee table. The chocolate was tasteless in my mouth, dry and unusually hard.

  Lars’ bent forward to pick up a wine glass, putting it to his mouth to take a sip before settling back to watch the film. His attention appeared to be on the television but the occasional flicker in the corner of his eyes, glances in my direction were a constant and unsettling reminder of his presence.

  “Are you not drinking tonight? That’s unlike you, Heidi, you’re usually the life and soul of the party, here let me.”. Lars lips stretched into a thin smile that never quite reached his eyes. He plucked the second wine glass off the table and handed it to me. The tall, crystal glass, a gift from Lela on my 18th birthday felt smooth and heavy in my hand. The delicate glass, inscribed simply with the words ‘Love Always’.

  The metallic, bitter taste caused a shudder to cross my body, my stomach to clench. I tried to concentrate on the film, to ignore his presence but I couldn’t focus, my mind wandered.

  His body shifted, moving closer to me. His shoulder softly brushed against mine. My eyes were fixed on the television, my mind trying to concentrate on the brightly coloured oompa loompas, dancing and singing on the screen. Even with my gaze focused forward, he was still there, always there, that shadow in the corner of my eye. He watched me, I could feel it, his gaze intense, studying me. A predatory intensity that caused the hairs on my neck to stand on end.

  I flinched as I felt him place a hand, hot and clammy on my knee. I jumped, spilling a splash of wine into my lap, leaving a crimson stain, dark against the soft pink velvet. I was once again suddenly aware of the length of that dress.

  Head jerking, my eyes fixed on his. Muscles tensing at a fear building up inside of me.

  “Lars!”, in my mind a forceful warning, came out shrill and quivering.

  This wasn’t a simple case of blackmail. It wasn’t about the photos. I wasn’t going to be able to pay him off easily. It was in that moment that I began to realise Lars’ plan. This was about control and intimidation. It had all been planned, orchestrated so very carefully. The timing, waiting until the house would be empty, waiting until we’d be alone together for two weeks. He wanted to control me, manipulate and intimidate me.

  It was working. With his hand, a heavy weight, pressing down on my knee, eyes, sharp and intense. The nausea of terror span like a whirlpool in my gut. My mind raced. What did he want? What were his plans? And the most chilling of them all, what was he capable of?

  “Lars, don’t do this”, a voice with no strength or conviction, a voice quivering and shaking. Was that my voice? Did I really say those words? I felt detached, as if watching from the other side of the room.

  A smooth mask of innocence crossed his face, “Do what, Sister Dearest? I was just thinking how nice it would be to cuddle up together and watch the end of this film. Just like we used to do when we were small.”, his face may have been innocent but his voice, low and husky had taken on an edge of malice.

  If Lars wanted to intimidate me, he was succeeding.

  His arm wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me in close to his body. He felt warm, sticky against the bare skin of my arms, his breath hot on my neck. The subtle, musky scent of him filled my nostrils. I shook, my body quivering uncontrollably, muscles convulsing. Part of me screamed to fight him, kick him, punch him until he let me go. Another part of me was terrified. What would he do if I fought him? Would it anger him, would he turn on me, lash out at me. What would he do to me?

  I didn’t fight, I just lay there held in his arms. My gaze was fixed on the television screen, my mind, silently pleading for the closing credits, willing for an end to that film that stubbornly would not come.

  The figures on the television screen moved in slow motion, their words incomprehensible, the colours washed out, the songs without tune. I barely dared to move as that film drew on.

  If felt as if hours had passed until finally, I heard that tune, watched as the great glass elevator disappeared into the blue sky and Willy Wonka came to an end.

  Even then, I dared not move, frozen in place for endless minutes as time seemed to come to a stand still. The VCR clicked sharply and hummed a mechanical drone, spitting out the finished video cassette. The screen dissolved into a chaotic jumble of white and black, accompanied by a constant crackling, hiss. The static on the TV seemed to reflect the turmoil that I felt within myself. Paralysed, unable to move I fought inside myself, fought for the courage to speak, fought for some words that just refused come. I couldn’t look in his eyes, my gazed fixed on the flickering screen.

  When I did finally manage it, my voice was quiet, lacking in any conviction, “I’m tired, Lars. I think I’d like to go to bed now.”.

  “Already? It’s only early and I always thought you a party girl. But I suppose that it has been an eventful day for you, hasn’t it?”, his voice took on an almost warm and understanding tone as he removed his arms from around me, releasing me from his forced embrace. He continued, “Well that was a very pleasant evening for me, it’s been a long time since we’ve done that. I am really looking forward to a spending a lot more time with you.”, the warmth in his voice suddenly gave way to an icy chill with those last few words, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

  Standing, I smoothed the wrinkles from my dress and with slow, unsteady legs I walked, my feet shuffling towards the lounge door. The room was a blur. I didn’t look at him. I don’t remember looking at anything, I don’t remember much at all about leaving that room. All I know is that my mind was set solely on getting out of there, getting away from him.

  I walked slowly, purposefully, there was still a part of me, deep down inside me that was trying to resist, trying to be strong. As soon as I reached the hallway all that strength, all that resistance cracked and then shattered. I broke into a run, I couldn’t help myself. Heart pounding inside my chest, drumming on my ribs as that dark hallway, the endless tunnel closed in around me, the walls trying to suffocate me. Up the stairs, stairs that were steeper than I ever remember them being. At the top, a glint of light shone, a glint of hope. I fixed my eyes on that light, it was like a shimmering portal to a different world, somewhere safe, somewhere away from this darkness.

  I ran into my bedroom, throwing the door shut behind me with as much force as I could manage. I had hoped to see Bella still there, still laying on my bed but that small glimmer of hope dissolved, heart sinking as I realised the room was empty, lonely.

  I threw myself onto my bed, burying myself into my soft duvet, clutching it close as I pulled myself into a tight ball.

  I slept very little that night, my body restless, my mind racing with thoughts, with memories. Memories of that day, of the peace and safety that I’d felt when in Lela’s company, her warm smile and her soft touch. Memories of the fear, of the uncertainty of Lars’ touch, uncomfortable, tacky.

  Eventually I did fall asleep, but it wasn’t a peaceful sleep, it wasn’t restful. It was a haunted sleep. Haunted by the terrors the stalk the darkest of our dreams. Dreams of walking lost in a forest, a forest dense, thick with the smell of rotting leaves. A forest dark, gloomy and oppressive. In those forests lurked the shadow beast. Black and menacing, eyes glowing red like hot coals. Stalking me, slowly herding me into his trap.