Or maybe it was the wind slithering through the broken windows.
Damien’s breath was steady, but his heart was hammering against his ribs.
That voice.
His father’s voice.
But Elias Hawthorne was dead.
Damien had seen the fire consume everything. Hadn’t he?
Ronan tightened his grip on the gun. His fingers hovered over the trigger, his eyes darting between Damien and the staircase.
“We’re leaving,” Ronan muttered. “This is a goddamn setup.”
Damien took a step forward. “No.”
Ronan grabbed his arm. “No? What part of this doesn’t scream ‘trap’ to you? We heard a dead man’s voice. We’re standing in a house that shouldn’t even exist. If you want to die today, fine—but I’m not going down with you.”
Damien yanked his arm free.
“If someone’s using my father’s voice, I need to know who.”
Before Ronan could protest again, Damien moved.
He climbed the stairs, each step creaking beneath his weight.
A trail of bloody footprints led down the hall.
The scent of burning wood and iron filled his lungs.
At the end of the corridor, the door to his father’s old study was slightly ajar.
The same study where Elias Hawthorne locked himself away before the fire.
The same study where his father’s charred remains were supposedly found.
Damien pushed the door open.
And froze.
The room was untouched.
No scorch marks. No broken furniture. No sign of fire damage at all.
It was exactly how he remembered it as a child.
The dark oak desk. The wall of books. The grandfather clock ticking in the corner.
Like time had stopped.
And sitting in the old leather chair…
A man.
Dressed in a black suit. His back turned toward Damien.
The chair creaked as he leaned forward.
“Damien.”
The voice was identical to Elias Hawthorne’s.
Damien’s fingers twitched toward his gun.
“This isn’t possible,” he said, his voice calm but laced with steel.
A low chuckle. “And yet… here we are.”
Damien took a step closer, his eyes scanning the figure. Was it really him?
Ronan hovered at the doorway, whispering a curse.
Then, the man stood up.
And turned around.
Damien’s blood ran ice cold.
The man’s face—
It was his father’s.
But something was wrong.
His skin was too smooth. His eyes too hollow. His expression too calculated.
Not a man.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
A ghost in human skin.
Damien didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
He just stared.
The man stepped forward, the floor groaning under his weight.
“After all these years,” he said softly, “I expected you to be… different.”
Damien clenched his jaw. Think. Analyze. Dissect.
His father had been dead for twenty years.
So who the hell was this?
“I watched you die,” Damien said, keeping his voice even. “Your body was found in this very room.”
The man smirked. “Was it?”
Ronan had his gun raised now, his patience wearing thin. “Enough of this horror-movie bullshit. Who the hell are you?”
The man ignored him.
His eyes were locked on Damien, like he was studying him.
And then—
He lifted his hand.
Something dangled from his fingers.
Damien’s stomach dropped.
It was a locket.
The same locket his mother used to wear.
And it was covered in fresh blood.
Damien lunged. “Where did you get that?”
The man pulled back, his smirk widening.
“Come home, Damien.”
The room plunged into darkness.
A sudden, suffocating blackness.
The sound of shattering glass.
Ronan’s shout.
And then—
Silence.
When Damien’s vision cleared, he was outside.
Standing on the front lawn.
The house was gone.
Not burning. Not crumbling.
Just gone.
Like it had never been there in the first place.
Ronan was beside him, breathing hard, gun still in hand.
“Did—” Ronan exhaled sharply. “Did we just—”
Damien stared at the empty lot, his fists clenching.
His mind racing.
That wasn’t a hallucination.
That wasn’t a dream.
The locket in his hand was still warm.
And smeared with blood.
His mother’s blood.
The house was gone.
Damien stood frozen, his breath fogging in the cold air. The massive estate that had loomed over his childhood, the place where he last saw his parents alive—vanished without a trace.
Ronan was shaking. Not from fear, but from sheer disbelief. “Tell me you’re seeing this too.”
“I see it,” Damien muttered.
But it shouldn’t be possible.
The estate was supposed to be a burned-down ruin, an abandoned wreck that had stood for decades. And yet, moments ago, he and Ronan had been inside it.
Inside a perfectly preserved version of it.
And now?
Nothing.
Not even ash.
Damien’s grip tightened around the locket. His mother’s locket. Her blood on it.
He glanced down at the crimson stain on his fingers. It was still wet. Still warm.
This wasn’t a hallucination.
This was real.
A gust of wind howled through the empty lot, sending dried leaves swirling around them.
Damien turned sharply, scanning the treeline. Someone was watching.
Ronan must have sensed it too because he raised his gun. “Who’s there?”
Silence.
Damien’s pulse pounded. He crouched down, brushing his fingers over the dirt where the house should have been.
It was undisturbed.
No rubble. No footprints. No signs that anything had ever been built here.
His mind raced. This didn’t make sense.
Except… something was there.
A small glint in the dirt.
Damien reached for it and pulled out a rusty key.
Engraved on its surface was a single word.
"Sanctum."
His stomach twisted. Sanctum.
The name of his mother’s private study.
A room that had been sealed shut before the fire.
A room no one had ever been able to enter.
Ronan looked over his shoulder, his face pale. “We need to leave. Now.”
Damien stood, shoving the key into his pocket. “Not yet.”
Ronan swore under his breath. “What part of ‘the house just disappeared’ isn’t alarming enough for you?”
Damien ignored him. His instincts were screaming at him.
Someone had left this key for him to find.
And he needed to know why.
Then—
A voice.
Low. Whispered.
Right behind him.
"You're running out of time, Damien."
He spun around—
But there was no one there.
Location: Damien’s Apartment
The key burned in Damien’s palm like a silent accusation.
He had spent years burying the past, focusing on cases he could actually solve.
But the past had dug itself out of the grave.
And now, it was staring him in the face.
Damien placed the locket and key on his desk, alongside a folder labeled ‘Hawthorne Fire – 20 Years Unsolved.’
A case file he had avoided reading.
Until now.
He exhaled, flipped it open, and scanned the official report.
Hawthorne Estate Fire – October 27, 20 Years Ago
Victims: Elias Hawthorne (Presumed Dead), Margaret Hawthorne (Missing)
Cause: Electrical failure (disputed)
Unexplained Elements: Presence of human remains that didn’t match Elias.
Damien’s grip on the paper tightened.
This had always bothered him.
The bones found in the study were assumed to be Elias’s. But there was never a DNA match.
Which meant…
His father’s body was never found.
And neither was his mother.
A chill ran down his spine.
Then—
His phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
He hesitated, then answered. “Hawthorne.”
Silence.
Then a whisper.
"Did you find the key?"
Damien’s blood went cold.
Before he could respond, the line went dead.
Damien stood up, grabbed his coat, and pocketed the key.
Ronan looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “You’re going back, aren’t you?”
Damien’s jaw clenched. “I have to.”
Ronan let out a harsh laugh. “And if the house decides to swallow you whole this time?”
Damien didn’t answer.
Because deep down, he knew—
That was exactly what it wanted.
The ground was cold beneath Damien’s feet as he stood where the estate had once been.
Ronan stood a few steps behind, gun at the ready.
Damien reached into his pocket and pulled out the key.
It felt heavier now. Warmer. Like it was alive.
He crouched and pressed it into the dirt.
The earth shuddered.
Then—
The ground collapsed beneath him.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
The air was thick with dust and the scent of decay.
Damien landed on a hard stone floor, coughing as he pushed himself up.
A tunnel stretched ahead, lined with old wooden beams.
Something scratched against the walls.
A whisper drifted through the tunnel.
"Damien… come home."
His heartbeat thundered in his ears.
Then—
A single candle flickered to life in the distance.
Illuminating a set of stairs leading deeper underground.
And at the bottom—
A door.
With the word SANCTUM carved into it.
What lies beyond the Sanctum door? Who called Damien—and why? And what happened to Elias and Margaret Hawthorne 20 years ago?