Long-Mute Grandmother Whispers a Solemn Word, Alerting Granddaughter She's in Danger – Story of the Day

When a young woman inherits an isolated manor house after the tragic death of her parents, she uncovers a dark family secret that has trapped her beloved grandmother in silence. She sets out to uncover the truth, unleashing evil forces beyond her worst nightmares.

The mist hung low, wrapping the elegant, aged manor in a spectral embrace. Daisy's car rumbled up the driveway, gravel crunching beneath the tires. The somber atmosphere corresponded with the heaviness of Daisy's heart as she approached the imposing structure that had been her family's home for generations.

The manor, surrounded by a dense garden that seemed to have trapped the echoes of bygone years, stood tall and dignified. As Daisy stepped out of her car, the cool mist clung to her like a ghostly shroud, adding an air of melancholy to the homecoming.

Daisy approached the front door, hesitating before turning the key in the lock. The heavy door creaked open, revealing a foyer that seemed to sigh with the weight of years. A familiar scent, a blend of old wood and faded memories, enveloped her.

"Miss Daisy, welcome back," said Mrs. Collins, the housekeeper, stepping smartly from an alcove.

"Thank you, Mrs. Collins," Daisy replied, her voice a soft echo in the cavernous entryway. "Is Grandma in?"

Mrs. Collins nodded. "But I must warn you, she has been very frail since the stroke recently," she explained. "She is basically bound to her wheelchair, and we've moved her bedroom downstairs, adjacent to the living room where she spends most of the day."

"Okay, thank you, Mrs. Collins. I know this might be a silly question, but is she still not speaking?" Daisy asked.

"Dear," Mrs. Collins replied, "as you know, she has not spoken a word since the age of 12, and nothing has changed."

"I understand, Mrs. Collins. We have much to talk about, I wish she could speak."

"Of course, my dear. Take your time with everything," Mrs. Collins replied. "And, dear, allow me to say how sorry I am for your loss. Your parents were very dear to us all. I loved them like family. This is a trying time, and I'm here to help in any way I can. Go and see your grandmother — I'll bring in some tea and a light supper shortly."

Mrs. Collins led Daisy through a labyrinth of hallways. They reached the sitting room, where Daisy's grandmother, Edith, sat at a window in a high-backed motorized chair.

"Edith, Daisy is here," Mrs. Collins announced before leaving the women in a quiet reunion.

Though clouded with age, Edith's eyes lit up at the sight of Daisy. Daisy approached her, pulled a chair up close, and Edith reached out a hand in a frail yet graceful movement. The two held each other's hands in silent communion, words unnecessary in the familiarity of kinship.

"How have you been, Grandma?" Daisy asked, breaking the silence.

Edith responded with a tender smile. The room settled back into silence, the ticking of a grandfather clock the only soundtrack to the heart-to-heart between grandmother and granddaughter.

Daisy's thoughts turned to the recent tragedy that had brought her back to this place. The untimely death of her parents in a private airplane crash had left her orphaned and burdened with the family estate.

"Grandma, I never expected to inherit the manor like this," Daisy admitted.

Edith reached out, her hand gently squeezing Daisy's.

Edith closed and opened her eyes in a quiet, simple gesture of understanding and sympathy. Suddenly, to Daisy's surprise, her grandmother's ancient lips seemed to move.

Daisy leaned forward in surprise. "Grandma!" she exclaimed, "Did you just say something?" Daisy leaned back and watched Edith carefully. Edith's face went blank for a moment, but then, her eyes lit up fiercely, and her lips quivered in exertion.

Daily leaned in again. In barely a whisper, a single word escaped Edith's lips: "Aegis," she rasped, raising a finger as if in warning. Daisy locked eyes with her grandmother in shock.

"What did you say, Grandma?" She asked. The expression on Edith's face unnerved Daisy, but as quickly as it had appeared, it faded, and Edith closed her eyes, her head lolling to one side.

"Grandma?" Daisy prompted, gently shaking the hand she held. There was no further response; Edith seemed to have lapsed into a deep sleep.

Daisy walked through the halls, and, finding Mrs. Collins in the kitchen, she told her Edith had drifted off. "She does that," Mrs. Collins reassured her. "Don't worry, dear, she'll be alright. I'll look in on her shortly and take her something to eat. Now, you eat up here," she went on, indicating the delicious spread of home-baked bread and cheese on the huge communal table.

As she snacked, Daisy glanced up, and through a window sprinkled with raindrops, deep in the garden, she made out the stooped silhouette of a dark, unmoving figure that seemed to be staring at her through the gloom.

A shiver similar to the one that the word from Edith's lips had wrought shot through her, and she jumped in horror. She glanced away, hoping to find Mrs. Collins back with her, and when she looked out again through the window, the apparition was gone.

***

After an almost sleepless nightmare-filled night, Daisy rose early and wandered the mansion's halls aimlessly after checking on Edith — who slept on soundly.

Her restlessness led her to the attic — a place filled with forgotten relics of generations past. The stairs groaned beneath her as she ascended, the air growing thicker with the scent of antiquity.

Daisy's fingers brushed over forgotten trinkets and moth-eaten garments until they settled on a dusty sheet covering an old painting on an easel. With careful hands, she unveiled it, and what she saw chilled her to the core.

Rendered in amateur but confident brush strokes, the surreal image that emerged was one of a young, faceless girl holding hands with a very tall, darkly shrouded man, also faceless. They appeared to be standing in a flower garden of sorts — roses perhaps, depicted in dabs of faded pink.

Shivers ran up and down Daisy's spine as she studied the ghostly portrait, trying to make meaning of it. She looked for a name in the bottom corners, as one often expects in a painting, but there was nothing.

Who are these people? Daisy whispered to herself. She wrapped the picture in the sheet and tucked it fearfully under one arm, turning to leave.

A movement caught her eye in the gloom; was that a shadow falling across the floor beyond the attic door? And then she heard the sudden creak-creak of the stairs as if under weight, and the shadow retreated rapidly.

Daisy's heart thumped furiously, and she stood for a long moment, watching for any further movements and listening for sounds. When nothing came, she retreated gingerly from the attic, the mysterious painting in hand.

Later, when her grandmother was awake, having a small breakfast in the living room, Daisy approached carefully. "Grandma," she ventured, "I need to show you something," she said, placing the bundled picture on the dining table.

The moment she uncovered the thing, Edith moaned in horror, throwing her hands up and closing her eyes firmly.

"What is it, Gran?" Daisy prodded. "Is this you in the picture — the little girl? Who is the man?" she pressed, her curiosity mingling with a sense of foreboding.

Edith's hands began to move, but she kept her eyes shut and made no sound. She became more and more agitated, and then, with almost superhuman strength, she leaned forward in her chair and swept one arm violently across the tabletop, sending the painting clattering to the floor. She collapsed forward, arms and head down on the table.

"I'm so sorry, Gran!" Daisy breathed. "I'm so sorry!" Daisy ran over and kicked the painting out of the room through the open door into the hallway and stepped back to her stricken grandmother. She sat down next to her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Sorry, Gran. Just be calm." The two sat like that for a long time before Edith finally raised her head and sat back in her chair, looking at her granddaughter with imploring eyes.

"What happened, Grandma? What are you trying to tell me?" Daisy eventually asked. "Please, Grandma, I need to know," Daisy pleaded.

The atmosphere in the room grew charged with tension. Edith's hands trembled, and that single word came again as if from somewhere deep down in her soul: "Aegis."

Daisy's breath caught in her throat as the whispered word settled around her. "Aegis? What does it mean, Grandma?" Daisy asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Edith's eyes, filled with fear, fixed on Daisy. An unspoken truth lingered between them, a silent something binding the generations. The past, veiled in the mists of time, had been stirred, and Daisy felt the rising of ancestral spirits. The manor, a silent witness to the passage of time, seemed to be holding back something reaching for the light.

Once more, Edith closed her eyes and yielded to blessed sleep. Daisy stood up quietly and tiptoed across the living room to the doorway. She stepped out into the hallway to retrieve the dreadful heirloom. But it was gone.

***

The next morning brought a denser mist that seemed to bind and weave itself into the branches and leaves of trees, the walls of the manor, and everything else it touched.

Daisy found Mrs. Collins in the kitchen, the wonderful aroma of baking bread wafting through the air while coffee brewed on the range.

"Mrs. Collins," Daisy said as she poured herself a cup of coffee, "where did you put the painting that I left lying in the hallway outside the living room? Sorry about that. It agitated my gran, I had to get it away from her quickly."

"What painting, dear?" Mrs. Collins asked.

Daisy stopped in her tracks and stood staring at Mrs. Collins. "You didn't find it?" she asked incredulously. "I kicked it out there, and later, it was gone. You mean, you didn't pick it up?"

"No, dear," Mrs. Collins said coolly. "I haven't seen a painting lying in the hallway."

Daisy nodded. "Sorry, Mrs. C," she said humbly. "I must have been mistaken." She sat down and sipped her coffee in stunned silence. "Mrs. C," she ventured after a time, "forgive me for asking, but is there anyone else lodging in the house?"

Mrs. Collins looked worriedly at Daisy. "My dear Daisy, I'm not sure what you're getting at, but apart from you and your grandmother, and Bertram, the groundsman, and I, there's no other being on the property."

"Bertram, the groundsman? He still works here?" Daisy echoed, suddenly recalling such a man from her childhood. To her back then, he had seemed old; she had, in the interim, assumed him long assigned to the soil.

Mrs. Collins nodded. "He's out there right now if you'd like to have a word with him."

After breakfast, Daisy, haunted by the enigma of the painting and the whispered word, wandered through the extensive grounds. Her steps led her to the outskirts of the garden, where a solitary figure tended to a grove of withered vines.

Bertram, the enigmatic, seemingly eternal family groundskeeper, stood like a sentinel against the backdrop of the landscape. The large brim of his hat obscured his features, and his hands worked with a familiarity that suggested a deep connection to the earth.

Daisy approached uneasily. "Hello, Bertram," she greeted as cheerily as she could muster, attempting to penetrate the silence that seemed to surround the man like a shield.

Bertram nodded in acknowledgment but remained silent; his gaze fixed on the flowers in need of revival. Daisy's eyes lingered on his weathered hands, calloused from years of tending to the manor's flora.

"I was just admiring the garden. It seems to have a life of its own," Daisy remarked, her attempt at casual conversation met with stoic silence.

"Bertram, um, I'm sorry for asking, but I need to know. Were you perhaps in the house at all yesterday? At any time?"

Bertram raised his head slowly, and for the first time, Daisy could take in his features: deep wrinkles that looked like scars, a down mouth set as if in stone, and icy eyes that bore into Daisy's with what felt to her like hatred.

Bertram looked back down at his work, seemingly indifferent to Daisy's question. The only response was the rhythmic rasp of his spade against the soil.

Frustration crept into Daisy's voice as she pressed for an answer. "Bertram, I need to understand something. I found an old painting in the attic, one that seems to have disturbed my grandmother greatly. You've worked here for a long, long time. Do you know who painted it? Did my grandmother paint it? Do you know anything about it?"

Silence.

"There's something about that painting, about my family, that I don't know," Daisy continued. "My grandmother is trying to tell me something about it, but she can say only one word — Aegis. Does that mean anything to you? And, what is she so afraid of?"

At the mention of the word "Aegis," Bertram's head shot up, and the hatred and anger Daisy had perceived in his eyes earlier now looked a lot like terror. He straightened up to his full height, the weather in his face changing from bad to worse. He fixed her with a menacing glare.

"Aegis," he murmured, the word hanging in the mist-laden air.

Daisy's eyes widened, sensing a depth of understanding in Bertram. "You know something, don't you? Please, Bertram, I need answers. My family's history is shrouded in mystery, and I feel like I'm stumbling in the dark."

For a moment, Bertram seemed to deliberate, his gaze shifting between Daisy and the distant horizon. Finally, he spoke, each word carefully chosen.

"The past is a dangerous place, Miss Daisy," he said. "And it's a place best not traveled. I had nothing but admiration for your parents, God rest their souls, but I don't take kindly to a new generation stirring up the bones of the dead. I suggest you drop your line of inquiry, Ma'am, for good. Some forces are not to be trifled with."

Daisy held Bertram's stare for a long time. "Now, if you'll excuse me, ma'am, I have work to do," he said, turning once again to his shovel and the dirt at his feet.

Daisy decided to desist for the moment, but her mind whirred with questions. Bertram's dark attitude only intensified her doubts and suspicions that something foul was afoot within the walls of the manor.

The garden, the manor, and the misty surroundings seemed to blur as she grappled with the realization that her family's legacy was intertwined with a sinister power beyond her understanding.

Unbeknown to either of them, Edith sat in her chair at the window, silently witnessing the exchange between the two with fear and trepidation.

Edith and the misty trees held their breath and watched as Daisy traipsed back towards the house, already set on a path that might cross the mysteries of the Aegis and intersect with the malevolent force that lurked in the shadows.

After some careful thought, Daisy placed a call. In her young life, she had had some dealings with the family lawyer, Thompson, and she knew that the time had come to set in motion the massive task of unwinding her parent's estate.

And perhaps he could shed some light on the mystery, Daisy reasoned. Thompson agreed to come out to the manor the next afternoon.

He and Daisy met in the manor's library, its towering shelves of dusty tomes standing guard around them. Daisy, growing more suspicious of Bertram and his unbecoming behavior, briefed the lawyer on the painting and the events of the previous day.

"Thompson, I need to know the truth," she challenged. "There's something about my family that's been kept hidden. Is there something in my grandmother's past that I've never been told about?" she asked as they pored over yellowed pages and aged manuscripts, beginning to try and piece together all the affairs of the estate.

Thompson, an aged man with white hair, adjusted his glasses and nodded solemnly. "Daisy, the family history is vast and intricate. What specific information are you searching for?"

Daisy hesitated, her fingers tracing the embossed leather cover of an old journal. "I want to know about Edith's past, about why she's never spoken. I think there's a connection between a painting and a word — Aegis. I can't shake the feeling that there's more to it, something hidden in the past."

Thompson raised his eyebrows. "Well, now," he said, "that name does ring a bell."

"What does it mean?" Daisy asked.

"Aegis," Thompson explained, "is an ancient term, meaning a shield or protection. Now, from what I can remember, that was a codename for a case that my predecessor dealt with. It had something to do with your great-grandparents — Edith's mother and father. Your parents had me tie up some loose ends, but I wasn't privy to the details. I signed some legal paperwork. Then, I was told to forget about it all. I was sworn to secrecy."

"Sworn to secrecy? Is that why my grandmother is so anxious, so protective of this secret? And why she can say only 'Aegis'?" Daisy asked.

Thompson nodded. "Your grandmother bears the weight of the past, of choices made to safeguard the family and its legacy. I think Aegis is not just a word; it's a key, a trigger tied to the protective enchantments that shield you and this manor," Bertram explained.

"And to answer more of your earlier question," he went on, "your grandmother's muteness is indeed linked to a traumatic event from her youth, a secret long buried. The family decided to keep it hidden to protect her and, perhaps, to protect you."

"Protect us from what, Thompson? What could be so terrible that they've kept it a secret for so long?" Daisy pressed.

"I don't know, Daisy," Thompson said with a sigh. "But if there's an answer to that, I believe the best place to find it is in this very room. The details are bound to be in a folder here somewhere; perhaps we just have to look. But ask yourself if you really want to. Some secrets are buried for a reason, and once uncovered, they unleash forces that can't be stopped."

"That's just what Bertram said," Daisy revealed. "But the answer is yes. I want to get to the bottom of this, one way or another."

As evening dressed for the night, Daisy and Thompson sifted through the labyrinth of folders, files, journals, documents, and volumes that filled the library.

Dust motes danced in the dim light, and the ticking of another grandfather clock echoed through the hall. The air was heavy with anticipation as the two uncovered fragments of the past, but the elusive details they sought remained hidden.

"This is like searching for a needle in a haystack," Daisy sighed, flipping through a crumbling ledger from the early 20th century. "But there has to be something here, Thompson. A clue, a hint, anything!"

Thompson hunched further over an old desk strewn with papers and nodded in agreement. "The answer is here, I'm sure of it. We just need to keep looking."

As the clock chimed midnight, Daisy yawned, realizing the lateness of the hour. "Thompson, you must be exhausted. I have guest rooms; you should get some rest."

Thompson glanced at his watch. "You might be right, my dear. But let's give it a little more time. I'm determined to find what we're looking for."

A knock on the library door interrupted their search, and Mrs. Collins entered, carrying a tray with steaming bowls of tomato soup and freshly baked bread. The aroma wafted through the room, momentarily distracting them from their mission.

"Mrs. Collins, you're a godsend!" Thompson exclaimed, his stomach growling in response to the enticing aroma of the food.

"You're welcome, Thompson," she replied, setting the tray down on a nearby table. "You both need sustenance for this late-night endeavor. Eat up."

The trio sat around the makeshift dining table, sharing the meal as they continued to pick at threads of the family's past. Mrs. Collins, ever the silent guardian of the manor's secrets, offered her insights when prompted.

The hours blurred together as they went back to work delving into the past, but the answers hidden. Thompson, comprehending the potential futility of their efforts, finally spoke up. "Daisy, my dear, I think it's time for you to get some rest. You've had a long day, and we've made little progress."

Daisy sighed, rubbing her temples. "You're right, Thompson. I'm exhausted, and my mind feels like it's gone swimming. But promise me we'll continue this tomorrow."

"Of course, Daisy," Thompson reassured her. "We'll pick up right where we leave off."

As Daisy lay in bed, the events of the past 24 hours replayed in her mind like a haunting melody. The word "Aegis," the mysterious painting, the shadow in the attic, and the figure in the garden she thought she had seen all coalesced into a discordant symphony of unanswered questions.

Thompson continued sifting through the library, determined to uncover the truth. The only sound was the rustling of pages and the occasional creaking of the old building settling into night. The distant rumble of thunder added an eerie backdrop to the solemn task at hand.

As the clock struck 3 a.m., Thompson let out a tired sigh, his eyes heavy with fatigue. Perhaps I should call it a night, he thought to himself. But he decided to press through one more flight of pages.

Just then, he heard the slip of a sound behind him, a subtle scrape that cut through the silence of the library. He turned, scanning the room with alert eyes.

"Hello?" Thompson called out, his voice echoing in the quiet space. "Is someone there?"

There was no response.

Shaking off the unease, he returned to his studies, the glow of a desk lamp casting long shadows on the walls. Then, it happened again—a barely audible sound, footsteps on the creaky floorboards? Thompson's heart quickened, and he spun around, squinting into the shadows.

"Who's there?" he demanded.

Silence.

Thompson hesitated. He turned back and resumed his search, rifling through a stack of old folders. His fingers grazed over a weathered file, and there it was, the solemn word: "Aegis."

A shiver ran down Thompson's spine as he opened the folder. In it, he found a police report and a signed statement by Edith. The words on the page sent shockwaves through Thompson.

"Bertram," he muttered to himself, scanning through the details of the report. The story, long concealed, flashed before him like a macabre movie scene.

Edith, at the tender age of twelve, had accused Bertram of molesting her. The family, gripped by shame and a desire to avoid scandal, had withdrawn the charges, sealing the dark secret within the vault of history and the thick walls of the manor.

Thompson's hands trembled as he absorbed the magnitude of the revelation. He had stumbled upon the buried truth that had haunted Edith for decades.

But before he could process the implications, he heard a sound behind him again, louder this time. He swiveled around, his eyes widening in alarm.

He was dead before his head hit the ground. Bertram stood above the lawyer's body, staring out from under the wide brim of his hat, spade held high, ready for another blow if the stricken form moved again. Blood slowly pooled on the pale green carpet.

"You shouldn't have found that, Mr. Thompson," Bertram said sadly. "Some secrets are better left buried." He bent down and picked up the Aegis folder, shuffled together all the pages that had slipped from Thompson's grasp as he fell, and slipped them back into the folder.

Folder in hand, he tracked silently out of the library and was back in 10 minutes with a large roll of black plastic. He rolled the body many times around in the plastic sheet and pulled the heavy reading desk over the bloody spot on the carpet.

His skinny frame and advanced age belied an incredible strength. Almost effortlessly, he lifted Thompson's lifeless form onto one shoulder and left, the darkness of the library swallowing another terrible secret behind him.

***

The morning sun yet again struggled to pierce through the dense clouds that held to the manor, casting an eerie glow over the sprawling estate.

Daisy, disoriented and anxious, emerged from her room to find the manor eerily quiet. The library, where she and Thompson had immersed themselves in the haunting history of her family, was abandoned.

Thompson was nowhere to be found.

Panic welled within Daisy as she rushed through the hallways, calling out Thompson's name. Mrs. Collins, alerted by Daisy's distressed cries, hurried to join the search.

"Mrs. Collins, have you seen Thompson?" Daisy implored.

Mrs. Collins shook her head. "No, Daisy. I thought he might still be in the library, but I checked there first thing this morning; he wasn't there."

Daisy insisted: "We need to find him. Something is terribly wrong."

The two women combed through the manor, room by room, their footsteps echoing in the hollowness. Each empty space intensified Daisy's fear, and a sense of foreboding settled over the manor like a suffocating hand.

They entered Edith's bedroom, hoping she might have some insight. The old woman sat in her motorized chair beside the bed, more agitated than ever. Her eyes, filled with terror, seemed to implore them to decipher a message she struggled to convey.

"Gran, have you seen Thompson?" Daisy asked desperately.

Edith's hand trembled as she pointed through the window towards the garden, her eyes wide with fear. Daisy and Mrs. Collins exchanged puzzled glances. It was as if Edith was trying to warn them, but the meaning eluded them.

"Don't worry, Gran," Daisy tried to reassure Edith. "Go back to bed, and we'll figure this out."

"Aegis," Edith said one last time, but this time it was as if she was breaking a long-held spell. The fear dissolved from her eyes. She folded her arms calmly in her lap, and a slight smile lit her face.

Daisy and Mrs. Collins watched this transformation in surprise and wonder. They looked at one another. "We'll be back shortly, Gran, and let you know when everything is okay," Daisy said. Edith nodded, and the two took their leave.

Once they were gone, Edith rose from her chair as if it were the most natural thing in the world for her. She crossed the room with newfound strength towards the massive cabinet against the far wall, and with a sense of familiarity, she produced a hidden key and unlocked a drawer.

She retrieved something from within, walked calmly back to her chair, and sat down, covering and swaddling the object in her lap with a soft, wooly blanket. The room buzzed with an unspoken power. Edith then simply sat back and waited.

Meanwhile, slipping back and forth together through the hallways, Daisy said to Mrs. Collins: "Mrs. C, phone the police. We need help. I'm going to find Bertram."

"Right," Mrs. Collins confirmed and headed towards the kitchen, where a telephone hung on the wall.

Daisy jogged out into the garden and, by intuition, headed towards the withered rose garden where she'd found Bertram the day before.

In the kitchen, Mrs. Collins discovered the phone line dead, and, panicking, she ran the long distance to the estate's garages, jumped into her car, and sped off towards town to summon help in person, leaving the manor to tip towards the void without her.

From a distance, Daisy could make Bertram out in the mist, and it fell into place: the figure in the painting was him. The wide-brimmed hat, the long dark raincoat, and his formidable height were all clear now. He was the ghost evidenced in oil paint, and the young girl must be my grandma, Daisy reasoned.

As Daisy approached, her eyes fell on the ground Bertram was working at his feet. She detected the disturbed patch of earth, a large mound stretching across the damp pitch. Dread clenched at her insides as she stepped closer.

"Bertram, have you seen Thompson?" she asked, her voice steady despite the loud singing of blood through her veins.

Bertram's face betrayed nothing. He shook his head vaguely. "No, Ma'am. I have not seen him."

Daisy's gaze lingered on the unnatural mound, her heart pounding in her chest. "He was working late in the library last night. Maybe he left early this morning to get back to the office. His car is gone. Are you sure you didn't perhaps see or hear him leave? Maybe sometime early in the morning while it was still dark?"

Bertram fixed Daisy with his piercing blue eyes and shook his head. He leaned heavily on the spade in his hands. "Didn't see him, Ma'am. Didn't hear him leave. But he must have, his car not being here."

Daisy nodded nervously, and — despite trying hard not to — she couldn't help her eyes probing the long hump in the soil. Bertram watched her carefully.

Daisy feigned a casual walk away. "Bertram, do you think you could help me look for him? We need to find him," she asked.

"Now, Miss Daisy, don't be jumping to any stupid conclusions about what you see here, you hear? There's no problem here. Sure, give me a little time to finish up my garden work, and then I'll come over and help you look," Bertram said, taking a small step and then another towards Daisy, ever so surreptitiously taking one hand off the spade handle.

"Thank you, Ber—" At that moment, Daisy made her dash, not finishing the man's name."

"Now, Daisy!" Bertram shouted, "Nothing wrong, nothing—" Bertram cut himself short and set after Daisy at a run.

Daisy sprinted away towards the manor. Bertram pursued her with chilling determination, spade in hand.

"Mrs. Collins! Mrs. Collins! " Daisy screamed as she neared the house, her voice echoing off the walls. But the manor seemed to hold its breath, silent and indifferent to her cries.

Daisy ran, her breaths labored and frantic; she burst into the foyer, calling for Mrs. Collins. But the grand entrance room stood empty, devoid of the reassuring presence of the housekeeper.

Bertram closed in on her fast. Daisy sprinted the length of the hallway towards the living room. She burst in, shouting: "Grandma! Grandma!"

And there Grandma Edith stood in the middle of the room, six steps inside the door, elegantly clothed, calm, and collected. "Daisy, duck," Edith said in a normal voice, sending Daisy down onto the floor without hesitation in a full-bodied dive.

A second later, Bertram burst through the door. He barely had time to register his surprise before he heard Edith's voice say calmly: "Bertram, no. Stop." A shot rang out half a second later.

The bullet hit Bertram square in the heart and went straight through his body, thudding into the thick wall behind him.

He dropped dead instantly where he stood while Edith slowly lowered the smoking revolver in her hand. She bent down and helped Daisy to her feet. "Are you okay, love?" she asked.

Daisy was speechless as she stood up and embraced her grandmother. "Gran! How?" was all she could manage.

"The curse is broken, thanks to you, Daisy. You did it. You set me free," Edith said. "You set me free from the Aegis that my parents and this pedophile placed me under. You gave me back my voice."

"So it was him? The man in the picture," Daisy asked, looking at the body of Bertram.

"It was him, Daisy. The abuse went on for months before I found the courage to tell my parents. They didn't believe me, so I went to the police. But my parents found a way to bury the case; they were too afraid to let the scandal besmirch the family name if the story were to become public. The psychological trauma drove me mute. And eventually contributed to the stroke, I suppose. But retribution seems to have unlocked me. Thank you."

Both women stood still, arm in arm, watching the crumbled form on the floor in front of them yield its malevolent spirit, while in the far distance, they could hear the wailing approach of sirens.

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If you enjoyed this story, you might like this one about a woman who inherited a mansion while her brother received an abandoned house and found a hidden floor there.

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