A Whispered Plea in the Hallway
Margaret gripped the brass doorknob with both hands and leaned her ear toward the white painted wood.
A muffled voice filtered through the keyhole, begging for help.
Before the latch turned, heavy leather soles clicked across the floorboards behind her.
Edward stood tall at the far end of the carpeted corridor, his dark three-piece suit pressed flat against his chest.
His hands rested at his sides, fingers curled inward as he ordered her to step back from the wood.
Margaret asked who was trapped inside, but his mouth drew into a sharp, rigid crease.
He crossed the floor with measured strides, closing the space between them until his chest nearly brushed her white blouse.
He told her she heard nothing more than the outdoor wind shaking the siding.
When she asked him to turn the key himself, he reached down and wrapped his fingers around her left wrist.
His grip tightened until the skin on her forearm turned pale under his thumbs.
Margaret pulled backward, shifting her weight away from his grip, but his fingers held firm.
He smoothed down the collar of her shirt with his free hand, his voice dropping low as he commanded her to go to bed.
Searching the Forgotten Nursery
The next morning, sunlight cut through the hallway as Margaret slipped back to the off-limits door.
She pushed the panel inward, watching the hinges swing open into a quiet room decorated with floral wallpaper.
Dust floated through the air above a wooden crib, an antique rocking horse, and scattered stuffed bears.
She stepped onto the patterned rug, her shoes making soft thuds against the floorboards.
On top of a dark wooden dresser sat several wooden picture frames lined up in a neat row.
Margaret picked up the first frame with trembling fingertips, brushing dust off the glass pane.
The portrait showed a young, smiling woman beside Edward, with the name Elizabeth written in fading ink below.
Edward had told her Elizabeth was dead and buried years ago.
She laid the frame down and flipped through the smaller portraits resting beside the lamp.
Each black-and-white photograph showed a completely different woman, labeled Charlotte and Rose in identical handwriting.
A series of sharp wooden taps echoed from the far wall, vibrating against the furniture.
Margaret dropped the photographs and walked toward the floor-to-ceiling white curtains hanging beside the bookcase.
The Hidden Doorway
Margaret reached out her right hand and gathered the edge of the thick curtain between her fingers.
She pulled the fabric aside, exposing a narrow, recessed doorway cut directly into the plaster wall.
Inside the dark opening stood a pale woman dressed in a faded blue button-down gown.
Elizabeth looked out from the shadows, her dark circles hollowed beneath her wide eyes.
She pulled the door toward herself, whispering sharply for Margaret to shut out the light.
Margaret asked how she could be standing there when Edward had claimed she passed away.
The woman shook her head, explaining that the same story was told to every woman who came before.
Margaret asked about the timeline, counting back through the framed portraits on the dresser.
Charlotte had been his first bride, Rose had taken her place, and Elizabeth had become his third.
Margaret stepped backward as the realization set in, her fingers pressing into her apron as she counted herself as the fifth wife.
A latch clicked behind them, and the hallway door swung wide against the baseboard.
Edward walked into the nursery, buttoning his gray jacket as a calm smirk crossed his lips.
Margaret stared back at his face, her lips parted and her eyes fixed entirely on his dark eyes.
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