The warmth that had cradled her vanished as soon as it came. Monise stood still, barefoot on the damp stone floor of the mansion's garden path, wrapped in the cloak of midnight. Her chest rose and fell as she fought to calm her erratic breathing. A few seconds ago, she had plummeted from the third floor, ready to embrace death… until someone—or something—caught her mid-air and vanished without a trace.
"Wake up, Monise..." the voice called again, this time firmer, tinged with concern.
Her eyes blinked slowly, adjusting to the faint light of dawn spilling through the canopy of trees overhead. The voice was familiar—Marla, the kitchen maid who had taken her under her wing since she arrived a week ago.
Monise hesitated before stepping away from the spot, casting one last glance at the empty space behind her. Had she imagined it all? Her fall? The arms that caught her?
She brushed the dirt off her linen nightgown and tiptoed toward the back of the mansion. She couldn't afford to be caught outside now, not when the house's rules forbade servants from wandering after curfew. The last girl who dared was never seen again.
"Monise! Where have you been? You scared me!" Marla hissed as she pulled her behind a tall wooden shelf in the pantry.
"I... I fell. From the third floor," Monise whispered.
Marla blinked in horror. "And you're standing here? Alive? How—"
"I didn't hit the ground," Monise interrupted, voice trembling. "Someone caught me."
The silence that followed was heavy. Marla's face went pale. "No one could've caught you and vanished like that... unless…"
Monise narrowed her eyes. "Unless what?"
"Unless it was one of them," Marla replied, barely above a whisper. "The night creatures."
A shiver ran down Monise's spine. She had heard the stories—the whispers among the staff about creatures that dwelled in the walls of the estate, moving like shadows, beautiful and terrifying, always watching. Some said they were the ones who owned the mansion. Others said they were cursed guardians bound to protect a dark secret.
She wanted to ask more, but the breakfast bell rang, slicing through the tension like a blade.
Monise spent the rest of the morning trying to shake the memory of the fall, but the phantom arms that had held her lingered in her mind. She couldn't tell anyone else—who would believe her? And if it was one of the night creatures, why had it saved her?
By late afternoon, the house was buzzing with quiet chaos. A guest had arrived—a rare occurrence in the otherwise sealed-off mansion.
Monise was assigned to help with the preparation of the east wing. That wing had been closed off since she arrived, and the other maids avoided it like a plague. Marla refused to go.
"You shouldn't be in that wing, Monise. That part of the house was locked after the last master vanished. Strange things happen there," she warned.
But Monise couldn't refuse the order. She made her way toward the east wing, her arms full of fresh linens, heart thudding with unease. The long hallway she entered was different—colder, dimmer, with old portraits on the walls that seemed to follow her every move.
As she adjusted the linens on a canopy bed, she felt it—that eerie sensation again. Like eyes boring into her back.
She spun around. No one.
She was about to return to her task when a shadow moved by the window. Her breath caught.
"Who's there?" she called.
No answer. But the air thickened. And then… the scent—rich, old, intoxicating, like roses buried beneath the earth for centuries.
She backed toward the door. But it slammed shut on its own.
The silence stretched, and then a voice filled the room—low, smooth, dangerous.
"You should be careful wandering these halls, little dove."
Monise turned sharply. Standing by the old fireplace was a tall figure clad in black, his eyes glinting with silver in the gloom.
He was beautiful in a haunting way—angular face, skin like pale marble, lips curved in a smirk that made her knees weak and her spine stiffen all at once.
"Who are you?" she asked, her voice steady despite the storm inside her.
He tilted his head. "No need for names yet, Monise."
Her stomach twisted. "How do you know my name?"
He stepped closer. "I've been watching you since the night you arrived."
Monise's breath hitched. "Are you the one who caught me last night?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, the cold of his touch jolting her heart into a frenzy.
"You smell like fear… and curiosity," he whispered.
Monise jerked back. "What do you want from me?"
"Nothing… yet. But your presence here has stirred something. The house listens, Monise. It remembers."
The door behind her creaked open as though on command.
He disappeared into the shadows without another word, leaving only the chill in the air and the hammering in her chest.
That night, Monise couldn't sleep.
The mansion felt alive, humming with secrets and breathless whispers. She turned in her bed, eyes fixed on the sliver of moonlight that painted her wall. Her mind replayed the figure in the east wing—his voice, his cold touch, the way he knew her.
Why had he saved her?
Was it protection—or possession?
The next day, Monise noticed something strange. The wound on her ankle from a fall earlier that week had vanished. Not healed. Gone. As though it had never been.
She tried to speak to Marla again, but the maid refused to talk. "Some things are better left alone," she said firmly.
But Monise wasn't ready to leave it alone.
Later that evening, driven by a strange pull, she returned to the east wing.
It was dusk, and the shadows stretched longer. The same scent hit her again, and her heart quickened. This time, she didn't run.
"I know you're here," she said aloud. "Why did you save me?"
He appeared from the darkness, more fluid than a ghost. "Because you're not like the others."
"What does that mean?" she asked.
He smiled faintly. "It means you belong to the night more than you think."
Before she could reply, he stepped closer, his gaze intense. "But you must be careful, Monise. The others are not as kind. If they sense you've been touched by me, they will want you… for themselves."
She frowned. "Touched by you? What are you?"
He lowered his voice. "I am bound to this house by blood and oath. We feed on silence. On longing. On life."
Her throat dried. "You're a vampire."
He gave no answer. But the look in his eyes told her enough.
"I should go," she whispered, the weight of it all pressing on her.
"Go, then," he said, stepping back. "But you will return. The night is in you now."
As she walked away, she felt it too. That strange fire in her veins. That dark thrill that had started burning the moment she fell… and was caught.
Whatever was happening, Monise knew she was no longer just a servant in a haunted mansion.
She had become part of the story.