The Return of The Forgotten Son

Victoria's POV 

Thomas didn't believe in supernatural things.

Even after everything we'd seen, he kept insisting there had to be a rational explanation. The stranger was a con artist. Whitmore died of natural causes. The cold spots and moving shadows were just old house problems.

I envied his denial. It must be nice to ignore reality when it didn't fit your worldview.

I found him in Father's study that afternoon, going through files. He'd been at it for hours, searching for something that would prove the stranger was fake.

"You won't find anything," I told him.

He didn't look up. "There's always something. A paper trail, a connection, some proof he's not who he claims to be."

"He knows things, Thomas. Things no one else could know."

"Then someone told him. A servant, a business rival, someone with access to family information."

I sat down across from him. "Do you really believe that?"

Finally, he looked at me. His eyes were bloodshot, his face pale. "I have to believe it. Because the alternative means we're all going to die."

"We are going to die. The book said so. Twenty years, and then the entity collects."

Thomas slammed his fist on the desk. "I refuse to accept that. We didn't survive this long just to give up now. There has to be a way out."

"Maybe we don't deserve a way out."

His face hardened. "Don't start with the guilt again, Victoria. What we did, we did for the family. For survival. I won't apologize for that."

"You should. Elias deserved better than what we gave him."

"Elias was weak. He would have destroyed everything Father built. He had no head for business, no ambition, no drive. He wanted to be an artist, for God's sake. What kind of Ashbourne wants to paint pictures?"

The casual cruelty in his voice made me sick. "The kind that didn't deserve to burn alive."

Thomas stood up. "This conversation is over. I have work to do."

But before he could leave, the lights went out. All of them, throughout the entire house. The only illumination came from the grey winter light through the windows.

"Power outage," Thomas muttered. "I'll check the breaker."

"Don't." I grabbed his arm. "Please don't leave this room."

He shook me off. "Stop being dramatic. It's just a power failure."

He opened the door and stepped into the hallway. I followed him, my heart pounding.

The hallway was freezing. Our breath came out in white clouds. Frost covered the walls, creeping across the portraits of dead Ashbournes. Their painted eyes seemed to follow us.

Thomas pulled out his phone for light. The beam cut through the darkness, showing empty corridor ahead. We walked toward the main staircase.

That's when we heard it. Footsteps above us. Slow, deliberate footsteps moving across the ceiling.

Thomas shone his light up. Nothing there. Just old wooden beams and shadows.

The footsteps stopped. Then they started again, faster this time. Running. They moved directly above us, keeping pace as we walked.

"Just the house settling," Thomas said. But his voice shook.

We reached the staircase. Thomas started down toward the basement where the electrical panel was. I stayed at the top, watching his light descend into darkness.

Halfway down, he stopped. "Victoria, there's something down here."

"Come back up. Please."

"No, wait. I see it. There's someone standing by the breaker box."

My blood went cold. "Thomas, get out of there. Now."

But he kept going. His light bobbed as he descended the last few steps. I heard him reach the bottom.

Then he screamed.

Not a yell of surprise or fear. A real scream, the kind that comes from pain so intense your body can't contain it.

I ran down the stairs, nearly falling in my panic. My hands scraped against the cold stone walls.

The basement was pitch black except for Thomas's phone lying on the floor. Its light pointed at the wall, illuminating nothing useful.

"Thomas?" My voice echoed. "Thomas, where are you?"

A sound came from the corner. Wet, gurgling breaths.

I picked up the phone with shaking hands and pointed it toward the sound.

Thomas lay on the floor. His body was covered in burn marks. Not fresh burns, but old ones, scarred and terrible. The kind that took years to form. His skin looked like melted wax.

But that was impossible. He'd been fine thirty seconds ago.

His eyes rolled toward me. His mouth opened but only a croak came out.

The stranger stepped out of the shadows behind him. "Hello, Victoria."

"What did you do to him?"

"Nothing he didn't deserve. I'm just showing him what Elias felt. Every burn, every moment of agony. Twenty years of pain condensed into thirty seconds. His body is remembering what his mind tried to forget."

Thomas convulsed. More burns appeared on his skin, spreading like wildfire.

"Make it stop," I begged. "Please, he's my brother."

"He was Elias's brother too. That didn't stop him from holding the torches. From lighting the oil. From watching him burn without mercy."

I fell to my knees beside Thomas. His hand reached for mine. I took it, feeling his skin crack under my fingers.

"I'm sorry," Thomas whispered. Blood leaked from his mouth. "I'm sorry, Elias. I'm sorry."

The stranger tilted his head. "Interesting. That's the first time any of you have actually meant it."

Thomas's body went still. His eyes stared at nothing. The burns covered every inch of his skin.

I looked up at the stranger through my tears. "Are you satisfied? Is this what you wanted?"

"This?" He laughed. "This is just the beginning. Thomas got off easy. He died in minutes. Elias burned for hours."

He walked past me toward the stairs. "Two down. Two to go. Tell Father and Mother I'm coming for them soon. Let them feel what it's like to wait for death. To know it's coming and be powerless to stop it."

"And me?" I asked. "When do I die?"

He paused on the stairs. "You're different, Victoria. You actually feel guilt. Real, genuine remorse. That's rare in this family. So you get to live a little longer. You get to watch them all fall first. Consider it a gift."

"Some gift."

"Better than what they gave Elias."

He disappeared up the stairs. The lights came back on, harsh and sudden. I was alone in the basement with my brother's corpse.

His eyes were still open. Still staring. The burns on his skin smoked slightly, like he'd just been pulled from a fire.

I don't know how long I sat there. Time became meaningless. Eventually, I heard Father calling my name from upstairs.

I left Thomas in the basement and climbed the stairs on shaking legs. Father stood at the top, his face grey.

"Where's your brother?"

"Dead." The word came out flat. Empty. "Thomas is dead."

Father pushed past me and ran down the stairs. I heard him scream when he found the body.

Mother appeared in the hallway. She looked at my face and knew. Just knew.

"How many more?" she whispered. "How many more of us have to die?"

I thought about the ritual book. About the words the stranger had read. All parties to the contract. Everyone who prospered from Elias's death.

"All of us," I said. "Every single one."