UNTOLD | D.M (UNRAVEL BOOK 3)

[ 01 ]

The small cottage stood over the hills of Little Hangleton. In contrast to the humble little house, was an extravagant manor surrounded by a vast amount of velvet green lawn. Frank Bryce, was a man who lived in the single-story cottage across the manor. Although it wasn't much, his home had a clear view of the mansion ahead of his window, giving him a view of the place he once worked as a gardener. 

Sometime in August, Frank had woken up in the deepest night, feeling a horrible surging pain in his knees. At first, he had thought it was some elderly problem, after all, he was soon to be 77 years old. He clicks his tongue, waking up and heading to the kitchen to have a cup of warm water alongside some medicine. Lighting a fire on the stove, he places his kettle of water over it, waiting for it to boil. He then stood by the counter, stretching his stiff arms and looking out of the tiny window in the kitchen, only to catch sight of the manor over the hills. 

In one of the rooms on the highest floor of the darkened manor, the light flickered, before turning on. Frank purses his lips, groaning as he shuts the gas off his stove, stomping out of his cottage with a huff, "Bloody kids," he curses. He had thought the village children had broken into the manor to play and possibly created a ruckus. As a caretaker of the mansion, he wouldn't want any boys or girls breaking in and giving him more problems than he already had. 

He grabbed the manor's keys and a lightened lantern, before heading towards the huge house on the slope. Frank passed by the manor's garden, where the bushes were all perfectly trimmed in a spiral shape, bushes and trees that he had taken care of. With little light pathing the way for him, he squints through the dark, doddering impatiently. His eyes looked upwards as he finally neared the entrance door, rushing into the house.

The door creaked open as Frank peeped into the pitch-black manor, his eyes glancing around. It was surprisingly quiet, especially since he knew kids would probably scream and yell about in situations like this; the kids he knew at least. He headed to the staircase, he brought his lantern close to the walls as he passes by the old grandfather clock covered with dust and webs settled by spiders, he shakes his head, this place has zero maintenance after being left by the Riddle family. Although it wasn't his job to look after this place, he couldn't help by sighing.

Moving up the stairs, he grabbed the handle, pulling his heavy body up with his weak arm. Still shining the light ahead, he walked up the many stairs to the highest floor, having to stop midway to catch his breath. He grumpily continued after inhaling a ton of oxygen, when he sees the children, he'll definitely have to give them a good scolding. 'Having an old man climb these stairs, how dumb are these children?' He says in his head.

As he approaches the top, he suddenly stops, hearing voices whispering, it was the voice of no child but an adult. "How fastidious you've become, Wormtail... As l recall— you once called the nearest gutter pipe 'home'." The person says, his voice hoarse and cold, he went on "Could it be... that the task of nursing me has become wearisome for you?"

Frank stifled, quickly turning out the light in his lantern. If there were adults here, they would definitely call the police on him. He was, after all, a person who was framed as a killer for the murder of the Riddle family years ago. Deciding to flee before anyone notices him, he turned around, and quickly descended the stairs. However, his nervousness took over him, as a loud creaking sound echoed through the quiet house. His eyes widened, clenching his teeth as he looked back to the ajar door where voices came from. Thankfully, no one had seen him, yet.

His eyes squint, as a figure passed by the gap of the door. It was an almost balded man who held his hands close to his grubby face, he was shaking and chattering before kneeling in front of a chair. "— perhaps if we were to do it... without the boy!" he says fearfully to the figure sitting on the armchair that he was kneeling to. Frank took a step up, intrigued, he caught a glimpse of a frail boney arm, resting with a black cloth around it and then another person approached it, a man who wore a thick leather coat around it. The man's eyes gazed deeply at the 'being' on the chair, as he knelt by it. Closing towards the door, Frank slowly sneaked by to it, it was as if he was drawn into the room.