Who's Afraid of the Dark?

“You don’t really think Lottie’s missing, do you?” Sophie asked, as she ran a finger through her thick hair. She looked over at Harry, who was smiling down at her. He gave a quick shake of his head as if to ease her mind, before speaking softly, his tone steady and brave.

“Of course not, you know how Louis is. He’s just being a wanker. Lottie’s probably off playing her Gameboy while the rest of us search high and low for her. She’ll pop out at the last minute, on Louis’s cue of course, and we’ll head out of this castle the same way we came in.”

“But his eyes,” Sophie said, not convinced by his words. “He looked so scared. He looked so worried.”

Harry brought his arm to Sophie’s shoulder and pulled her against his chest. Her head rested comfortably on the crook of his neck, and she nearly gasped at the feeling of having him hold her. It was the only contact they’d made aside from him latching onto her wrist as they walked, and even though it was just his attempt at comforting her, something about it felt so magical to Sophie.

With a deep breath, she pushed the thoughts away, as she pulled away from him, looking up into his deep, dark eyes. He didn’t seem as worried as she was, almost as though he’d believed what he told her, but Sophie knew better. She saw before how he’d tried to comfort Louis, and it was obvious then that he believed his best friend, but now he didn’t want to let Sophie in on the truth. He wanted to keep her sheltered from what was really going on.

A small smile fell to his face, one that was used to comfort her rather than show delight. She smiled back and he reached his hand up, fixing a wayward piece of hair.

“Everything’s going to be alright, Soph. Lottie’s right around the next corner, I just know it.”

Sophie nodded, and the tall boy reached for her wrist again, wrapping his large hand around her small bone.

Flashlight in his other hand, he led Sophie down one of the many hallways, lined with the paintings of the forgetful faces who had once called the manor home. There were rows upon rows of them, just as there were rows upon rows of doors, and she wondered if there was someone, somewhere, who knew the names of each of those forgetful people.

Even though one of the most handsome boys Sophie had ever met – the very one Anise had spent countless hours trying to set her up with – was holding onto her wrist like she may be whisked away at any moment, her eyes weren’t on his perfect curls or flawless jaw like they should have been. She could only focus on all those nameless people surrounding her.

Each one of the paintings depicted wide eyed figures that looked more out of place than her and her group of friends. They didn’t belong there and their eyes showed it.

“Harry,” Sophie whispered, as she tugged at his arm with her free hand. He stopped immediately, turning to shine the flashlight directly on her. Her hand moved to her eyes, in an effort to shield the bright light which blinded her, and he quickly brought it back down.

She blinked several times, as her eyes attempted to adjust to the few sudden changes in the light, and took several moments before she could see clearly again.

“Sorry, Soph,” Harry whispered, as he watched her rub her eyes. “Is everything okay?”

After blinking a few more times, her eyes fluttered open and met with Harry’s dark ones. He had a concerned look on his face, clearly troubled by whatever had caused Sophie to stop so suddenly.

“It’s just the pictures,” Sophie said, her voice soft. “They’re –”

When Sophie’s eyes finally fell back to the walls, they were lined not with the forgetful faces they’d been covered with before, but instead landscapes and water color horses. Sophie knew what she had seen before. She knew that the walls had all those portraits of all those people. Her eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on her. She’d looked at each of the paintings far too closely for that. She’d seen the detail in their eyes – their dark, wandering eyes – and she knew that they’d been there.

“Harry,” she whispered again, her voice catching in her throat. “What’s going on?”