I Faked My Infection To Survive the Manor

Chloe, the maid I share a room with, is dead.

I watched the head housekeeper and another maid pin her to the floor. I watched them as the housekeeper vomited up a slimy, black web of fungus and forced it down Chloe's throat.

I should have screamed. I wanted to. But my selective mutism took over, trapping the sound in my throat. It probably saved my life.

The next day, Chloe was alive again.

She walked into the young miss’s room to brush her hair, just like always.

I was so scared I dropped the water basin I was holding.

As I stood there, frozen, the young miss leaned in close, her voice a whisper only I could hear. "You've noticed it too, haven't you? They're not themselves anymore."

That evening, I stood outside Veronica Vanderhorn’s door with her dinner on a silver tray.

I paused for a few seconds, taking a deep breath. Walking on eggshells around the young miss was nothing new, but ever since her father—the master of the estate—had confined her to the east tower for a failed investment, her moods had become a storm. The last maid, Mary, had already quit, supposedly unable to handle her temper.

I knocked lightly. "Miss, your dinner."

Silence.

I knocked again, a little louder. "Miss Veronica?"

That's when a sharp smell seeped out from under the door. It was the acrid sting of chemicals mixed with the foul stench of rot, like disinfectant poured over an open grave. I almost gagged, slapping a hand over my nose.

"Come in," her voice called from inside.

I pushed open the heavy oak door and stepped into the room.

Veronica stood with her back to me, facing the fireplace, her blonde hair a mess on her shoulders.

"Just leave it on the coffee table," she said without turning.

As I moved to set down the tray, something caught my eye.

A maid's uniform, crumpled on the floor. Dark red stains were spattered across the black and white fabric, dry and crusted a disturbing brown at the edges.

Weirder still, Veronica was gripping a long fire poker. Clamped in its tongs was a black… lump. In the firelight, it seemed to squirm, covered in a web of thin, vein-like threads. It was the source of that god-awful smell.

My hand started to tremble, rattling the silverware on the tray.

Veronica whipped around, her green eyes locking onto me. "What are you looking at?"

My mouth opened, but no sound came out. My old affliction—selective mutism. Whenever I'm terrified, my vocal cords just lock up.

She frowned and stepped toward me. "I asked you a question."

"I'm sorry, Miss," I managed to squeeze out. "I didn't see anything."

Then, she smiled.

"Clever girl," she said, reaching out to trace a finger along my cheek. "For your own sake, you'd better have seen nothing."

I nodded, too scared to speak.

Veronica turned back to the fireplace and tossed the black thing from the poker into the flames. It let out a sharp hiss as it burned, like a living thing screaming in agony. A wave of an even more intense stench filled the room.

"You can go," she said calmly, as if nothing had happened.

I practically fled from her room.

That night, I tossed and turned in my small bed in the servants' quarters. In the bed next to mine, Chloe slept peacefully, her breathing soft and even.

Around two in the morning, a strange noise woke me.

Chloe’s bed was empty.

She was standing in the middle of the room, her back to me, perfectly still. She had a habit of sleepwalking, so I usually just waited for her to snap out of it.

But tonight was different. She opened our door and walked out into the hall.

Something felt wrong. I slipped out of bed and followed her.

She went down the stairs, through the kitchen, and out the back door toward the garden. I stayed in the shadows, trailing her.

I followed her across the garden to the abandoned greenhouse at the back of the estate. Its glass panes were shattered, with some sections boarded up. A faint, flickering candlelight glowed from within, casting an eerie light in the darkness.

I hid behind a nearby tool shed and peeked around the corner.

The sight inside the greenhouse made my blood run cold.

Chloe stood in the center, surrounded by three figures: Mrs. Carson, the head housekeeper, and two other maids. They were all in their nightgowns, their faces wearing the same blank, empty expressions.

Mrs. Carson slowly lifted her head, her eyes glinting unnaturally in the candlelight. She beckoned to Chloe, her voice low and raspy.

"Come, child."

Chloe shuffled forward into the center of their circle.

I wanted to scream, to run in there and stop them, but fear had paralyzed me. All I could do was watch.

The two maids lunged at Chloe, wrestling her to the ground. For a second, Chloe seemed to wake up, struggling against them. But then Mrs. Carson knelt beside her, pinning her shoulders.

And then, Mrs. Carson opened her mouth.

A thick, black mass pushed its way out of her throat, writhing like a living vine. It made a wet, hissing sound as it crept toward Chloe’s face.

I clapped both hands over my mouth, choking back a scream. Tears blurred my vision, but I could still see the black tendrils of fungus forcing their way into Chloe’s mouth.

Chloe’s body twitched violently for a few seconds, her limbs flailing on the ground. Then, she went still.

She slowly sat up, got to her feet, and turned her head in my direction.

There was no human warmth left in her eyes.

While they were all focused on Chloe, I scrambled away from the shed and ran back to my room, my heart hammering against my ribs.