Chapter 3: Provisioning
The knock came again, insistent. Three sharp raps that seemed to vibrate through the very bones of the house.
Elias stayed frozen for a second longer, caught between the terror of what might be outside and the deeper terror of what was already in here with him. Logic, frayed as it was, offered a thin lifeline. Ghosts don’t knock. They whisper. They move your furniture. They don’t use their knuckles.
He pushed himself up, his joints protesting, and walked slowly to the foyer. The grand front door loomed, a barrier of dark, scarred oak. He hesitated, his hand hovering over the heavy iron latch. Through the distorted glass of the sidelight, he could see a blurred, shifting shape. A human shape.
He pulled the door open.
The woman on the step was a shock of vibrant life against the house’s gloom. She was petite, bundled in a puffy jacket against the chill, a beanie pulled over her dark hair. In her hands was a large cardboard box, stacked precariously with bags of groceries. Her round face was flushed from the cold, and she offered him a warm, slightly breathless smile.
“Elias Thorne?” she asked, her voice cheerful.
He could only nod, his brain struggling to process this normalcy.
“Great! Delivery for you. From the app.” She shifted the weight of the box. “It’s a big one. Got a few more boxes in the car. Someone really stocked you up.”
“I… I didn’t order anything,” he managed, his voice raspy from disuse.
“Yeah, the order was placed and pre-paid. Tip too.” She grinned, a dimple appearing in her cheek. “Lucky you. Must have a secret admirer. I’m Ashley, by the way.”
She waited, expectantly. He was blocking the doorway. The thought of letting her in, of exposing her to the dense, watchful silence of the foyer, felt like a violation. The journals flashed in his mind—Rachel’s cold hands, the assessment, the transaction. This woman was just doing her job. She had no idea.
“You can just… leave it there,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the stone step.
Ashley’s smile didn’t falter, but it became a little fixed. “It’s supposed to get down to freezing tonight. Your eggs’ll crack. And there’s ice cream. Seriously, let me help you bring it in. It’ll take two trips, max.” She peered past him, into the cavernous foyer, her eyes widening slightly. “Whoa. This place is something else. You just move in?”
“Something like that,” Elias muttered. The cold night air was seeping into the house, but it was nothing compared to the chill already rooted in his bones. He felt a desperate, irrational urge to slam the door, to protect her. But the practical part of him, the part that hadn’t eaten since a gas station sandwich hours ago, saw the bags. Coffee. Bread. Real food.
“Fine,” he relented, stepping back. “Quickly.”
“You got it.”
Ashley carried the first box in, setting it down on the dusty floor with a grunt. Her presence was a disruption. The scent of cold night air and her faint, clean perfume cut through the stale atmosphere. She looked around, her head tilting back to take in the high, shadowy ceiling. “Seriously. This is like a movie set. A creepy one. No offense.”
“None taken,” Elias said, his eyes darting toward the grand salon, where the journals still lay spilled on the floor. He moved to block her view.
She went back out and returned a moment later with another box, then a insulated bag. Elias stood uselessly by, feeling like a specter in his own inheritance. He watched her, this pocket of normalcy, and felt a pang of something so sharp it was almost physical. It was loneliness.
“Okay, that’s the last of it,” Ashley said, brushing her hands on her jeans. She looked at the small mountain of supplies, then back at him, her head cocked. “You gonna be okay putting all this away? You look a little… peaked.”
“I’m fine,” he said too quickly.
“Right.” She didn’t move. Her gaze was curious, lingering on his face. The warmth in her eyes seemed to flicker, replaced by a blank, assessing quality for a single, heart-stopping second. It was the same look Rachel had given him. A buyer’s look.
Then it was gone, and her easy smile was back. “Well, my job here is done. You have a good night, Elias. Stay warm.”
She gave a little wave and turned to leave. As she stepped back over the threshold, the grand chandelier in the salon gave a single, clear, high-pitched ping. Elias flinched. Ashley didn’t seem to notice. She just pulled her beanie down tighter and walked toward her idling car.
He shut the door, the heavy thud sealing him in once more. He leaned his forehead against the cold wood, listening to the sound of her car engine fading away into the night. The silence that rushed back in was deeper, more profound than before. It was hungry.
He looked at the groceries. It was a week’s worth of food, at least. Milk, eggs, bread, pasta, coffee, fresh fruit, vegetables, and, absurdly, a pint of vanilla bean ice cream. Everything he would need to stay. Everything to make him comfortable. To make him… sustainable.
Carnal sustenance.
The words from the journal echoed in the silent foyer. This wasn’t hospitality. This was husbandry.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, making him jump. He fumbled for it, a wild, desperate hope flaring in his chest. A signal. A lifeline. The screen glowed brightly in the dim light.
It was a notification from the delivery app.
Order #THN-779-DEL Complete.
Thank you for your order, Elias! Your groceries have been delivered. The bill and tip have been covered by the estate of Alistair Thorne.
We hope you enjoy your stay.
He stared at the message, the cheerful corporate language a grotesque mockery. Enjoy your stay. The phone’s glow illuminated the trembling of his hand. He tapped the screen, his fingers clumsy, pulling up the details of the order. Placed at 8:05 PM. Paid in full. Delivery instructions: Leave at door. Driver: Ashley Chu.
And then, at the very bottom of the screen, a single line he hadn’t noticed at first.
Recurring order: Scheduled for weekly delivery.
The screen went black, reflecting his own pale, horrified face back at him. The house had provided for him. It had ordered the groceries, paid for them, and arranged for a smiling girl to bring them to his door. It was all taken care of. All he had to do was be here. Be ready.
He was just the inventory.
A low, metallic groan echoed from deep within the house, a sound of shifting pressure, of ancient plumbing waking up. It was followed by a series of soft, distinct clicks, like locks sliding home.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
He spun around, his heart hammering. The sounds weren't coming from the front door. They were coming from deeper inside. From the hallway that led to the master bedroom.
He looked at the clock. 10:17 PM.
One hour and forty-three minutes. The house was making its final preparations.