Craved by the Wrong Volkov-Chapter 146: The call

Braelyn’s POV

Ring

Ring

The eerie ring tone of the telephone continued. I glanced back once more towards the master’s bedroom wondering if Lucien didn’t hear the sounds. My eyes drew back staring at the door that stood at the end of the flight of stairs.

I stood frozen for a moment at the foot of the stairs, my fingers still curled around the doorframe. The ringing wouldn’t stop.

It pulsed through the silence slithering under my skin while a strange feeling tangled around me pulling me towards the door.

The staircase leading up to the attic loomed before me, it was a narrow old flight of stairs, each step worn down at the centre as if too many people had climbed it over the years. Cobwebs hung on the wall. It was obvious the housekeeper didn’t clean this area, yet a phone was ringing from upstairs.

Curiosity and fear tangled tightly in my chest. My mind spiralled into a tangled mess of thoughts.

Something in me screamed to turn around, to go back to the master’s bedroom where Lucien was. According to him, this was probably the standard horror movie clichés. Maybe there was a demon calling me up there.

Lucien definitely wouldn’t want me to go up there, but another part of me, like a silent whisper at the back of my head, pulled me forward. As if whatever waited up there had been waiting for me specifically.

I swallowed, pushing my thoughts back. "This is stupid," I whispered, though my feet didn’t listen. The first step creaked under my weight.

The sharp creaking sound made me flinch, my heart beat skyrocketed, yet I held my breath. "Stop being a scared cat Lynn." I laughed at myself and took the next step. I took each step with my eyes locked at the door while waiting for something or anything to happen, maybe a ghost to jump at me.

The door drew closer with each step yet nothing happened. The ringing continued, louder now, and it became sharper, tearing my ears as though I were getting closer to its source.

Each step felt colder than the last. The air thickened, pressing against my lungs, carrying the faint smell of dust and old wood. My hand brushed the wall as I climbed, my skin prickling as if the house itself was watching me move.

By the time I reached the top, my heart was pounding so hard it hurt. The attic door stood before me. It was a plain old wooden door.

A simple bolt locked it from the outside. My fingers trembled as I slid it open. The sound echoed too loudly in the narrow space. I pushed the door gently, and it creaked inward; the movement was a bit stiff, as though reluctant to let me in.

The ringing was deafening now. The room was pitch black, and the darkness swallowed me whole. That feeling came again like something was behind me. I held my breath, then started to fumble along the wall until my fingers found a switch. For a brief second, I hesitated afraid to switch it on

Scared a demon was standing before me.

Then I flicked it on. The room came into view, and my breath caught.

It was a bedroom. The attic was a secret room at least it seemed that way.

A fully furnished bedroom filled with vintage furniture, an old mahogany bed, a vanity with a cracked mirror, and thick lace curtains yellowed with age. Everything was covered in transparent plastic wraps, preserved like relics trapped in time.

The cold intensified. I felt it seep into my bones, the unmistakable sensation of not being alone. Yet... there was no one there.

My steps were slow and cautious, the sound of my shoes muffled against the wooden floor. With every movement, a strange familiarity settled in my chest. The layout, the furniture and colours. It felt like I had been here before or seen something similar

I knew this room but that wasn’t possible. I have never been to this villa. My gaze drifted to the far wall where a large portrait hung, hidden beneath a thin veil.

My stomach twisted. I reached out before I could stop myself and pulled the fabric aside. The world tilted. It was my parents, I didn’t understand. I thought Dad said he lost everything in the fire.

My mother sat beside my father, his arm resting protectively behind her chair. They were smiling softly, frozen in time. Mum was holding a bouquet of yellow chrysanthemums.

My throat closed. "What...?" The word barely made it out. Confusion flooded me, leaving me overwhelmed.

Why were their things hidden up here? Why was this room sealed away like a secret that shouldn’t exist? Everything was wrapped in plastic, as if someone had been trying desperately to preserve it.

Or erase them everywhere else. The ringing pulled my attention back. The telephone sat on a small side table near the bed. It was an old telephone, the type that was used when I was a child.

I remembered Dad having one in his study.

The ringing pulled me again.

It came from the small side table near the bed. An old telephone sat there, its ivory body dulled with age, the cord coiled loosely like it had been disturbed recently. The sound wasn’t sharp anymore; it was hollow and felt repetitive.

I moved closer, every step heavier than the last. My chest felt tight, my breath shallow. Something about it felt rehearsed. Like it had been waiting.

I reached for the receiver. The moment my fingers wrapped around it, the ringing stopped.

The line clicked not like a call connecting, but like something starting..Static crackled softly, unevenly, then a woman’s voice filled my ear. She sounded tired and strained. Her voice was heavy with emotion.

"Dominic... please. Is that you?"

My heart dropped violently. My grip tightened around the receiver. "Who are you?" I said sharply, panic clawing up my throat. "What do you want with Dominic?"

The voice didn’t respond. It didn’t pause either. It continued, unchanged, as if my words never reached it.

"You’re not coming home," the woman said softly, almost to herself. "I know you’re angry. I know I hurt you."

A cold spread down my spine.

This wasn’t a conversation.

It was looping.

I pulled the receiver slightly away from my ear, my eyes snapping to the telephone base. That was when I saw it, a small recorder connected to the line, its tape spinning slowly beneath a dusty plastic cover.

My stomach twisted.

"I’m sorry," the voice continued, cracking now. "I never meant for it to end like this."

My fingers shook as I reached down and switched the recorder off. The voice cut mid-breath. 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

"What is going on?" I muttered. "Dominic." The name slipped out as I placed the phone down.

My father’s name. My hands fell to my sides as the weight of it crushed down on me. Questions spiralled wildly in my head. None of them made sense.

Before I could even begin to process it...

A scream tore through the house. My pulse raced and my head snapped to the door.

It came from downstairs.

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