He Who Weaves Dreams | #ONC2023

1

Threads.

Different-colored threads surrounded her--some were white, some blue, some red, and some gold. Against the dark, they glowed, encompassing her and extending like infinite lines.

Not too far from her, a figure of a man stood. He seemed familiar but she couldn't see his face even when her eyes squinted. Who is he? The man's hand reached out to touch one of the threads and then--

Claire woke up with a gasp.

"Are you alright, missy?" A rough voice asked her from the front of the car.

"Y-yeah, I am." She sat up straight and looked out of the car's window. Endless, thick vegetation surrounded the path. Sleeping made her forget that she was in a cab on her way to the old mansion of the Belmonte family, situated at the foot of Mt. Tenebro.

For a moment, she regretted taking the job as an assistant to the caretaker of the mansion. It was located very far from the heart of the town where most people were and there were a lot of scary stories surrounding it. But, she also knew she didn't have a choice. If she wanted to go to college and be a teacher, she had to find a job and the offer of working at the Belmontes' ancestral home would give her enough money. No, actually, even more. She could save up and even give some to her family.

The cab stopped in front of a pair of tall, steel gates. An old butler clad in a black suit, gray waistcoat, and black bow tie opened it and motioned them in.

The plump, balding cab driver maneuvered the car inside. "Such a nice piece of property, that is," he said in his rough voice.

And he was right. Claire was struck with awe as she looked around them. The three-story colonial mansion, named Palasyo Marilag by the illustrious Belmonte family, was painted with new white paint and decorated with flowering vines. It had several rooms with balconies, a patio, and an attic with an open window. In front of the mansion was a well-tended garden with bermudagrass, fully-blooming flowers, and bushes shaped like chubby cherubs. The sunlight gleamed on the droplets of water on the petals and the greens. On one side was a fountain with statues of winged angels, sprouting fresh water from their cemented basins several feet high. The place was marvelous and Claire couldn't help but gape. From most of the people's view in the center of the town, Palasyo Marilag looked eerie and unwelcoming, but being here, she realized they were wrong. It wasn't too bad. It looked warm and cheery.

An image of a happy family in church flashed in her mind--the Belmontes ten years ago--and a chill ran down her spine.

But, she shouldn't forget that the gargantuan house still held secrets.

The car stopped and the wooden doors of the mansion opened, revealing a petite, thin, bobbed hair woman in her fifties dressed in a light pink suit and pencil skirt. An easy smile rested on her face as she saw Claire. "How you've grown, Ms. Mendoza."

Claire got out of the cab. She wondered if she should've dressed more formally. That she shouldn't have dressed in simple jeans and a white tee. She told the caretaker, "Just call me Claire. Should I be in formal wear, too? Sorry, I don't have clothes like that with me."

"Oh, don't you worry about that, Claire. We have prepared your uniforms for you. Bettina believes you and I have the same body measurements. Come. I'll show you to your room. Oh, wait." The woman shouted, "Edgar! Edgar!"

The gardener with the body of a wrestler appeared and walked toward them, holding a pair of hand pruners. "Yes, ma'am?" He was frowning, like he didn't like the way the caretaker was distracting him from his job.

The older woman didn't seem to mind the man's sour expression. "Will you take Claire's baggage with you and put it in her room, please?" she asked him.

"Sure, ma'am." The burly gardener threw his hand pruners by the door and proceeded on carrying the three big bags from the trunk of the cab with loud grunts.