ONE NIGHT IN THE CABIN HOUSE (Completed and NOW Edited!!...)

13

Gracia once again found herself on a wide, desolate road. Ahead, she spotted a looming structure—an old mental clinic, its windows dark and forbidding. **Why am I here?** she wondered, her heart racing with dread. Her eyes darted to a figure she immediately recognized: the black woman she'd seen before, dressed in a tattered jacket. The woman was rummaging through her pocket for something as she walked toward the clinic. Gracia felt a shiver down her spine. She was still trapped in the past, seeking the answers to questions she had never dared to ask out loud.

It wasn't long before Sarah emerged from the clinic, clutching a stack of papers. Her face was pale, her eyes hollow as if she had witnessed something unspeakable. Gracia watched as Sarah hurried to a nearby bus. But Gracia knew she didn't need the bus—she could follow without being seen, an unseen observer in this ghostly scene.

The bus stopped at an old library. Sarah entered, pulling out a familiar card from her purse—the same library card they had found in the haunted cabin. The doors creaked as they opened, and the chill that swept past made Gracia shiver. Inside, Sarah wandered through the aisles, selecting books on apparitions. The atmosphere was oppressive, the air thick with an unexplainable heaviness. Finally, Sarah sat at a computer and typed: **Marylou Bellamy**.

At first, the screen remained blank. But then, with a flicker, it filled with text. Gracia's breath caught in her throat as Sarah's eyes filled with tears, locked onto the image of a woman with a gaunt, familiar face. **Marylou Bellamy—murderer.** Gracia's blood ran cold. The image on the screen matched the woman they had encountered in the cabin, the same woman who had been imprisoned for murder, later released when she lost her mind.

As Sarah wept silently, Gracia saw something horrifying—cuts and gashes appearing on Sarah's arms, as if an unseen force was torturing her. Sarah screamed, clutching her head, her body trembling violently. She stumbled backward, knocking over a chair, her eyes wide with terror. **What is happening to her?** Gracia thought, frozen in place. She felt the presence of something malevolent in the room.

Suddenly, three little boys rushed into the room. Their faces were pale, eyes wide with fear. They didn't seem surprised by the scene unfolding before them. One boy, the smallest with fiery red hair, approached Sarah cautiously. It was the same boy Gracia had seen writing next to the cupboard in the cabin. Tears streamed down his face as he whispered something, begging Sarah to stop hurting herself. But Sarah's eyes darted wildly, as if she saw something invisible—something only she could see. She screamed in agony, tearing at her already wounded face.

Gracia tried to move, to intervene, but her body wouldn't obey. She was paralyzed, trapped in this nightmare. **This is how it ends,** she thought in horror. She had seen the truth: how Marylou Bellamy had been killed, how Sarah had been tormented by something unspeakable, and how the boy's frightened handwriting told a story of despair. Yet, there was more—so much more left unanswered. **Why did Marylou stab her husband?** And then the realization struck her like a lightning bolt. **They had forgotten.** Forgotten the detail from the records: Marylou had died in a motor accident, not in prison. Gracia's mind raced as the final, chilling thought echoed in her head: **Who are you, Marylou Bellamy?**

West Bandoos, 1669

A young girl with flowing blonde hair sat quietly knitting a woolen pink jacket. She hummed a soft tune, the rhythmic click of her knitting needles filling the air. Her father's deep, husky voice startled her out of her reverie.

She turned her head slightly, confused. **Why is Father awake?** Normally, her father slept through the afternoon, resting after his stroke. She had taken care of him ever since, ensuring he took his medication and helping him with his daily needs. He had been her world since her mother died, and now she wondered what could have disturbed his rest.

"Daddy?" she called softly as she approached the small sitting room. Her breath caught when she saw a tall, bearded man standing next to her father. His clothes were of fine material, his shoes polished and expensive. He smiled at her, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. The unease gnawed at her.

Her father remained silent, his face drawn and tired. "You should be resting, Daddy. The nurse said—" Her voice faltered when her father finally spoke.

"Marylou, sit with me," he said, his voice weak but commanding.

Reluctantly, Marylou set her knitting aside and sat beside her father. Her heart pounded in her chest as she glanced between the two men. **Who is this man?** she wondered, dread pooling in her stomach.

"Marylou, he has come to marry you," her father said plainly.

Her heart skipped a beat. She blinked, certain she hadn't heard correctly. **Marry me?** She looked at the stranger again, her hands trembling.

"Your father is right," the man said smoothly. "I want to make you my wife."

Marylou's pulse raced. The room felt colder, the air heavy with an unseen weight. The man was old enough to be her father, perhaps even older. She wanted to scream, to refuse, but something in her father's eyes stopped her. There was fear there—deep, gnawing fear.

"I can give you everything you've ever wanted," the man continued, his voice a poisonous whisper. "A home, wealth, a future. You won't have to worry about struggling anymore."

Her father, usually strong and stoic, looked away, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I agreed to this... for you and your sister," he whispered. "You won't be alone when I'm gone."

Marylou's throat tightened. Her father's words hung heavy in the air. **Gone?** The weight of the man's proposal, combined with the unspoken truth about her father's failing health, crushed her spirit. She glanced at the tall stranger again—Fernando Bellamy—his beady eyes gleaming with something predatory, something that made her skin crawl.

"I don't love him, Daddy," Marylou whispered, her voice trembling.

Her father's face twisted with pain, both physical and emotional. "I know, Marylou," he said, his voice breaking. "But when I'm gone, who will look after you? Who will care for your sister? This world... it's cruel, especially to women with no means."

The words felt like a cold knife to her heart. She had fought hard, every day, working on the farm just to put food on the table. And now, this man—this stranger—offered a way out, but at what cost?

Fernando stood, towering over them, his presence oppressive. "I'll give you time to consider," he said, tipping his hat before striding toward the door. "But don't take too long. My offer won't stand forever."

As the door clicked shut behind him, the room seemed to grow darker. The silence was unbearable.

Her father's hand shook as he reached for hers. "He can save us, Marylou. He can save this family."

Her mind raced, swirling with thoughts of escape, but there was nowhere to go. The small, dilapidated house had been in their family for generations, but even that was under threat. The debts her stepmother had incurred were suffocating them, and now the government was planning to take the farm for road expansion. Fernando's influence could stop that. But was marrying him the only way?

Her father's words echoed in her mind: **My death is fast approaching.** She shuddered. He had been dreaming of her mother, Cindy, who had died years before. He believed Cindy was calling him to join her, that his time was near. And Marylou knew, deep down, that his health had been deteriorating faster than he let on.

A heavy weight pressed on her chest as she turned her gaze to her sister, Danielle, who had just entered the room with a bright, innocent smile. She was soaking wet from fishing, her trousers caked with mud, but her eyes sparkled with pride.

"Twelve fish today!" Danielle announced, her smile wide, oblivious to the tension in the room. "It's going to be a feast!"

Marylou forced a smile, her heart breaking at the sight of her little sister, who had no idea what was about to happen. **How could I marry him?** she thought, panic rising. **How could I sacrifice my life for this man? But if I don't, what will become of us?**