Ruthanne Georgeson High

💎 •A Hearth of Hell•

| Dedicated to datgirljess |

•••

          The chauffeur pulled the car into the driveway of a cream and red, three-story building in Bayliff Estate, a serene and almost lifeless residential estate in Ikeja; an affluential and industrial part of Lagos.

Ivie got down from the car and gave the house a lingering, doleful look before making her way inside. It was silent as a graveyard and cold as the Arctic. Her heart lightened up at the thought of the house being empty. She crossed the foyer rug and took a left turn leading to a large sitting room furnished with the most tasteful furniture and some other miniature things like picture frames, statuettes, and awards. A movie played on a muted flat screen TV and her face fell, her hope dashing to naught. Keeping herself invisible became her goal for the rest of the day.

She backtracked to the foyer and entered the kitchen. Her throat was parched and sore and she walked over to one of the refrigerators. On opening it, she grabbed a bottle of water and shut the fridge back. She opened the bottle and raised it up to take a sip.

"You're back already?" A lady with a lustrous mane of golden brown hair peered into the kitchen.

Ivie's hand froze midway and a chill shot to every part of her body. A dark and acrid feeling rose up from the pit of her stomach, clogging her mind and clamping down on her chest. She returned the bottle cap and turned around to answer, "Yes."

Harvie Okorie stood delicately at the doorway as if a wrong step or balance might send her tumbling to the ground. "Why?" her voice dripped honey. "Is the shoot over so soon?"

"Yes," Ivie said in a quiet voice.

Harvie eyed her skeptically, fluttering her long lashes. She dropped the issue and her eyes skimmed over to the dishes piled high into the sink and all over the counter, the floor. "Do those dishes." She gestured with her fingers. "There aresome special serving set I bought from my trip to Paris among them, so, I want them sparkling and clean. And you take them up to the cupboard in the store. We'll probably be having some relatives coming over for dinner tomorrow. Just... tidy up everywhere." She clasped her hands. "And oh, clean up the guest rooms too, make it ready, just in case."

Ivie moved her eyes slowly over the mountain of dirty dishes. She was silent.

Harvie cocked her head to the side, boring her eyes into Ivie. "Did I communicate with someone?"

Ivie's head rose up and down, swift and robotic.

Harvie made some disapproving noise through her nose before she strolled away.

Ivie continued to stare at the kitchen's entrance—frozen and in a trance-like manner—long after Harvie left.

How interesting.

Her gaze wavered. She looked around the kitchen, still rooted to a spot.

I'm right here, up here in your head.

In my head? What is this? Who are you?

The small voice giggled and then the sound of it clicked in Ivie's mind.

What?!

The voice laughed again and suddenly a figure materialized in front of her.

Auburn hair.
A ripped, yellow shirt dress.
Caked blood and dirt.

Fern Marcelo.

The redhead spun around in the kitchen, sliding in between furniture and running her fingers over their surface. She looked at Ivie, smiled and spoke again. "How interesting. Did I hear right or were you just given the work of a maid?" She shook her head in disbelief. "Is this some kind of a joke or is there something I'm missing here?" She perched on a dining table in front of Ivie.