The Familiar ghost

Lola POV

Two servants immediately came from the door and dragged me to the backyard.

“What are you doing?”

I was hauled to the prayer room on the west side of the building. The prayer room was more like a medium-sized church than an actual prayer room, and the absence of any religious items only accentuated the purity and nobility of the room with its snow-white walls and large, transparent windows.

The center of the room held a massive, polygonal table with various objects adorning each corner—pocket watches, rings, glasses, chains, and even withered roses stacked on one another, almost touching the ceiling.

It was a solemn, dignified space filled with mystery. As I gazed in awe at the impressive table, the two maids brought me to my knees, forcing me to kneel on the floor.

Agnes appeared before me with an emotionless face, stating, “Madam Calista, you will be here to reflect for a day and night.” With that, she turned on her heel and left.

I was dumbstruck. A whole day and night? If I had to kneel here for that long, my legs would be done for.

When Ragnar returned home, it was already 10:00 at night. He threw his keys to the doorman and walked upstairs.

“Welcome home, Alpha.”

Agnes bumped into him while coming from upstairs. She added with a sour expression, “You just got discharged today and you’re already off to work. The Queen is angry with it.”

“I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

“Even so, you shouldn’t burn yourself out.”

“I’ll remember that.”

As Ragnar made his way up the staircase, he suddenly paused and turned around to ask, “Has Madam Calista come back yet?”

Agnes was caught off guard by Ragnar’s sudden inquiry, for he had never displayed any concern for Calista’s movements in the past few days.

In fact, Ragnar’s interest in her whereabouts was because of the past events that transpired at the hospital that day.

Agnes had been battling with the idea of revealing Calista’s infidelity to Ragnar. However, now that he had asked about her, Agnes decided to just spill the beans.

“Today, when Madam Calista was supposed to return to her home, she went off to have a secret rendezvous with a man. The Queen was furious and had her punished for her wrongdoing.”

“She went off to have a secret rendezvous?” Ragnar narrowed his eyes. “That was some nerve she had.”

“I know, right? I can hardly believe it myself,” Agnes said, fishing her phone out of her pocket and showing Ragnar the photo.

Ragnar took the phone. He gave a quick glance at the photo and smirked. If Calista was being punished just because of this photo, then it was a little harsh for her.

“Alpha, are you all right?” asked Agnes, as she carefully glanced at Ragnar. Why was he smirking after learning that Calista was secretly seeing another man outside?

“I’m fine.” Ragnar handed the phone back to Agnes and said, “Okay, forget about this photo. Bring her to me.”

“But the Queen—”

“It’s okay. Just tell her it’s my idea.” Ragnar patted Agnes on the shoulder and added, “Bring her to me. Soon we will have a child of our own. Doesn’t my mother want a grandchild?”

“Ah…” Agnes nodded.

It had been more than ten hours since I was taken to the prayer room at noon. I felt dizzy, and my legs were so numb that they didn’t feel like my own.

I had once foolishly believed that this punishment was a merciful one, for it spared me the agony of physical torment. But little did I know that kneeling for hours was far more excruciating than any lashing or beating.

Had they chosen to flog me, the pain would have been fleeting. But this endless kneeling was a form of excruciation—slow and torturous. With my stomach empty and my body drained, my mind throbbed from the injury on my forehead, and I felt that I would collapse at any second.

In the early hours of the night, there were only a handful of flickering candles illuminating the prayer room. The profound stillness of the place was so unsettling that it sent shivers down my spine.

I recalled when the maid first showed me around the mansion—how she turned ghostly pale at the mere mention of this prayer room, as if it harbored some malevolent force lurking within its hallowed halls.

With the mere thought of these things, every hair on my body stood on edge. Suddenly, a faint creak echoed through the prayer room.

It seemed that the door on the right side had been opened. My body quivered with a sudden sense of cold. I rubbed my arms vigorously, nervously scanning the entire room, and finally fixed my gaze on the door on the right.

Suddenly, it occurred to me that this was the forbidden area specified in the contract I had signed with the Nightfang family when I first arrived. The door was old and worn out, with a gap in the door crack that was only the size of a fist—and within that gap…

My back stiffened and cold sweat dripped down. What did I see there?

I saw the visage of a woman, her countenance ghostly pale and her gaze fierce. She was draped in garb as white as freshly fallen snow, and low, I could discern her mournful voice as she lamented in sorrowful sobs:

“Give me back the ring…”

The voice echoed relentlessly, and I was petrified—immobilized like a statue. With all my might, I blinked my eyes repeatedly, and when I reopened them, the woman had vanished—and together with her, the mysteriously scary voice.

I clearly saw her a while ago. Could it be an illusion? But I knew it was not. Although I never believed in ghosts and gods, I couldn’t help feeling panicked.

I raised my right hand and looked at the ring on my ring finger. Was she asking for this ring?

I moved away from that very door, inch by inch. I knew the exit of the prayer room was locked and guarded by a servant. Finally, when my back hit the door of the exit, I fiercely slammed it with my hand while screaming in terror.

“Help! Ghosts! Ghosts!”

Despite my desperate cries, the servant outside the door refused to open it. I turned my head and looked at that very door where I saw that ghost. Although I couldn’t see anything now, I was still extremely scared.

I couldn’t help increasing the force of my pounding. “Ghosts! Let me out! Let me out!”

I screamed for a while until suddenly the door panel was pushed open. I was dumbfounded for a moment before I looked up with tears in my eyes at the person who had opened the door.

It was Agnes, the stern lady who barely showed any emotion on her face most of the time. For the first time, I felt so happy to see her, as if I had met my loved one.

I choked up and said, “Ghost—!”

Agnes gave me a cold look and asked, “Madam, did you forget to read or simply disregard page three, section two of the contract?”

“I did read it! But there really was a ghost in there!”

I remembered section two of page three quite well, which stated that discussions about supernatural beings were prohibited in the house.

“That’s ridiculous,” Zoe scoffed. “We’re werewolves, which are a type of supernatural creature, yet they can’t handle having some ghost talk in the house.”

“I also find it quite strange,” I declared silently. Being a half-witch myself, I possess a certain awareness of the spiritual realm. However, I didn’t experience the scalp-tingling sensation that I usually get when encountering ghosts. Rather, I felt a sense of familiarity with the ghost I saw earlier.

Before I could finish my sentence, Agnes interrupted me. “Shut up. Take her back to the mansion.”

Agnes turned on her heel at once. I wiped away my tears and sighed with relief. I could finally go back.

Twenty minutes later, I finally stumbled back to my bedroom and collapsed onto the bed, cocooning myself in blankets like a silkworm. Despite my weariness, slumber refused to come to me.