Escape to the Mysterious Mansion
Evelyn swatted the heat from her blouse and cradled Noah, his small body trembling against her.
“We have to go now,” I told her, pulling the door shut behind the shattered remnants of our home.
The street was slick with early rain, neon signs flickering above the narrow lane.
A taxi pulled up, its yellow light buzzing, and the driver—an older man with a neatly trimmed beard—rolled down the window.
“Where to?” he asked, voice low.
“The mansion across the street,” I said, pointing to the looming, ivy‑clad house that seemed to loom like a silent sentinel.
He nodded, the corner of his mouth tightening.
“You know that place?” I asked, curiosity cutting through the panic.
He hesitated, then sighed. “It belonged to a philanthropist, a man who saved your family years ago when the flood took everything.”
My breath hitched. I remembered the night the river rose, the stranger who sent a boat, the envelope of cash left on the doorstep.
“You’re the one who helped us?” Evelyn whispered, eyes wide.
He glanced at her, then at the rearview mirror where a tiny, glinting lens reflected the streetlight.
My skin prickled. “There’s a camera in here,” I said, pointing to the hidden sensor embedded in the headrest.