Chloe, the maid I share a room with, is dead.

I watched the head housekeeper and another maid pin her to the floor. I watched them as the housekeeper vomited up a slimy, black web of fungus and forced it down Chloe's throat.

I should have screamed. I wanted to. But my selective mutism took over, trapping the sound in my throat. It probably saved my life.

The next day, Chloe was alive again.

She walked into the young miss’s room to brush her hair, just like always.

I was so scared I dropped the water basin I was holding.

As I stood there, frozen, the young miss leaned in close, her voice a whisper only I could hear. "You've noticed it too, haven't you? They're not themselves anymore."

That evening, I stood outside Veronica Vanderhorn’s door with her dinner on a silver tray.

I paused for a few seconds, taking a deep breath. Walking on eggshells around the young miss was nothing new, but ever since her father—the master of the estate—had confined her to the east tower for a failed investment, her moods had become a storm. The last maid, Mary, had already quit, supposedly unable to handle her temper.

I knocked lightly. "Miss, your dinner."

Silence.

I knocked again, a little louder. "Miss Veronica?"

That's when a sharp smell seeped out from under the door. It was the acrid sting of chemicals mixed with the foul stench of rot, like disinfectant poured over an open grave. I almost gagged, slapping a hand over my nose.

"Come in," her voice called from inside.

I pushed open the heavy oak door and stepped into the room.

Veronica stood with her back to me, facing the fireplace, her blonde hair a mess on her shoulders.

"Just leave it on the coffee table," she said without turning.

As I moved to set down the tray, something caught my eye.

A maid's uniform, crumpled on the floor. Dark red stains were spattered across the black and white fabric, dry and crusted a disturbing brown at the edges.

Weirder still, Veronica was gripping a long fire poker. Clamped in its tongs was a black… lump. In the firelight, it seemed to squirm, covered in a web of thin, vein-like threads. It was the source of that god-awful smell.

My hand started to tremble, rattling the silverware on the tray.

Veronica whipped around, her green eyes locking onto me. "What are you looking at?"

My mouth opened, but no sound came out. My old affliction—selective mutism. Whenever I'm terrified, my vocal cords just lock up.

She frowned and stepped toward me. "I asked you a question."

"I'm sorry, Miss," I managed to squeeze out. "I didn't see anything."

Then, she smiled.

"Clever girl," she said, reaching out to trace a finger along my cheek. "For your own sake, you'd better have seen nothing."

I nodded, too scared to speak.

Veronica turned back to the fireplace and tossed the black thing from the poker into the flames. It let out a sharp hiss as it burned, like a living thing screaming in agony. A wave of an even more intense stench filled the room.

"You can go," she said calmly, as if nothing had happened.

I practically fled from her room.

That night, I tossed and turned in my small bed in the servants' quarters. In the bed next to mine, Chloe slept peacefully, her breathing soft and even.

Around two in the morning, a strange noise woke me.

Chloe’s bed was empty.

She was standing in the middle of the room, her back to me, perfectly still. She had a habit of sleepwalking, so I usually just waited for her to snap out of it.

But tonight was different. She opened our door and walked out into the hall.

Something felt wrong. I slipped out of bed and followed her.

She went down the stairs, through the kitchen, and out the back door toward the garden. I stayed in the shadows, trailing her.

I followed her across the garden to the abandoned greenhouse at the back of the estate. Its glass panes were shattered, with some sections boarded up. A faint, flickering candlelight glowed from within, casting an eerie light in the darkness.

I hid behind a nearby tool shed and peeked around the corner.

The sight inside the greenhouse made my blood run cold.

Chloe stood in the center, surrounded by three figures: Mrs. Carson, the head housekeeper, and two other maids. They were all in their nightgowns, their faces wearing the same blank, empty expressions.

Mrs. Carson slowly lifted her head, her eyes glinting unnaturally in the candlelight. She beckoned to Chloe, her voice low and raspy.

"Come, child."

Chloe shuffled forward into the center of their circle.

I wanted to scream, to run in there and stop them, but fear had paralyzed me. All I could do was watch.

The two maids lunged at Chloe, wrestling her to the ground. For a second, Chloe seemed to wake up, struggling against them. But then Mrs. Carson knelt beside her, pinning her shoulders.

And then, Mrs. Carson opened her mouth.

A thick, black mass pushed its way out of her throat, writhing like a living vine. It made a wet, hissing sound as it crept toward Chloe’s face.

I clapped both hands over my mouth, choking back a scream. Tears blurred my vision, but I could still see the black tendrils of fungus forcing their way into Chloe’s mouth.

Chloe’s body twitched violently for a few seconds, her limbs flailing on the ground. Then, she went still.

She slowly sat up, got to her feet, and turned her head in my direction.

There was no human warmth left in her eyes.

While they were all focused on Chloe, I scrambled away from the shed and ran back to my room, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I barely slept.

The next morning, I was a wreck, standing outside Veronica’s door with her breakfast tray.

I took a deep breath and knocked.

"Come in," she called.

I pushed the door open and saw her sitting at her vanity, powdering her face.

"Put the breakfast on the nightstand," she said, not looking at me.

I walked over carefully, trying not to make a sound. Just as I was about to set the tray down, the door opened again.

Chloe walked in.

I froze. The tray in my hands began to shake violently. The memories from last night flooded back: Chloe pinned to the ground, the black fungus, those empty eyes...

"Miss, I've come to do your hair," Chloe said, her voice as flat as ever.

She started toward the vanity, pulling a silver-backed brush from a drawer. But as she passed me, she stopped and turned to look at me. Her eyes held an unsettling glint, like a predator sizing up its prey.

"You seem nervous, Ava," she said, her voice laced with a strange, hollow concern. "Are you not feeling well?"

I tried to answer, but my throat was stuffed with cotton. The mutism was back, my voice stolen by sheer terror.

Chloe took a step closer. "You look pale. Let me feel your forehead..."

She reached a hand toward me.

"Don't!" I finally found my voice, sharp and high-pitched.

I stumbled back, but my heel hit the leg of the bed and I lost my balance. The silver tray flew from my hands. The teapot hit the floor and shattered, sending scalding hot tea everywhere. The pain of it splashing onto my arm made me cry out.

"What are you doing?!" Mrs. Carson’s voice boomed from the doorway, her face red with anger. "You clumsy fool!"

She stormed into the room, her expression growing darker as she took in the mess. "Look what you've done! This tea set was imported from London! It’s worth three months of your wages!"

"I'm sorry..." I knelt, fumbling to pick up the broken pieces. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"Enough!" Veronica shot to her feet, hands on her hips. "You're all giving me a headache!"

She glared down at me. "Leave the idiot to clean up her own mess. No one helps her until it's spotless."

"Yes, Miss." Mrs. Carson nodded respectfully, then shot me a venomous look. "You heard her. You'd better make this floor cleaner than it was before, or you're out of this manor for good!"

She turned and marched out, Chloe following close behind. As terrifying as Miss Veronica could be, I was relieved to see them go.

After the door clicked shut, Veronica knelt in front of me. Her expression had completely changed. The anger was gone, replaced by an urgent tension.

She leaned in, her voice a low whisper. "You've seen it too, haven't you? They're not themselves anymore."

My eyes widened. My heart felt like it was going to pound its way out of my chest.

She knew. She knew all of it.

"Listen," she whispered, her voice tight. "Someone could be listening through the walls. Play along. Act like I'm still yelling at you."

Then, her voice rose to a shout. "And when you're done, you will brew me a fresh pot of tea! If you screw that up, I'll have my father throw you out on the street!"

She dropped her voice again. "If you really saw something last night, nod."

I hesitated for a second, then gave a slight nod.

A flicker of relief crossed Veronica's eyes. "Good. I was starting to think I was the only one."

"What did you see last night?"

I pulled a small notepad and pencil from my pocket and quickly scribbled: The greenhouse. Mrs. Carson and the others… what they did to Chloe. Black stuff… from her mouth to Chloe's.

Veronica read the note, then quickly tore it into tiny pieces and tossed them into the fireplace.

"It's a parasitic fungus," she whispered. "It controls the brain through those black mycelial threads. The host looks normal, but their consciousness is gone, completely replaced."

My hands stopped moving. I was shaking all over.

"So... the thing in your room..."

"A sample I managed to kill with a special chemical agent," she explained. "I've been trying to find a way to fight them. But this is worse than I thought."

She paused, her voice dropping even lower. "Chloe is infected. So is Mrs. Carson. I don't know how many others are. We can't let them know we know, not until we figure out what we're dealing with."

She stood and walked to the window, pretending to adjust the curtains. "From now on, we're allies. But remember, in front of anyone else, we act normal. If they find out, we're dead."

I nodded, feeling a sliver of hope for the first time.

I wasn't alone in this.

But a new, terrifying thought crept in. We knew about Mrs. Carson and Chloe. But who else?

A wave of despair washed over me. In this manor, anyone could be the enemy. How could we possibly figure out who was still human and who was now a puppet for those horrifying parasites?

Veronica had a plan.

"I know how to tell them apart," she said. "The hosts develop a dark, web-like pattern of filaments under their skin. It's usually most visible on the neck and chest."

"The problem," she continued, "is that the marks are always hidden by their uniforms. We need a way to make them show some skin."

An idea sparked in my mind. I quickly wrote it down on my notepad and handed it to her.

She read it and a grim, satisfied smile spread across her face. "Good idea."

A short while later, she had Mrs. Carson gather all the maids in the tower. There were eight of them, including Chloe. We all stood in our crisp black-and-white uniforms, heads bowed, looking perfectly normal.

Veronica's eyes scanned the line of women. "I seem to have misplaced a diamond necklace," she announced, her voice dripping with her usual arrogance. "And I'm quite certain the thief is one of you."

She pointed to a dressing room in the corner. "All of you, into the dressing room. I want you to strip to the waist so I can personally inspect you for my property."

No one dared to disobey. Mrs. Carson led the way, and the others filed in behind her. As the door closed, my heart began to pound against my ribs.

Mrs. Carson was the first to undress. As she unbuttoned her uniform, revealing her chest, I saw it. Her skin was a nightmarish canvas of dark purple lines, a dense web spreading across her collarbones and chest. In the dim light, they seemed to have an unnatural, living sheen.

One by one, the other maids removed their blouses.

And one by one, they revealed the same horrifying marks.

Every single maid in the room, except for me, was infected. They were all puppets.

Even more terrifying, as they stood there, half-undressed, the way they looked at me changed. The blank indifference was gone, replaced by a dangerous, predatory focus. It felt like being prey surrounded by predators.

Chloe slowly turned to face me, the web of filaments on her chest seeming to pulse in the dim light.

"Ava," she said, her voice flat and emotionless. "Your turn."

All eyes were on me. I was surrounded, about to be torn apart. I forced myself to stay calm, to mirror their empty expressions.

I took off my blouse. My chest, too, was covered in a web of dark lines.

Mrs. Carson’s eyes lingered on my chest for a few seconds before she nodded, a look of satisfaction on her face. The tension in the room broke. The maids relaxed, their expressions returning to that vacant stare. I had passed their test.

Thank God for Veronica, who had spent ten minutes before the gathering painting the intricate patterns on my skin with a mix of inks and dyes.

They hadn't noticed a thing. If they had, I'd either be dead or one of them.

The maids dressed and filed out of the room. As I left, I turned and gave Veronica a slight shake of my head.

She understood. There were no other survivors.

In this tower, it was just the two of us against all of them.