Chapter 5: The Man Who Was Buried Alive
The photograph on my phone felt heavier than the entire world.
I stared at the face staring back at me.
A man with silver hair.
A sharp jaw.
Cold, familiar eyes.
Victor Whitmore.
Richard’s father.
The man everyone believed had died twelve years ago.
My hands began to shake.
“That’s impossible,” Richard whispered.
For once, I heard something I never expected from him.
Fear.
Not the fear of being exposed.
The fear of seeing a ghost.
Anna looked at the screen and immediately stepped backward.
“No.””
Her voice cracked.
Clara looked between us.
“Who is that?””
Nobody answered.
I turned toward Richard.
“Your father is alive.””
Richard shook his head.
“He can’t be.””
“Then explain the picture.””
His face tightened.
“I buried him.””
The room went silent.
Clara looked horrified.
“You buried your own father?””
Richard closed his eyes.
“When he died, I was the one who identified the body.””
Anna let out a bitter laugh.
“Did you?””
Richard looked at her.
“What does that mean?””
She crossed her arms.
“It means Victor Whitmore was never the kind of man who let anyone know his next move.””
A cold feeling crawled through me.
I thought I understood the nightmare.
I was wrong.
The nightmare had only just opened its eyes.
Thomas suddenly spoke.
“Mrs. Whitmore…”
I turned.
The old butler was staring at the phone.
“I know that location.””
Richard looked at him.
“What?””
Thomas pointed at the photograph.
“In the background.””
He stepped closer.
“There.””
Behind Victor was a stone building surrounded by trees.
An old building I recognized immediately.
My stomach dropped.
“The east property.””
Richard looked at me.
“What?””
“The old Whitmore hunting lodge.””
His face changed.
Nobody had been there in years.
The place had been abandoned after a fire.
A place where Richard’s father used to disappear for days.
A place nobody in the family talked about.
Anna grabbed her coat.
“I’m coming with you.””
“No,” Richard said.
She looked at him.
“You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore.””
Her words carried twenty-two years of pain.
Clara stepped forward.
“I’m coming too.””
I looked at her.
“No, sweetheart.””
The word slipped out naturally.
Her eyes softened.
But she shook her head.
“I spent my whole life wondering why I was abandoned.””
She looked at the photograph.
“I deserve to know who did it.””
I knew she was right.
So an hour later, the four of us drove toward the old hunting lodge.
The entire way, nobody spoke.
The rain started halfway there.
Heavy drops hit the windshield like fingers tapping against glass.
When we arrived, the lodge looked exactly as I remembered.
Old.
Silent.
Forgotten.
But the door was unlocked.
Richard noticed it too.
“Someone has been here recently.””
Thomas stayed by the car.
Richard pushed the door open.
The smell hit us first.
Dust.
Smoke.
Old wood.
And something else.
Fear.
We walked through the empty rooms.
Until Clara stopped.
“Wait.””
Everyone turned.
She was staring at the wall.
A faded mark was carved into the wood.
A small moon.
The same symbol as her necklace.
Anna walked closer.
Her face became pale.
“I remember this.””
My heart raced.
“What?””
Anna touched the carving.
“I used to draw this when I was little.””
Richard looked confused.
“You were here?””
Anna nodded slowly.
“Not just here.””
She looked around.
“This was where he kept us.””
The words made my blood run cold.
“Kept you?””
Anna swallowed.
“My memories are broken. I remember a woman taking care of us. I remember another little girl crying. I remember being told our parents didn’t want us.””
Clara’s eyes filled with tears.
“That was me.””
Anna looked at her.
“I think it was.””
A sound came from upstairs.
Footsteps.
Everyone froze.
Richard whispered:
“Someone’s here.””
We moved toward the staircase.
Slowly.
Quietly.
At the top was a hallway with three doors.
The middle door was locked.
Richard stared at it.
“I’ve never seen this room opened.””
He tried the handle.
Nothing.
Then Clara noticed something.
“There’s writing.””
Carved into the door were words.
Three names.
*EVELYN.*
*LILY.*
*ANNA.*
My breath stopped.
The door wasn’t meant to keep someone out.
It was meant to hide something.
Richard found an old key inside a drawer nearby.
His hands shook as he inserted it.
The lock clicked.
The door opened.
Inside was a room frozen in time.
Two small beds.
Two faded blankets.
Two children’s drawings on the wall.
And on a desk sat a file folder.
My name was written across the front.
*THE WHITMORE CHILDREN PROJECT.*
I reached for it.
But before I could open it, a voice came from behind us.
“You should have left the past buried.””
We turned.
A man stood at the end of the hallway.
Victor Whitmore.
Alive.
Older.
But unmistakable.
Richard stepped forward.
“Father.””
Victor smiled.
A cold, empty smile.
“I knew you would eventually find them.””
His eyes moved to Clara and Anna.
“My granddaughters.””
I felt rage replace my fear.
“You stole my children.””
Victor tilted his head.
“No.””
He looked directly at me.
“I saved this family.””
May you like
Then he looked at Richard.
“And your son still doesn’t know the worst part.””
