Prologue

The Night Everyone Died

Twenty Years Ago, In A Remote Village Hidden Between the Mountains and An Endless Stretch of Forest, A Little Boy Named Vance Learned That Monsters Did Not Always Live Under the Bed.

Sometimes, They Lived Inside the Walls.

It Was a Place That Barely Appeared on Maps, Where Telephone Signals Disappeared After Sunset and The Winding Roads Were Swallowed by Thick Fog. The People Who Lived There Rarely Spoke to Strangers. They Locked Their Doors Before Dark, Covered Their Windows with Heavy Curtains, And Never Answered When Someone Knocked Three Times After Midnight.

The Village Was Called Nokin.

Most Importantly, They Never Went Near the Abandoned House on The Hill.

It Was a Magnificent House Once-A Two-Story Mansion with Tall Arched Windows, Elaborate Wooden Balconies, And A Beautiful Garden That Had Gradually Become a Graveyard of Dead Flowers. Its Dark Stone Walls Were Covered in Ivy, And Its Iron Gates Were Permanently Chained Shut.

The Locals Called It the House of Silence.

Vance’s Family Lived There.

His Father, Adrian Vale, Was A Respected Physician. His Mother, Eleanor, Was A Pianist Whose Music Could Be Heard Throughout the Village. His Older Sister Clara Was Twelve, And Vance Was Eight.

They Were an Ordinary Family, Or So He Believed.

Until The Night of October 23, 2006.

Vance Remembered It Was Raining Heavily That Night.

It Struck the Windows Like Handfuls of Gravel. Thunder Shocked the Chandelier Above the Dining Table.

His Father Stood in The Hallway, Arguing with Someone Whose Face Vance Could Not See.

His Mother Was Crying.

Clara Held Vance’s Hand So Tightly That Her Fingernails Dug into His Skin.

“Whatever Happens,” She Whispered, “Don’t Open the Basement Door.”

“Why?” Vance Replied, Tilting His Head Full of Curiosity Towards His Sister.

She Looked Towards the Staircase Leading to The Basement.
Something Was Moving Beneath the Floorboards.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

As If Someone Were Crawling Underneath the House.

Then Came Three Knocks from The Basement.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Their Father Stopped Arguing.

The Entire House Fell Silent.

And From Somewhere Below Them, A Woman’s Voice Called Out.

“Eleanor?”

Vance’s Mother Went Pale.

Because The Voice Belonged to Her Own Mother.
A Woman Who Had Been Dead for Eleven Years.
The Light Went Out.

The House Fell into An Eerie, Deafening Silence.

Then Suddenly.

Vance’s Heard Screaming, Glass Breaking, And the Heavy Sound of Something Being Dragged Across the Floor.

Clara Pushed Him into A Wardrobe and Pressed a Finger Against Her Lips.

“Stay Here, Little Brother. No Matter What You Hear, Don’t Come Out.”

She Closed the Door.

Through The Narrow Gaps, Vance Saw His Sister Walk Towards the Basement.

He Was Left Alone, Without Knowing Anything.

He Waited for Her Sister to Come Back for Him.

But He Never Saw Her Again.

When Morning Came, The House Was Empty.

His Father Was Gone.

His Mother Was Gone.

His Sister Was Nowhere to Be Found.

There Was Blood on The Dining-Room Floor, Muddy Footprints Leading to The Basement, And A Message Written on The Wall with Blood.

ONE FAMILY FOR EVERY GENERATION.

Vance Was Found Three Days Later, Wondering Barefoot Along the Road Outside Nokin.

He Remembered Nothing After the Wardrobe.

The Authorities Declared His Family Dead, Despite Never Finding Their Bodies.

The Mansion Was Sealed. The Village’s Remaining Residents Refused to Discuss What Had Happened.

Vance Was Sent Away to Live with A Distant Relative.

And For Twenty Years, He Tried to Forget.

But The House Had Never Forgotten Him.