The walls were crying (chapter 1)

A father's daughter is taken to a cave within the mansions dungeon, where she learns about the existence of a monster inside. (3,400~ words)

Terrible. This house is miserable to live in. With a feather pen spinning between her fingers, she swallows a hard, lumpy candy that she’d been sucking on. It was the chef's meager attempt at creating caramel for her but it came out tacky and burnt. The little globules he poured the caramel into flattened roughly while they settled. Normally a different cook would make them�" unfortunately, that chef will not be making anything ever again.
The pen is flung from her fingers and onto the floor. She peers at it loathsomely.
Picking up the pen she sets to writing a letter on a small half sheet of paper. In neat, small writing, it reads:
To the new chef,
Don’t concern yourself with making candy. Practice the usual meals instead of burning sugar.
-Lia
Folding it in half and placing it inside of a smaller envelope, she stands up from her small desk and pulls open a tiny door set off from the side of her bed. It is situated in the middle of the wall, squarish, and made of a cheap metal with a small protruding handle. It creaks as it opens stiffly.
“Kitchen.” She drops the tiny envelope inside. It falls into an endless darkness. Though she cannot see the bottom, she knows it will be delivered to the kitchen and read promptly. If she wasn't concerned that the chef would catch the attention of Father, there would be no note to send. Though, if Father hadn’t done away with the last one, there’d be no need to worry at all. The last chef was decent and his meals were edible. This chef seems to have been a hasty replacement.
She sits back on her desk chair and glares at nothing in particular. It’s loud. Extremely so. The maid in the corner, who is just a pawn for Father to keep an eye on her, doesn’t appear to hear anything at all. She picks up a random book on the corner of the desk; the title reads, “The Contributions of Banks on Local Economies.” Opening it, she finds that the text inside is as boring as the text outside.
Her mind wanders.
Things in Father's house haven't been right lately. She can feel the disturbance in the walls and floors. It was as if they were crying out in grief, moaning viscerally and creaking in distress. The servants all remain deaf to the sound, which disturbs her everyday life. It felt as if the walls were going to close in, to smother and suffocate herself.
She has had several dreams of the floor giving out by now. She would be paralyzed in her bed when the space underneath suddenly disappeared and she fell into an endless darkness, unable to scream or cry, helpless in the cold descent. At the end, when she was about to wake up, she would find herself in her father's office, standing on a chair for him to whip her calves. The pain is always as vivid as reality. In the daze of waking, she has to run her hands over the scabs on her delicate skin to remove the sensation of blood dripping down her legs. Sometimes the phantom pain remains for hours, like a ghost had personally whipped her in place of Father.
It was already difficult enough to fall asleep. The aches and bruises kept her up as frequently as the dread of nightmares to come. Due to Father’s recent boredom, it has become so unbearable to sleep that she actually began keeping herself awake�" on purpose. By reading books. Boring educational books, because that’s all the decorative bookcases in her room come stocked with. She has to focus excruciatingly on the complicated words. In the beginning it was a fierce battle to overcome. So, to combat the urge to shut the book (and her eyes) she had to stubbornly take notes.
Father eventually heard that she was forsaking sleep to study- traitorous as her maids are. He gifted unto his child a stronger lightsource�" A lamp which burned brighter than the candles she owned. Perhaps he hoped she would work herself to death, or use it to catch her room on fire and burn with all the books. Unfortunately for both of them, she didn't bother.
Father’s second favorite pastime is finding issue in her. First, is the punishment thereafter.
It was the seventh night after receiving that light when Father sent the butler to retrieve her.
Bu-dump, ba-dump.
Awful, she thinks to herself, placing her book down. Today is going to be awful.
The walls have been groaning louder by the day, and today is the loudest it's ever been. The butler guides her through the mansion's twisting, carpeted hallways, saying something she can't hear. The carpet drags on her feet, a high pitched whine following her steps as she walks closely behind the tall, aging butler. It was as if the floor was pulling her back, to prevent her from moving forward. Her heart aches in discomfort at the idea.
Though she can't hear the butler’s words from the noise or read his lips at this angle, she doesn't concern herself over it because she knows that the butler doesn't expect a response. To him, she’s only a doll for Father to play with.
Anxiety clambers at the walls of her mind. Nothing good is going to come from this, she knows. Nothing good ever happens when she sees Father. Her heart trembles, a viper wrapping itself around her throat and chest. It coils, strangling the air inside her lungs, yet she prevents any response to the pain from escaping in fear because of the butler, whom she trails after like a dog on a leash.
A servant can easily retrieve her from the small, prison cell-like room she lives in. If Father wanted her in his office, he would send any random person. It's to keep her on edge. So that she loses her mind when someone approaches unbidden. However, it’s different with the butler. The butler is Father’s right hand man�" and the only individual with access to the dark, secret-laden places in the manor. Like… the dungeon.
Just as expected; the awful old man leads her straight to the dungeon’s rickety old and rotting door frame. Palms covered in sweat already, her expression sours for a split second before returning to something between neutral and fearful. Memories of this place play in her mind as she walks through the familiar door. Awful, she grumbles to herself. Just awful.
Stepping into the dark and humid dungeon is like entering a new world. The smell of blood and something saccharine yet sour burns her nose, and the floor is sticky on the bottom of her short heels. Her scuffy red dress barely avoids skimming the surface. The butler walks through this terrible environment as easily as he breathes air. It takes a lot out of herself to not drag her feet and waste time.
The red dress she wears has a strange history. The shade of it is oddly specific and gruesome, like the perfect shade of blood, which is hardly ordinary for what should be a casual day dress. It’s got a little bit of a reputation to its name, and several servants have refused to lay their hands on it. A few rumors she had the chance to overhear claimed that the dress was originally white and it grew more and more red with each visit to her father�" but the servants who she heard that rumor from must've been new, since the older ones would have told them that it was dyed red in the first place. After the first white dress or so was ruined previously.
The cells she passes are rusty and the metal bars have grown black with age. A few people remain inside of them; though, it can’t be certain if the ones visible are even alive. She feels sympathy for both the living who can't leave here and the dead who never got to. The moaning of the dungeon sounds like the cries of the damned.
Through the dungeon and a few shifts in the path, at the very end, she sees a giant metal door for the first time. It has no details or carvings, only a sheath that holds a long metal bar, which can be slid over to lock the door. She is forced to approach it. It dwarfs her several times over. If there were a door to hell, she thinks, it would look an awful lot like the one right here. The weight of such a thing must be a dozen or more times the weight of a full grown man, but the butler pushes it open with a fluid and relaxed motion. Her hands tremble and clutch at her dress’s skirt at the sight. She's never been inside here. The pounding in her heart quickens and stutters, falling over itself in such a rush. A dizzy spell comes over her and her vision starts to blot out from a bright darkness, but she pushes her legs forward and keeps her balance by putting force behind her feet, stepping over the doorway and continuing to follow the butler.
What comes after the door is a cave. It's huge, with a tall and overarching rock ceiling and bright blue magic stones embedded along the walls to light the path. When her vision comes back all the way, she finds that she can't see the end of it as the far wall curves around a bend. The air is dry, unlike the dungeon, and the smell isn't nearly as bad. What is bad is the blood. A messy and dirty trail of it, all the way down the hallway. Nausea spills into her stomach and climbs up her throat. The blood is dry. It has been, for a while; weeks at least, yet no one has bothered to clean it. For some reason, it disturbs her more than the living corpses in the dungeon.
Beyond the bend, she can hear two voices. One is sweet and calm while the other is angry and loud. No doubt, the first one is Father. That viper from before gets the hint, too, because it strangles the air out of her lungs and leaves her dizzy, again.
Her pace doesn't waver when she follows the butler around the bend to find her father in front of a giant cage, which is just a wall of metal bars, like those from the prison but taller and longer. The bars extend from floor to ceiling, firmly embedded into the stone. Surely it goes several meters beyond what can be seen as well, if she knows Father right. She doesn't get to glance inside the cage when she focuses on the tall, young, blonde man in front.
Her father turns to look at her. She makes eye contact and the emotions eerily drain out of her expression. The tension drains away and her dizzy spell wanes on its own. Becoming like a perfect doll. His eyes pierce into her mind and empties it of anything unnecessary.
"Daughter," Father purrs.
She responds with a soft, "Yes, Father."
Blank.
Her heart and mind go numb. The sensation in her hands is already becoming lost on her, but her voice still curls at just the right pitch to satisfy the predator's appetite. It's a habit. It's survival. It’s instinct.
Father praises her while clasping his hands together. "You've been working hard to study since a week ago, my daughter, and I'd like to reward you." He smiles perfectly. There isn't a shiver to send down her spine. She responds as he would want.
"Oh, Father,” She stares into his gold eyes, empty. Her eyebags are especially pronounced in this lighting. There isn't much of a thought in her mind when she replies expressionlessly, “I'd be so happy to receive something from Father."
He laughs. It echoes in the cave. The air remains silent in wait, unnervingly still. Prey facing a predator, it hides and holds its breath. No one breathes during the time Father’s shoulders shake up and down. With his eyes closed as he laughs, a small chill runs down her spine. His laughter trails off eerily
He looks into her eyes again and her fear trickles away without a trace. A hallucination of an oasis. Father cleanly erases any remaining emotion or sensation. He doesn't allow her eyes to wander when he beckons to her with a hand. She walks up to him and stands exactly two paces away, looking up at his face. She's nearly his height, but not enough.
He brings out a handkerchief and wipes his hands on it. Blood and grime color the soft white fabric an ugly reddish brown.
"Yes, you would be. As my daughter should. Is my daughter curious about her gift?"
She curtsies politely, closing her eyes for only a moment before she opens them and they gravitate back to Father.
"I would be honored if my father told me something about his gift to me."
He laughs again. "How clever. You're answering very nicely as of late. It must be the studying! I'm even more proud of you, my daughter. I will tell you a secret about your gift as another reward."
He leans in close. As if her previous fear had never existed, she shows no reaction to the hand wrapping around her throat and squeezing. Father lowers his head to her ear, digs his fingernails into tender and soft skin, and whispers.
"This boy is a monster," he mocks tenderly, "And he is going to eat you."
She doesn't respond.
He waits several long seconds before releasing her throat roughly. She stumbles back a step, head down. Her bangs hang a shadow over her expression so her father reaches out and yanks back on her pale white hair, only to be disappointed when her face is void of all emotion.
He throws his hand to the side, bored, and she placidly falls onto the ground from the force. The moment she made eye contact with him before he threw her rendered her helpless and limp. Her head cracks against the stone floor and she cringes at the pain, contorting her body and curling up as the fear of being punished again rises sharply. It hurts. It hurts a lot, she wants to cry. She brings her hands up to her mouth and muffles any sound that might come out. Her body is tense, ready to receive more upset from her father but the impact never arrives. A commotion erupts from the metal door at the entrance of the cave, followed by loud, quick footsteps.
She doesn't move as a servant makes it around the bend and collapses at the feet of his master. He gasps for air, but still shouts an appropriate greeting to Father.
"What is it?” Father glares at the servant coldly. No sane person would intrude on her father without an insane reason. Surely.
"The-there's an army approaching the west gate! It appears to be the Second Family of the Northern Kingdom! They're encroaching on the border as we speak!" The servant slams his head into the stone floor several times as he emphasizes his words. Every action he takes is one of a man begging for his life. A bloody red mark appears on his forehead and matches the new stain on the floor.
Father clicks his tongue. "Oh dear. Did they find out already? That's no good… Butler," Father claps his hands, and the butler quickly comes to his side, kneeling obediently. "See to it that our guests are welcomed warmly. Take this young man with you, too. I'll be right out after I finish…" his eyes narrow imperceptibly, "... entertaining my little guest here.”
The butler doesn't say a word in response. He only bows politely, grabs the servant by the back of his collar, and drags him away. The young man's expression is one of horror and fear, staring death in the face. Despite this… He does not beg for his life. He does not beg for any mercies at all.
Internally she applauds him. She's seen many servants on ‘death row’ make the mistake�" and they always end up being tortured in the dungeon as punishment. It was as if Father was mocking them. “If you want to live so badly, you must not care how you live, right?"
Everyone who winds up in the dungeon either dies from the torture, or from taking their own life in the end. It was cruel.
"What a waste of a good servant. I wish I had got to keep him." Father laments. "It's unfortunate he saw the monster, or I would have let him live." In fact, the servant hadn't done anything wrong. The only thing that was wrong was that he was in the same room as the monster. From what she could hear, the man had managed to prostrate before he even saw Father, much less the ‘monster,’ but it seems that wasn't enough to save his life.
Father sighs dramatically, stuffing his hands into his pockets and stepping towards herself. She stiffens, but doesn't move from her position on the floor. Without her eyes looking into her father's, fear builds in her heart. She swallows dryly as her lips quiver involuntarily.
"Daughter," Father hums. "My daughter~" this time, he sings, lilting his voice gently, before laughing softly. "My beautiful daughter, why are you lying on the floor?"
The sound of his feet stop in front of her face, which is concealed by her hands. The sound of his feet shuffling lines her stomach with dread. "Won't you look at me?" This time, his voice is closer.
She has to gather up her willpower. Things were always going to go wrong from the start. Hiding won't do any good. She's already stuck in this coffin, having been nailed down eight years ago. The sound of dirt hitting the top of the box shouldn't be as scary as it is, when there wasn’t any chance of escaping anyway. The burial is loud. It's always so, so loud.
With false bravery she peeks out from her hands. Father is kneeling in front of her, tilting his head to align his wide, disgusting eyes with hers. The last thought she has before her mind goes blank is that he looks more like a monster than any she could ever imagine.
"My daughter," he repeats again, like soothing a distressed child, "You've been a bad girl. Isn't that right?"
Her hands go limp on the ground. She stares up into her father's golden eyes and responds numbly. Her tongue is heavy in her mouth.
"Father is right."
"Daughter, are you going to be a good daughter for me?"
"I want to be a good daughter."
"Yes, you do. But good daughters receive a lot of punishment when they do something bad. Will you be a good daughter for me?"
"Yes… Father.”
Father smiles. He stretches out his hand towards her. She can see his eyes through the gaps of his outstretched fingers, and it's a relief that Father will let her stay numb as he grabs her throat and digs his nails in, pulling her upright and dangling her from his grip. She can feel no fear of her airway collapsing or of the pain to come when she can't see Father’s eyes anymore. The perfect emptiness is horrifying, yet it is also her salvation.
Father walks over to the cage, her body haphazardly following his motion and swinging slightly, a hanging corpse above the gallows. He breaks eye contact in order to open the gate, and she restrains the immediate reflex of trying to grab his arm and resist. The burning in her chest is as overwhelming as the intense tension on her neck, but she holds onto her composure with an iron will. Out of fear.
Finally, Father opens the cage door and throws her inside. Unlike before, when she could only hit her head on the stone floor like a doll, she wraps her arms around her head and curls into a ball. The stone impacts her hip and makes a terrible sound, but she can't afford to think about the pain because Father begins speaking:
"This boy is your new friend," His words easily contradict his previous claim. "Since I have a guest staying over, I must surely keep him entertained. So, my daughter, you will make sure he has a comfortable first night in his new home, and I will come back to get you tomorrow. Or, perhaps the butler will do it. I must keep my other guests entertained as well, after all."
With that command, Father locks the cage door and turns away. Leaving her trapped inside with the monster.

Author's Note

Help how do I write fear and pain