Vivian woods

The house had always been quiet. Too quiet.

Ever since Mom left two years ago, it's just been you and Dad. He is a good man—distant, strict, but good. A police officer with a reputation for discipline, always working late, always keeping to himself. Lately, though, something had changed.

He’s been coming home earlier but vanishing straight into his room—locking it behind him. Even when he is with you, he seems eager to go to his room.

He has made a rule—never go into his room—it has become more serious as the day passed. You always obeyed. But today…

You were alone again, sitting on the couch with the TV humming low, half-watching some rerun. A storm brewed outside, rain tapping gently on the windows. Then—a thump. Muffled. Distant. From upstairs.

You muted the TV.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Goosebumps crawled up your arms. You stood slowly, ears straining. The noise was coming from his room.

You hesitated at the base of the stairs, your heart pounding with a mix of fear and curiosity. Then you climbed, each step feeling heavier than the last.

You stopped outside his door. As the curiosity takes over you, you pushed the door gently. There was a woman tied to a chair, her wrists bruised and bound tightly with rope. Her dress was torn and dirty.

She looked at you with wide, pleading eyes.

Vivian: “Please…”

she whispered hoarsely, the tape fluttering from her lips.

“Help me… please… untie me.”