Chapter One
His shin slammed into splintered wood as his foot broke through the floor. Pain shot up his leg. He winced, waiting a few seconds for the sting to fade and a few more to regain his composure. With a crack, he pulled his foot free, dragging up rotted pieces of floorboard. Anger surged in his throat, fueled by every small frustration from his past compounding at once.
“I hate this house!” Benjamin Harking yelled, clutching his leg.
Everything in his life was falling apart. First the move, and now the house had become a monument to his unhappiness. It wasn’t a home. Just a place to receive mail. Not that he ever got any.
His parents had forced him to move in, only to ship him off to boarding school before he had a chance to settle. He’d barely had time to unpack.
“Some Christmas vacation this is,” he muttered, standing and brushing himself off.
Blood soiled the fabric of his jeans. He pulled the pants leg up and inspected the wound. It was deep enough to sting, but shallow enough to ignore. With a limp, he went downstairs, found the first aid kit, and dabbed some alcohol on the gash. It burned. He winced, then packed everything away.
There it was again. The letter. Still sitting on the counter, still open. Its contents hadn’t changed. Neither had the cold, practiced tone of his mother’s handwriting:
“Sorry we couldn’t be home for your return from school. Your father got called away to the city for business. We’ll see you soon. Merry Christmas. Mom.”
Charles, their butler, had left it out on a silver platter. Literally. Ben had found it when he wandered into the kitchen after the long bus ride, starving and exhausted.
Missing his sixteenth birthday was one thing. Missing Christmas too? That hit differently.
His dad’s promotion had been exciting. At least at first. But it didn’t take long for things to get unrecognizable. The new mansion was enormous, cold, and impersonal. His father could disappear for days. His mother, meanwhile, seemed intent on transforming into someone else entirely. She obsessed over fitting in with the other wives who were polished, manicured, distant.
Ben was proud of his dad for making partner. But it all happened too fast.
Exhausted, he decided to call it a night. As he passed the hole in the second-floor landing, he paused and peered into it, expecting to see the basement. Instead, he saw a small concrete room with no visible door. It was dim, cramped, and dusty, filled with old objects stacked in the corners. A single table stood at the center.
On the table was a book.
He adjusted the flashlight, angling the beam toward it. A skeletal hand gripped the cover.
A corpse. Withered. Bone-white.
Ben froze. The beam of the flashlight trembled in his grip. He stared, wide-eyed and silent.
Then came the shift. The fear drained away, replaced by something else.
Wonder.
He bolted downstairs, past the kitchen, straight for the basement door.
Christmas vacation had just gotten interesting.
He remembered Charles’ tour when they first moved in: the attic, the three main floors, even the cellar. No mention of a secret room. Had he known and kept it from them?
At the bottom of the polished stairs, he paused to take in the basement. White walls stretched into a maze of unused servant quarters. If it weren’t for Charles’ fastidious cleaning, the place would be buried in cobwebs.
As he searched, his mind ran wild. How long had that body been down there? Why was the room hidden? And what was that book?
For the first time in weeks, he felt truly alive.
He caught himself imagining how excited his father would’ve been, helping him search for hidden treasure. There had been a time when this sort of mystery would’ve brought them together.
After a few minutes, he spotted something strange. A section of wall beneath the stairs was door-sized and just slightly off in color. An off-white patch that didn’t match the surrounding paint hidden in the shadow of the corner.
He ran his hands across the surface, searching for seams.
Then an idea hit him.
It was stupid. Possibly illegal. He didn’t care.
He sprinted across the basement and crashed through the door to his father’s workroom. The walls were carefully organized with tools, all perfectly unused. His eyes landed on a cherry-red fire axe. It was pristine.
Not for long.
Back at the hidden wall, he hesitated. The axe was heavier than he expected. Excitement dulled the weight.
If he’d known what this one act would unleash, he would’ve turned around. He would’ve put the axe back on its hook, climbed the stairs, and let the evening die quietly.
But Ben didn’t know.
So, with a grin stretched across his face, he lifted the axe over his head.
And swung.
Terra Incognita — reading order