When Rachel found a cosy room rented out by a kind old lady, it seemed like the perfect escape from her troubles. But beneath the floral wallpaper and warm smiles lay something much darker… something that made her pack her bags the very next morning.
When you are desperate, you cling to anything that resembles hope. That was the case with me: my younger brother’s medical bills were piling up, my daytime classes were pushing me to my limits, and working as a waitress late into the night was draining me of all my energy.
When I enrolled at university in a new city, I should have been thrilled, but the reality of finding affordable housing prevented me from enjoying myself. So when I came across an advertisement for a cosy room in the house of a nice old lady, it was like a lifeline.
The rent was ridiculously low, and the photos showed a charming place with floral wallpaper and vintage furniture. The ad read: ‘Ideal for a quiet, respectful female tenant. No pets, no smoking.’
It was perfect.
When I arrived, my landlady, Mrs Wilkins, greeted me at the door with a warm smile and the scent of fresh lavender wafting through the air. Her hair was neatly pulled back, and she looked like someone who should be knitting by the fireplace, not renting rooms to difficult students.
‘Oh, you must be Rachel,’ she said, letting me in. ‘You’re even more beautiful than I imagined. Come in, dear, come in!’
Her eyes seemed to linger on me for too long, scanning me from head to toe. ‘Tell me about your family, dear,’ she said, her voice honey-sweet. ‘Do you have any brothers or sisters?’
‘My younger brother Tommy,’ I replied. ‘While I’m here, he lives with our widowed aunt. She helps take care of him while I’m studying.’
Mrs Wilkins’ smile stretched almost imperceptibly. ‘How… convenient,’ she murmured. ‘And your parents?’
‘They died last year in an accident.’
‘Oh, how sad. Come in… come in,’ she said as I followed her inside.
The house was like something out of a fairy tale. There were knick-knacks on the shelves, and in the living room, decorated with floral wallpaper, there was a welcoming sofa with geometric patterns. A faint aroma of vegetable soup wafted from the kitchen.
‘I’ve made us dinner,’ she said, leading me to the table. ‘It’s been a long time since I’ve had guests.’
‘That’s very kind of you,’ I began, but she interrupted me.
‘Kind?’ She giggled, but the sound didn’t reach her eyes. ‘Kindness is… complicated, Rachel. Some might say I’m too kind.’
I smiled, trying not to pay attention to the sudden chill. ‘Thank you, Mrs Wilkins. This is an amazing place.’
‘Amazing,’ she repeated, almost to herself. ‘Yes, you could say that.’
Over a bowl of hearty soup, I shared bits and pieces of my life with her. She nodded sympathetically, occasionally patting my hand, which was too strong.
‘You’ve been through a lot,’ she said softly. ‘But you’ll be fine here, dear. I can feel it.’
There was something in her tone… a promise that sounded more like a warning.
‘I hope so,’ I replied, my former calm now tinged with an inexplicable anxiety.
For the first time in months, I felt something between safety and something else. Something I couldn’t put my finger on. That night, I slept soundly, but somewhere in the back of my mind, a tiny voice whispered: not everything is as it seems.
The next morning, I woke up early and feeling optimistic.
The sun was shining through the lace curtains, and I grabbed my toiletries and headed to the kitchen, wanting to drink coffee before taking a hot shower.
And then I saw it. A huge list, almost four feet long, was stuck to the refrigerator, written in bold bright red letters: ‘HOUSE RULES — READ CAREFULLY.’
I froze.
Squinting, I leaned closer and began to read the rules one by one:
- Keys are not issued. Mrs Wilkins will only let you in between 9 a.m. and 8 p.m.
- The bathroom is always locked. You must ask Mrs Wilkins for the key and return it immediately after use.
- Your bedroom door must remain open at all times. Privacy breeds secrets.
- No meat in the refrigerator. Mrs. Wilkins is a vegetarian and does not tolerate meat-eaters.
- You must leave the house every Sunday from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. when Mrs. Wilkins hosts her ‘ladies’ tea.’
- No guests. Ever. Not even relatives.
- Mrs Wilkins reserves the right to enter your room whenever she pleases.
- Mobile phone use is limited to 30 minutes per day, monitored by Mrs Wilkins.
- No music is allowed. Mrs Wilkins likes a calm and quiet environment.
- You are not allowed to cook your own food without Mrs Wilkins’ permission.
- You can only use the shower three times a week.
- RESERVED FOR LATER.
‘Reserved for later?’ My stomach twisted with every rule I read. When I reached the end, my hands were shaking. What had I gotten myself into?
‘Good morning, dear,’ Mrs. Wilkins’ voice came from behind me, startling me.