Chương 5: Like A Drum of Death

I couldn't bear to look at the writhing mass of spiders any longer. Shaking off the horror, I pressed forward, deeper into the mansion, eager to put as much distance as possible between myself and that grotesque sight. My heart was still pounding, and the adrenaline surged through me as I moved quickly, my torchlight casting jittery shadows on the decaying walls.

"Uncle! Uncle, I'm here!" I called out, my voice trembling but loud in the oppressive silence. The words echoed eerily through the empty halls, bouncing off the walls and amplifying in the vast, hollow space. Each echo seemed to grow louder, making me jump and glance nervously around. The mansion seemed to mock me, my own voice turning against me, filling the air with a palpable tension.

I paused, straining to listen for any response, but the silence that followed was heavy and unbroken. As I moved further, I heard it—a faint, almost imperceptible sound. It was a soft weeping, echoing through the corridors, mingling with the creaks and groans of the old mansion. At first, I thought it was just my imagination, but as I stood still, the sound persisted.

A chill ran down my spine. The weeping was unmistakable, and it seemed to come from somewhere deep within the mansion. "Could it be my uncle?" I thought, though the notion seemed absurd. But then again, everything about this place was absurd, terrifyingly so. The weeping grew louder, the sound of someone in deep sorrow or pain, and I couldn't shake the feeling that someone was in desperate need of help.

The weeping continued, soft and sorrowful, a gentle "hic... hic... hic..." that tugged at the strings of my heart. It was the kind of sound that one would make in the throes of utter despair, a sound so full of sadness that it seemed to weigh down the very air around me. After walking forward a little, It was unmistakable now, a feminine weeping, but not just any woman—this was the sound of a young girl. My blood boiled at the realization.

I cursed under my breath, a mixture of fear and frustration bubbling up. "Maybe this place isn't haunted at all," I thought. "Maybe someone is using it for something sinister, like human trafficking. They could be using these ghost stories to keep people away." The idea made my blood run cold, but it also gave me a grim sense of purpose. If someone was being held here, I had to find them.

Maybe someone was keeping a child here, using her for something so vile that she would cry like this, they were monsters. Human trafficking or worse—forcing a young girl into god-knows-what—bastards. I cursed under my breath and moved toward the sound, my resolve hardening with every step.

Maybe this was the real reason my uncle had called me here. Maybe he had discovered something terrible and needed my help to put a stop to it. The weeping grew louder, the echoes more pronounced as I followed the sound through the winding corridors.

I tightened my grip on the gun, feeling its reassuring weight in my hand. It was an latest piece revolver, a six-shot model with intricate brass details and a wooden handle. My uncle had always said, "Better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it." Those words echoed in my mind now, giving me a semblance of courage.

I didn't spoke after that, and moved towrds weeping as silently as i can, each step tinged with a desperation I couldn't hide. The only sound was the persistent weeping, drawing me closer.

The weeping grew louder, more distinct. It lead me upstairs, on second floor. Following the sound, I reached a heavy wooden door at the end of the hallway, its surface scarred and covered in a thin layer of grime. The sound was definitely coming from behind it. I hesitated, my hand hovering over the doorknob, the cold metal sending a shiver through me.

Taking a deep breath, I steadied myself and pushed the door open. The hinges groaned in protest, and the door swung slowly inward, revealing a room shrouded in darkness. I stepped inside, my lantern held high, the beam cutting through the thick shadows.

The room was large and empty, save for a single, tattered armchair in the center. The weeping was louder now, echoing off the walls, but there was no one in sight. I moved closer, the sound almost unbearable in its intensity. It seemed to come from the very air around me, enveloping me in a blanket of sorrow.

I shuddered, trying to shake off the feeling of unease, and focused on the task at hand. The weeping persisted even now, but there was no one here—no one visible, at least. It felt as if the mansion itself was crying, mourning the loss of its former glory, or perhaps something far more sinister.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. "It's just the mansion," I told myself. "It's just the darkness playing tricks on my mind." But even as I tried to convince myself, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was very, very wrong.

Inside the room, the sound of weeping continued, a sorrowful "Ahu...ahu...ahuuahu" that echoed off the walls. I looked around frantically, trying to find the girl. The sound was so close, yet there was no one in sight. "Hello? Are you there?" I called out, my voice trembling. But there was no response, only the persistent weeping.

The sound was heart-wrenching, full of despair and loneliness. "Ahu! Ahu! Ahu!" She must be too scared to come out, I thought. I have to find her, reassure her that it's safe. I scanned the room, moving the torchlight over every corner, every piece of decaying furniture. The weeping grew louder, more intense, as if the source was right next to me.

I followed the sound, moving closer to the walls. My heart pounded in my chest, the cold sweat trickling down my back. Suddenly the weeping seemed to come from all around me, enveloping me in a cocoon of sorrow. I was so close, I could feel it. The sound was just around me, but I couldn't see her anywhere.

"Please, come out. I'm here to help you," I pleaded, my voice breaking. But there was no response, only the relentless "ahu... ahu... ahu...," I brought the lantern closer to the wall, trying to illuminate the surroundings.

As the light flickered and danced across the surface, my hand slipped, and the lantern fell from my grasp. It clattered to the floor, the light casting wild shadows around the room. I froze, my breath catching in my throat, as the beam of the lantern illuminated a large portrait hanging on the wall.

Before me was a painting of a woman, her eyes wide and filled with sorrow. Two streams of water flowed down her painted cheeks, as it weept. The weeping continued, now unmistakably coming from the portrait. "Ahu... ahu... ahu...," the weeping now sounded to me, like drum of death.

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