The Shadows of Lord Down. The Black Swan

Lord Down did not move, but his shadow on the wall jerked sharply—as if something had tugged at its shoulder. 
"Pay it no mind," he said, turning his head slightly. "The shadows here... are capricious." 
I wanted to ask who had just laughed, but at that moment, the window behind him darkened. The black glass grew murky, like stagnant water, and then the outline of a face emerged—a woman’s, with loose-flowing hair. 
Evelyn! 
I took a step back. My temples pounded: 
"But you... you said she was dead." 
Down slowly raised his hand, and the shadow repeated the gesture—but with a delay. 
"The dead do not laugh, dear Vlad. And what remains of her... is not entirely dead. Oh, my black swan,"—his voice trembled—"How many years have passed... yet I remember you as if it were yesterday." 
He led me into the library. 
The room was draped in cobwebs, but the books stood in perfect order. On the table lay a diary with torn-out pages. Down ran his finger along its spine: 
"The truth is written here. But it cannot be read in the light. Only in absolute darkness." 
"Why am I here?" I asked, feeling my fingers tighten around the back of the chair. "You disappeared after the fire..." 
"The fire?" He smirked. "Oh, that was no flame. It was... It—hungry, disappointed. Because I... refused to pay my debts." 
A log flared up in the fireplace. For a moment, I saw his pupils narrow into vertical slits—exactly like a cat’s when it catches a mouse. 
Then I heard the whisper. At first, I thought it was the rush of blood in my ears. But the sound grew, taking shape: 
"Chaaarles... have you brought me another guest?" 
The voice came from beneath the floor. Down rose abruptly from his chair. 
"It's time for you to sleep, my dear. Tomorrow will be... a difficult day." 
My room turned out to be right next to the crypt. 
The young servant (mute, with his eyes bandaged) pointed to a door adorned with an ornate letter "E." When I asked what it meant, he drew some kind of sign on the wall with a trembling hand—and then ran away. 
I lay down, but the moment I closed my eyes, the curtains stirred without any wind. And then… I saw her in my dream. 
It began with music. A cello was playing a waltz. I stood in a ballroom where everything was inverted—the chandelier grew from the floor, and the guests hung from the ceiling like bats. And then she appeared out of nowhere. 
"Have you come to save him?" Evelyn spun in a dance with emptiness. "In vain! He has long belonged to another." 
What? To whom? 
Her dress flared open—beneath the fabric, there was no body. Only darkness and the gleam of someone’s eyes. 
I screamed… and woke up. 
A dead rose lay on my chest. 
And on the wall, where the servant had drawn the sign, there was now a single word: 
"RUN."
The next morning, I found Lord Down in the greenhouse. The glass walls let in a dim light, but the plants inside were dead—nothing but black stems, twisted like skeletal fingers. Lord Down stood by a fountain filled not with water, but with something thick and dark. 
"You’ve seen her," he said without turning around. 
It wasn’t a question. I swallowed—my throat was parched. 
"She said… that you belong to another. What does that mean? Who is 'the other'?" I asked. 
Down slowly turned to face me. His features looked as if carved from marble—beautiful and lifeless. 
"The other?" He smirked. "As if I had a choice." 
He ran his hand over the surface of the "fountain," and the liquid rippled, as though something stirred beneath. 
"Do you know what a true bargain is, Vlad? Not the trading of coins or lands. The exchange of souls..." 
And then he told me everything. 
"Evelyn was dying. The doctors could only shrug helplessly. I was ready to do anything… It came to me in a dream. It offered a deal: her life—in exchange for a servant. I agreed, not realizing that the servant… was me." 
"She recovered. But a month later, I found her in the garden—digging into the earth with her bare hands, singing a lullaby in a language that didn’t exist." 
I stood in horrified silence, picturing the scene. 
"And then…" His voice cracked. "She cut her own face… and it didn’t bleed!" 
The liquid in the fountain bubbled. A mirror surfaced from its depths—an exact copy of the one hanging in the hall. But instead of Down’s reflection, it showed mine. 
"It wants a new vessel," the lord whispered. "You were not invited by chance." 
"Why me?" 
Down leaned so close I could smell decay—autumn leaves mixed with copper. 
"Because you are me." 
Somewhere in the house, glass shattered. "That damned black swan again!" someone shrieked. 
"You’re lying!" I roared. 
"How do you know I’m wrong?" He smiled, and in that moment, his pupils merged into a single black slit. "My dear, I paid the debt in blood… but I forgot that blood is hereditary." 
"What are you implying, Down? That I’m your reincarnation?! That’s absurd!" 
The fountain’s liquid began to boil. The mirror cracked, and black tendrils slithered from the fissure. 
"Run," Down hissed. "Before the creature fully awakens…" 
But it was too late. 
The greenhouse doors slammed shut. 
And in the shattered mirror, my reflection smiled back at me. 
The darkness thickened. The air in the greenhouse grew viscous, as if I were breathing not oxygen but something ancient and heavy.
"Do you think I didn’t try to break this pact?" Down’s voice no longer came from his lips but from the walls themselves. "I offered sacrifices. Willing ones..."
The black tendrils from the mirror slithered slowly across the floor, leaving scorch marks on the stone tiles.
"What sacrifices?" I asked, backing toward the door.
Down tore open his shirt collar. Scars in the shape of runes marked his chest, and at its center…
Nothing. Literally. A gaping hole between his ribs—where his heart should have been, only darkness and the gleam of alien eyes remained.
"Everything I had. My memories. My pain. My love for her."
He pointed at the fountain. The water suddenly turned clear, and I saw… Evelyn.
She sat at the bottom, knees hugged to her chest, her hair slowly twisting into black roots that burrowed through the fountain’s base.
"There is one last way," Down said.
He handed me a dagger—the very one that had hung above the hall fireplace. Its blade was crusted with dried blood, and the hilt bore an inscription:
"Who gives, shall receive."
"If it cannot take your soul… it will take your blood. But not all of it..."
"What… what must I do?" I asked, trembling.
Down looked at the fountain.
"Kill her. For good."
I stepped to the edge. Evelyn lifted her head. Her eyes were pitch black, yet when she spoke, her voice sounded… human.
"Charles…" She reached out. "You promised."
I froze.
"She’s… lucid?"
"No," Down snapped. "How can you not see? IT is toying with you."
But I saw the tears on her cheeks.
The dagger trembled in my hand. I looked at Down — his face was twisted with rage and pain. Evelyn's fingers clutched at the fountain's edge as if she were trying to climb out. 
"No." I lowered the dagger. "I can't! I won't kill her." 
Down froze. 
"What?" 
"I'll give my blood. But not as a sacrifice," I said. "As a bargain." 
Silence. 
Then—laughter. But it wasn't Down laughing. Nor Evelyn. 
It was the fountain. 
The water boiled, and from its depths rose a face—no eyes, no mouth, just a scattering of teeth in an endless smile. And I heard: 
"At last... A clever one." 
The voice was everywhere—in the walls, the floor, inside my skull. 
I pressed the dagger's blade to my palm. 
"I give this drop of blood. In return—you free Lord and Lady Down." 
"Too little." 
"Then... I give my memory of tonight. You take it, and I'll forget everything I've seen." 
"Interesting..." 
The fountain stilled. Even Down seemed to stop breathing. Then the water receded, revealing the bottom—where a parchment lay, covered in script of blood and ash. 
"Sign." 
I leaned forward—and Down lunged. 
"No!" 
He struck my hand. The dagger fell, splashing a crimson streak across the water. 
"You don't understand!" He seized my shoulders. "It doesn't let go. It's forever!" 
The water roared. The parchment burst into flames. And Lady Down... stood. 
She stepped from the fountain. But it wasn't her anymore. Her skin cracked like old paint, and beneath it—nothing. Darkness. It. 
"You gave blood. You're mine." 
Down shoved me. 
"RUN!" 
I ran. 
Through corridors that stretched endlessly. Past mirrors where my reflection stayed motionless. 
Behind me came the sound of pursuit. Not footsteps. 
Tendrils. 
I burst into the hall. The door was locked. And on the wall... 
Hung that very same dagger.
I grabbed the dagger—and the world exploded. 
The walls began to breathe. The wallpaper curled into scrolls like ancient parchment, peeling away to reveal raw flesh beneath the plaster. The ceiling swayed, and from it dripped—not water, but something warm and sticky, reeking of copper and incense. 
"Did you think the door was an escape?" 
To my horror, I realized the voice was coming from inside me. I raised the dagger to my reflection in the nearest mirror—but it didn’t mimic me. Instead, my reflection pressed a finger to its lips and whispered: 
"Shhh… He’s coming." 
Something scratched behind me. I turned. 
The corridor no longer existed. 
In its place was a mouth—gigantic, lipless, faceless, just a yawning void with endless rows of teeth. 
From its depths crawled Down. But it wasn’t him anymore. His body had fused with the shadows, as if cut from black paper and pasted onto reality. 
"You signed," he said, his voice splitting into three tones: his own, a woman’s… and something ancient, forgotten. 
"I didn’t!" 
"The blood signed for you." 
The mirrors around us stirred. They melted like ice, pooling into mercury puddles, and from those puddles rose hands—dozens, hundreds, all mine—grabbing at my shoulders, my hair, my wrists. 
"We are you." 
No! 
"We are every version of you that could have been." 
NO!!! 
"And now… you will become IT." 
I screamed—and in that instant, glass shattered. 
The mirror at the end of the corridor burst apart. From the shards stepped Evelyn. 
But the real one. 
Pale. Dead. Empty sockets where her eyes should have been. 
"Charles…" Her voice whistled like wind through pipes. "You promised…" 
Down froze. His shadow twitched like a puppet on strings. 
"No… You can’t be here—" 
She reached out—and plunged her fingers into his chest. 
Right where his heart should have been. 
"You gave it away… but forgot I was part of the bargain too." 
She ripped something out of him. 
Not a heart. 
A shadow.
Everything collapsed. 
The floor gave way. The walls caved in. I fell into a black abyss, surrounded by: 
shattered clocks, their hands frozen at the hour of my birth, 
rose petals that screamed in a forgotten tongue, 
mirror shards, each showing a different death of mine. 
The last thing I saw before the darkness swallowed me: 
Lord Down and Evelyn, standing back-to-back. 
And between them—me. 
I lifted my head… 
And smiled. 

Epilogue. A Letter. 
«Dear Vlad, 
If you’re reading this, you’ve awakened. Congratulations. Most go mad. 
The house has burned. Lord Down is dead. Lady Evelyn… never existed. 
But if you hear whispering at night—do not answer. 
It still remembers your voice. 
Yours sincerely, 
Dr. L. 
(Former librarian of Down Manor) 
P.S. 
Under the bed, I found a dried rose. Its thorns were stained red.» 

I woke up. 
The room was unfamiliar. The window—barred. On my wrist, a scar in the shape of the letter "D." 
In the corner, where the shadows were thickest, something moved. 
I slowly turned my head. 
The mirror across from me was clean. 
No reflection. 
Nothing. 

THE END.