The atmosphere left by the disturbing transmission remained thick, like a cloud of dust suspended in the air, unable to dissipate completely. The echoes of the broken voice and the childish melody seemed to have permeated the very walls of the mansion. A tense silence, barely broken by the awkward murmur of the cutlery ceasing to touch the plates, hung over the large dining room.
It was the old maid, always stooped and inscrutable of face, who took the first step. She advanced slowly towards the centre of the dining-room, where all eyes, laden with expectation and suspicion, converged upon her. She did not raise her voice, but her low, slurred tone was enough to make each word come through clearly amidst the murmur.
-I apologise if what has just happened has disturbed your spirits.... But I must say something that perhaps I should have said before.
Some of those present exchanged questioning glances, others shifted slightly in their seats, as if preparing their bodies for a revelation that had been brewing over years of family suspicions and unspoken rumours.
-This mansion... is haunted.
There was no immediate laughter or disbelief. Just a momentary emptiness, as if no one was sure they had heard correctly. Then a wave of reactions swept across the room: from open disbelief to growing tension on the most serious faces.
-That is why, on the first day, I asked if anyone wished to withdraw voluntarily. It was not out of politeness or formality. It was a warning. -His eyes moved slowly, sweeping over everyone present like a tired lighthouse.
-And now... if you hear noises in the night, I beg you not to leave your rooms. It may be dangerous.
-What if we decide to leave now," asked a woman with a firm face and a trembling voice, clearly affected by what had happened.
-If you wish, you may leave. No one will keep you. But you must understand that by agreeing to stay here for at least two weeks, whatever dwells in this house took your words as an agreement.
There was a muffled murmur, like a collective exhalation.
-Breaking that agreement... I don't know how the other side will respond. -His last words hung in the air, heavy with an invisible weight.
-Why didn't you say so before," said one of the older brothers, visibly angry.
-Because no one would have believed me. And sometimes, the only way to understand the nature of something... is to live it.
Some of those present seemed to accept the explanation with silent resignation. Others, on the other hand, became embroiled in angry arguments, hurling veiled accusations against the owner of the mansion. Many believed it was a set-up, a ploy to frighten them into voluntarily withdrawing from the inheritance dispute.
-A dirty trick," whispered one relative in a venomous voice. -He pretends to do his father's bidding, but then he'll make us all run away in fear and not demand our share.
Amidst the growing murmur, a young woman, pale and visibly upset, rose abruptly from her seat. She grabbed the hand of a boy of about ten, who was looking around blankly, and cast a desperate glance at her husband, one of the three older brothers.
-I'm not spending another night here. This is not normal.
He tried to calm her down, but the decision had already been made. Without another word, the woman hurried out of the dining room with her son at her side. The old maid followed her with her eyes, without moving, and slowly shook her head. She did not say a word, but the gesture was clear: "Nothing can be done".
The husband, torn between reason and duty, excused himself briefly with a bow and followed his family into the distance, trying to reason with his wife, without visible success.
The evening, which had begun as a pompous celebration, faded into tension and silences. The music had stopped, the glasses stopped being raised, and the food began to cool on the table.
In that instant, for the first time since they had arrived, the shadow of the inexplicable had settled over everyone present. No longer as a familiar myth, but as something real. Something that was there. Something that listened, that watched... and that could respond.