The old house stood on a hill, overlooking the town like a silent observer. Inside, Elin moved with a practiced grace, her steps quiet on the worn wooden floors. She wasn't just a maid; she was an artist of the macabre, her canvas the lives of those she served. Her blue eyes, usually so calm, held a cold glint, a secret known only to her.
The house was silent, save for the creaking of the old timbers, a symphony of her designs. The family, oblivious to the wolf among them, were out on a trip for a week. This was the perfect opportunity. She walked towards the basement, her heart rate didn't pick up, her heart was a cold stone.
Elin descended the steps, the stale smell of damp earth welcoming her. In the center of the room, on a wooden table, lay her tools. Not cleaning supplies, but implements of a far darker practice, gleaming under a single bulb. She had a collection, each with its own story. Tonight's tools: a bone saw, a scalpel, and a set of pliers.
She picked up the scalpel, testing its edge against her thumb, a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. Time to prepare. She had selected her canvas carefully. Her victim had been the families dog, she always started with something smaller, before going to the real meal. She began to move the small creature into position, it was stiff and cold.
The radio played old Swedish folk songs, their cheerful melodies a stark contrast to the grim task at hand. Elin moved with precision, her hands steady, her focus complete. She removed the dogs insides and began to replace them with other things, things she had collected over the years.
A few hours pass, she looks at her work, it wasn't perfect, but it was hers. The dog now stood in the middle of the room, propped up by wires and other tools, stuffed with items of varying shapes. She moved the dog to the corner, it would dry there for the rest of the week. It was a reminder, to always start small. She cleaned up her space.
Upstairs, the sun began to set, casting long shadows through the windows. Elin moved to the kitchen and began to prepare dinner for herself. Simple. She didn't need anything fancy. Just some bread with cheese, and some pickled herring. The simple things were always the best.
She eats in silence, the only sound was the clinking of her silverware. The sun finished setting and the house became dark. Elin moved to the living room and sat in a chair near the fireplace. She read a book she found, her mind not processing the words, but thinking of other things.
The house was quiet for hours. Then, Elin got up and walked to the windows. Looking at the town, she wondered who would be next. It was always so fun to pick. They never saw her, no one suspected. It was always the quiet ones.
She knew this wasn't right, this sickness she had, but she didn't care. She enjoyed it, it made her feel alive. To have this power, this control over others, it made her the god of her domain. She owned them. She went to bed, thinking of her next victim.
The next few days were the same, each a carbon copy of the last. Elin would wake up, clean, cook, then go to the basement and add to her collection of the macabre. She would find things around the house, small toys, things with significance, and use them to stuff her creations.
Elin would study her, watching for any sign of weakness. She enjoyed the hunt, the anticipation, of when her plan would come to fruition. It was a dance, a silent waltz between predator and prey. She always chose the ones who weren't paying attention.
Her latest canvas would be the daughter, a young girl who always seemed to be distracted, too caught up in her own world to notice the darkness that dwelled within Elin. The plan was simple: wait for the perfect moment and bring her down to the basement, where the girl would be hers, and a new toy for the collection.
One afternoon, as the sun began its slow descent, Elin set her plan into play. She approached the girl, a false sweetness in her voice. "Little one, can you help me with something in the basement?"
The girl, lost in a daydream, nodded, her eyes not fully focused. Elin took her hand, her touch like ice. "It's just a small task" Elin would say. The girl followed without question, her trusting nature a sad and tragic flaw.
They descended the stairs, the musty smell of the basement hanging heavy in the air. The girl looks around, taking in the room, the tools, the stuffed animals, a dog in the corner, its eyes following her every move. A small expression of confusion started to appear on her face.
"What is all this?" the girl would say, her voice having a slight tremble. Elin smiled, a chilling display of teeth. "It is a place of wonder," she responded, her voice smooth and full of malice. "A place where dreams come to life."
Elin picks up the scalpel, moving it close to the girl's cheek, "This, is where you become a dream. A piece of art for me to create." Elin would say. The girl starts to cry, but it was too late, Elin quickly put her hand over her mouth, and started to drag her to the table.
The girl struggled, a desperate attempt at freedom, but Elin's grip was too tight, her strength surprising. "Don't fight it, little one. It will all be over soon." Elin pulled her to the table and secured her limbs using old belts she found in the basement. Elin was smiling now, so close to completing her next masterpiece.
As Elin began her grim work, a change began to happen within the girl, her eyes changed, no longer full of tears, but of hatred. The girl began to speak, not words, but garbled sounds, deep and guttural. Elin would stop, her expression changing from excitement to confusion.
The voice got louder and louder, then, with a boom, the lights in the basement went out. Elin moved her hand to find a flashlight she had placed near her, but before she could, she was pulled down to the floor by a force she couldn't comprehend. Her scalpel falls from her hand and hits the floor.
She looks up and sees the girl, now standing tall, her eyes glowing with an eerie red light, not human, not alive. The girl begins to levitate, moving around the room, the shadows in the basement begin to form around the girl. The basement was now a living nightmare.
Elin attempted to get up, to run away, but the force that pushed her down seemed to keep her on the floor, Elin was helpless. The girl, in her new form, begins to slowly walk towards Elin, every step full of malice and rage. Elin could only watch as her doom approached.
Elin tried to move, she tried to scream, but no sound came out. The girl got closer, her face twisted in a hateful sneer. Elin closed her eyes, this was it, this was where her sickness would end. This was the beginning of her demise. The end of her reign as queen of macabre.
The girl grabs Elin, pulling her off the ground, her grip was ice cold and her power was absolute. Elin felt like her insides were burning, like she was being torn apart from the inside. This wasn't like her other games, she didn't have control, she was the one being controlled.
She tried to fight back, but it was like fighting a phantom, her hands went through the girl. The girl took Elin and threw her into the ground, the impact making her bones crack. Elin felt like she was dying, she looked at her body, and it was broken, almost unrecognizable.
The girl moved closer and then kneeled down, placing her hand on Elin's forehead. Elin felt a burning sensation, like a hot iron being pressed against her skin. The girl started to speak in the strange, guttural voice. "You are no longer the artist. You are the art."
Elin could feel herself being moved around the room, lifted into the air, and placed onto the table that she had used for all her creations. She tried to move, tried to stop it, but it was too late. The girl began to work, using Elin's tools against her, adding to the collection, making Elin the final masterpiece.
The last thing Elin saw was the red eyes of the girl, the strange guttural sounds, and the feeling of her own skin being removed from her body. She was the art now.
The house stood silent once more, but the basement now contained something new. It contained Elin.