Chapter 22 - The Caretaker's Office
Beyond the Hall of Mirrors lay a single wooden door.
Unlike everything else underground, it looked ordinary.
Old oak.
Brass handle.
No electronic lock.
Only a small engraved plaque.
CARETAKER.
The elderly woman refused to enter.
"I've never seen this room open."
Rick scratched at the bottom of the door once.
Then sat quietly.
Waiting.
I slowly turned the handle.
The office inside looked untouched for decades.
Books lined every wall.
Hundreds of handwritten journals filled towering shelves.
A fireplace sat cold beneath an enormous portrait.
The man's face had been cut from the canvas.
Only the body remained.
Standing proudly inside my house.
Not the current version.
The original.
On the desk rested an old fountain pen beside an open ledger.
Only one line had been written.
Current Caretaker: Active
Below it...
A blank space waited.
As though expecting another name.
The realtor searched the shelves.
Each journal carried a family surname.
Thousands of them.
Some dated back over a century.
Every volume documented daily routines.
Wake-up times.
Meals.
Arguments.
Illnesses.
Birthdays.
The smallest details imaginable.
One shelf held only my surname.
Twenty-three journals.
I had lived in the house less than a year.
Yet someone had apparently documented my family for generations.
Rick barked sharply.
Behind the bookshelf, a hidden compartment clicked open.
Inside lay a reel-to-reel tape recorder.
It started automatically.
A calm voice filled the office.
"If you are hearing this..."
"...then I have finally failed."
It was Harold Bennett.
Not frightened.
Not desperate.
Simply tired.
"I was never the owner."
"I was only the sixth Caretaker."
The tape paused.
"You believe you're searching for us."
Another pause.
"We've been selecting you."
The recorder clicked off.
At that exact moment...
Ink began flowing across the blank line inside the ledger.
No hand held the pen.
Yet letters slowly appeared.
CURRENT CARETAKER:
Then...
May you like
My first initial.
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