The Urn (Patreon)

As newly hired help, you received no end of instruction from others above and below your station, but one piece stood out to you, applicable only after dark:

"If you must pass by the hallway urn, ignore anyone you see."

Did they mean other staff? The Master's family, or one of his guests? They just shook their head, and then the bustle of the day's tasks sending you or them to work. Evidently no further information was warranted.

You supposed it was a joke, or an eccentricity of the Master that made its way into the permanent protocol of the household. You resolved to perform your duties to the best of your ability despite this odd outlier of advice, and to be wary around the urn in case some mischief manifested around it.

At first it was difficult to disregard the urn itself, as it was enormous, taller than any man, and adorned with gold at the rim and at the base. However, the hallway was bigger still, and the urn was only one of many pieces of exquisite examples of wealth the Master possessed. Your responsibilities did not include admiring any of them, and so you learned to keep your mind on your work. Weeks passed, and you fell into an easy groove without much reprimand.

As sometimes happens at any workplace, an evening came about where you were one of only a handful of staff present at the house, yet the amount of work did not diminish in kind. You worked unceasingly and with little rest throughout the day, and far further into the night than you normally would. The Master had gone to sleep, but you had only the approval of your immediate superior in mind as you flitted from task to task.

As you walked briskly down the long hallway, above the reverberating clap of your footsteps you heard a small twinkling. Having become accustomed to the normal background ambience of the house, this noise gave you pause, and you looked up towards its origin.

A woman was standing... no, dancing, in front of the hallway urn. You nearly called out to this intruder, but stopped as you remembered the specific instructions given to you on your first day. So, the prank had finally shown itself, had it? This was by far the oddest occurrence of your employment thus far, but you were determined to be unrattled. You would pass right by this... hired dancer, stoic in the face of any force that would distract you from your duty. You walked ahead, just as brisk as before.

Almost immediately you began to feel odd. The house would sometimes get a cold pocket of air in places, but the temperature near the urn was freezing. In addition, you began to feel heavier, your chest tighter, and you found it impossible to move at the same quickened pace. The woman did not seem afflicted as you were, dancing erratically, panting as a dog would. As you struggled to move on, she began to approach, her dancing form filling your peripheral vision. It didn't occur to you before to be afraid.

As her frigid breath filled your ear, your instinct to perceive a potential attacker made your turn your head towards her.

The hallway emptied, and the urn became heavier.