The Last Writer Adriane Leigh (story reading TXT) 📖

lose my position in the house as the golden child—forced to work in the damp cellar. Or worse.

I sighed, watching as the other little black bird hopped closer to the pile of paper, ruffling her feathers until all of them caught the wind and blew into the dry base of the fountain. The little bird tweeted at me, her tone turning frenzied as she hopped nearer to my knee.

“I didn’t bring seeds today, I’m sorry.” The bird wouldn’t accept my apology, only came closer, tweets turning to a menacing pitch. “Stop it, would you?”

The bird stopped just out of reach of my knee, then pecked at a freckle below my left kneecap.

“Hey!” I swiped at the bird on instinct, my reaction time faster than I thought, because before I knew it, I had the fluffy little creature in my palm. I held it easily, the tiny head thrashing and chirping for escape. A caged bird never sings, I thought.

I squeezed tighter, the false sense of security my embrace brought calmed the bird for a second, before it began wiggling wildly again. The mate chirped and swooped for my head then, landing just out of reach of me on the stone edge of the fountain and tweeting an angry song on repeat.

I should’ve known better than to trust this place and the evil it seemed to elicit from my mother. We’d only been here a few months, and already Usher had taught me one grave lesson: when in the presence of evil, evil always won.

All of my nerves felt raw, my feelings freshly trampled as I realized that the minute I’d been born into this family and for better or worse, I’d inherited the legacy that came with it. Usher House left a dark mark on the soul of its inhabitants, the Usher family festered at the edges like a deep psychological wound that refused to heal.

Mother was trapped by something here, and whatever it was had crushed the life out of Nate.

Would I be next?

I crushed the little ball of fluff in my hand until its feelings were as nonexistent as mine.

A caged bird never sings, I thought again.

Usher House strikes again.

ELEVEN

Ryn

“Untie me, you crazy bastard.”

My eyes felt weighted with lead curtains.

“Hush, you’ll wake up our sleeping beauty.”

“Weaver! Wake up! Wake up, wake up, wake up, dammit! Weaver!” Thax’s chants worked like ice in my veins.

I pushed my heavy eyelids open, forcing consciousness through the haze. My vision centered on the tiny feathers of a songbird; its black feathers iridescent as they shone with filtered sunlight.

I pushed from my position, blinking quickly as reality slammed into focus and I realized I was staring at a tiny stuffed bird in a large rusted bird cage.

It hung still, a fine layer of dust gathering on the crown of its head.

I shook the image from my mind, desperate to return to my last moments of normalcy. I realized I was laying on a soft brown leather couch. Worn fibers of an old rug registered before I used all the strength in my body to push off the cushions.

I fell to my knees, legs as stable as gelatin.

“What did you do to her?!” Thax thrashed in his chair. “You drugged us!”

Yara’s voice cooed over my shoulder. “Ssh. Take your time, there’s no rush at Usher.”

“Usher?”

“Yarrow, help her into that chair.” I felt a firm grip at my elbows before I was hauled into a straight-backed chair. Yarrow made quick work of threading ties around my ankles to the chair legs.

“Why are you tying me? Stop!” I kicked his hand away but it was too late, my ankles were locked.

“Ssh, the vitamins take time to wear off, I don’t want my next bestselling author hurt, now do I?”

“Vitamins? What are you talking about?” I bent to untie my ankles but Yarrow had already caught my wrists, sliding a ribbon through the spindles of the back and anchoring me in place.

“Last night, don't you remember? We met in the hallway yesterday evening and you said you’d been having trouble sleeping so I had Yarrow deliver you some chamomile tea with special vitamins to help you relax. Don’t you remember?”

I shook my head, ashamed I didn’t.

Yara shook her head. “We talked about this last night, even about the move to Usher. You seemed excited when I shared the news—you said you loved the puzzle. I’m confused, were you lying to me last night?”

I shook my head again, mind foggy on the memories.

“Ms. Weaver, you really must make sleep a priority if you want a successful career. It takes something deep within yourself to achieve greatness, something most will never understand. You cannot achieve that without a clear head.”

I felt the weight of her words, their truth ringing loudly in my ears.

“Well, in case you’ve forgotten, I told you last night that you and Mr. Bristol were progressing so nicely I thought it time to move to the next phase of the residence program a little early. The wildness of the city is ideal for inspiration, but seclusion is what every writer needs for creativity to flourish.

“This is bullshit, untie me. I’ve got a dozen friends on Long Island that will meet me at the ferry, I want out of the program.”

Yara raised a single arched eyebrow.

Thax jostled in his chair, clearly strong enough to not just stand on his own, but fight.

If we’d come here willingly, then why was Thax fighting too?

“If you leave now, you’ll ruin every chance at a future in the publishing business.”

“Fuck your business.” Thax spit, a dark spot landing on the worn rug.

Yarrow snarled, then pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped up Thax’s mess.

“That’s a family heirloom.” Yara’s final words came out in a hiss.

Thax only glared.

“If you leave, you both leave,” Yara finished.

My heart fell. I thought of going home to my meaningless existence, no hope at a future beyond the four walls of my stupid little rent-controlled apartment.

“I. Don’t. Care.” Thax rocked back and forth in