Chapter 2 - The Boy Behind the Studs
The darkness inside the wall was total, a pitch-black abyss contrasting sharply with the brilliant light of the hallway chandeliers. As the white dust slowly settled, a faint, metallic scratching sound echoed from within the void. It was followed by a wet, ragged cough that made every guest in the gallery freeze in absolute horror.
Clara dropped the sledgehammer. The heavy iron hit the floor with a dull thud that rang through the silence. She fell to her knees, ignoring the sharp shards of broken plaster digging into her shins through her stockings. Leaning her face close to the jagged hole, she peered into the framing.
Locked behind a series of vertical wooden studs stood a small, fragile shadow.
The camera moved in close, framing the boy through the narrow gap in the wall. He looked no older than seven years old, his pale skin heavily smeared with dark dirt, soot, and gray plaster dust. His dark hair was matted against his skull, and his oversized sweater hung loosely over his emaciated frame. Bloodshot, tear-filled eyes blinked in agony against the sudden, blinding glare of the hallway lights.
His small, bruised fingers reached out through the vertical wooden studs, clawing weakly at the timber that trapped him like the bars of a cage. He looked up at the faces staring in from the outside world, his chest heaving violently as he tried to pull air into his starved lungs.
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"Can you please save me?" the boy whimpered, his raspy voice trembling with a terrifying fragility. "I'm suffocating."
The words hit the silent room like a physical blow. The wealthy elite, who had gathered to celebrate an anniversary, took a collective step backward, horrified by the living nightmare buried inside the walls of the mansion.
