I Revived My Maid, Now She Hungers for My Blood
Chapter 311: She... Was the Monster!

He saw, standing in the doorway, the girl staring at him with eyes stretched to their absolute limit. No—not staring at him. Staring at… the space just above his head.

That gaze radiated a terror so primal, so profound, it defied language.

The girl’s lips trembled, but no sound came out—just a useless, gaping O. Her face was corpse-pale.

The brief flare of triumph in the young man’s heart froze solid. In its place, an icy dread slithered up his spine.

“Wendy? What—”

Thud!! A deep, heavy impact—like something massive dropping into a deep well—resounded from the center of the music room!

And then— “AAAAAAAHHH————!!!”

Wendy’s piercing scream tore through the dead, stagnant air of the mansion!

Hearing it, the three in the foyer practically lunged toward the music room as one.

By the time they reached the doorway, the girl was slumped against the frame, trembling like a leaf, one hand clamped over her mouth, the other shaking violently as it pointed inside the room.

Her eyes were unfocused, pupils blown wide from sheer, catastrophic fright.

Following the line of her finger, they saw that the music room’s floor, once covered in a thick rug, now sported… a hole. A pitch-black hole.

Its edges were jagged, the torn carpet and splintered wooden floorboards stained with a dark, viscous fluid.

The hole wasn’t huge—about a meter in diameter—but inside was nothing but void. Blackness so absolute it seemed to plunge straight into the bowels of the earth.

The viscous fluid was still slowly dripping down, swallowed by that bottomless dark.

And the air—it was thick with a choking, nauseating stench of rust. So real, so overpowering, that every person who smelled it felt their stomach clench in raw, visceral revolt.

This time, there was no way it was “cherry juice.”

And most importantly, the young man was gone. All that remained was the phonograph, knocked askew at the edge of the hole, its brass horn slightly crumpled, the needle long since silenced.

Dead silence.

“It was… it was her…” Wendy finally found her voice, but it was a dry, ragged croak, like air wheezing from a battered bellows.

She seized Elliot’s arm, her eyes frantic. “The daughter… she’s the monster…”

She stammered, terror cracking her voice. “She… she’s on the ceiling! Like a spider! She… she dragged Daniel down!”

Her words were a torrent of incoherence, tears and snot mingling. “Daniel is dead! He’s dead!! I don’t want to die… I don’t want to die! We’re all going to die! We’re all going to die here!”

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Her voice spiraled higher and higher, her speech unraveling into hysterical shrieks, her body convulsing uncontrollably.

Milo, the veteran, said nothing.

His hand just drifted silently toward his waist. There, he had his utility knife—the only weapon he could rely on right now.

His face was grim, his eyes sharp as flint, fixed on that black pit, and on the ceiling the girl had pointed to.

He was already cursing himself for not bringing his gun.

Elliot felt his heart slamming against his ribcage. He patted the girl’s shaking back, trying to soothe her, while his mouth stubbornly kept trying to frame everything in a logic he could understand:

“That’s impossible… calm down, Miss Wendy. Science has already proven… things like that don’t exist… Someone else must be in this house! Maybe a descendant of the owner, or… or some other—”

“Not human!!!” Wendy’s head snapped up, her bloodshot eyes boring into him, her voice a piercing shriek. “I saw it with my own eyes!! Her head… her head… split open!! Right down the middle!!”

She lost control again, screaming, her body wracked with violent shudders. Fragmented words spilled out between sobs. “Eyes… so many eyes… staring at me…” “Cold… so cold…”

Clearly, the sheer psychological shock had shattered this girl—who’d only come seeking thrills—into temporary mental disarray.

“This can’t be… can’t be…” Elliot kept trying to refute it, but when his eyes landed again on that dark, blood-edged hole in the floor, his voice involuntarily withered to nothing, dying in his throat.

Had science really proven such things didn’t exist?

Could everything here be explained away by a bunch of people pulling strings in the shadows?

That nauseating stench of fresh blood. That bottomless darkness… A living, breathing human being, vanishing in seconds right before their eyes…

Elliot felt his throat go dry, his palms slick with cold sweat. He was… regretting this. Regretting that recruitment notice. Regretting stepping into this house for a meager fee and the possibility of a headline.

The word “leave” danced on the tip of his tongue, tantalizing. He opened his mouth, but for the life of him, he couldn’t force it out. Fear had him by the throat like an icy fist.

When people feel helpless, they instinctively pin their hopes on someone else. Even someone they’d normally look down on. Journalist Elliot unconsciously glanced toward Milo, the veteran.

Milo’s clothes were rough. He wasn’t educated. His personality was even a bit dour—things Elliot had always disdained.

But now, in true mortal danger, the solidity the old soldier exuded, the unshakable calm of someone who’d already stared death in the face—that was something no one else here could match.

Elliot found himself slightly, quietly, edging a step closer to Milo. As if just standing near the veteran might keep the monsters—real or not—from getting too close.

Milo didn’t notice the small movement. His rugged face was pale, fine beads of sweat dotting his temples. He gripped his knife tightly, but his eyes flicked past the crumbling Wendy and the panicking Elliot, landing on their employer—Elsa.

Deep down, the thought of “leaving” was surfacing in him too.

But the sense of duty branded into his bones, and the habits of obedience forged through years of military service, wouldn’t let him abandon the one who’d hired him. Couldn’t let him just flee from the mission.

Even if… it looked like someone might already be dead.

What came next—to retreat, to press on—that was still up to her.

“Maybe… we should step outside for a breather?” Elliot finally swallowed his pitiful pride, his voice dry and cracked.

“Or… at least, calm this young lady down. She might need to rest…”

He didn’t get to finish.

Elsa’s actions choked the words right in his throat.

Elsa turned her head slightly, those deep, dark eyes—made even more unfathomable in the dim light—sweeping calmly over each of them. Her face still held no trace of extraneous emotion.

In a voice so calm it was chilling, she spoke:

“We’ve covered enough upstairs. Next, we go to the basement. Stay close to me. Do not even think about going off alone.”

She paused, her gaze lingering on Elliot and Milo. “That will only… be more dangerous.” Her tone carried no inflection, yet it was laced with indisputable authority.

Without sparing anyone another glance, she stepped forward.

She reached down and took the hand of Wendy, who was still huddled on the floor, shivering, her expression shattered.

Then, leading this nearly catatonic girl, she walked straight toward the dim, shadow-draped corridor on the other side of the foyer—the one that led down to the basement.