Chapter 14:

I used the flashlight on my phone to illuminate the room, revealing floating dust particles that danced in the narrow beam like ephemeral spirits. The attic, untouched for years, let out a musty odor that grew stronger the further I ventured inside. "There might be a rat problem here, UGH," I muttered, covering my nose with my shirt to shield myself from the pungent stench.

The attic lacked windows or outlets, its confines taken over by mold and other unseen organisms. Creatures scurried in the shadows, their presence unsettling. I couldn't help but wonder if these creatures had escaped from this confined space into my room downstairs. Cause that would mean I had the worst luck in the history of luck.

"Damn, why did they give me that room? Looks like a prison ward," I scoffed, the irony not lost on me. A prison ward would be cleaner. I cautiously sifted through items, reluctant to touch anything too much for fear of contamination. "I want to live, unfortunately," I murmured bitterly.

My attention was drawn to a box, remarkably undisturbed despite its surroundings. It seemed to exert a strange pull as if harboring something ominous—a sensation akin to what my mother had warned about. It felt as though someone else was guiding my actions, pulling invisible strings.

Slowly and carefully, I pried open the box. Dust billowed out, causing me to cough violently in the thick, stagnant air.

"COUGH! COUGH!" I struggled to catch my breath, the air tainted with dust and unknown pathogens.

"I should get the fuck out of here," I muttered to myself, but my curiosity wouldn't let me leave just yet. I continued to search through the contents of the box, the atmosphere growing increasingly oppressive.

Then, my fingers brushed against something rubbery. "What the—" I pulled it into the light of my flashlight.

It was a pair of shoes. Covered in mud. And blood.

"SHIT!" I recoiled, falling back in horror. The dried blood, almost unrecognizable, still sent a chill down my spine. Anyone would recognize it instantly. Maybe it was the color of the shoe? I examined it further and deeper, and even through the dark I can conclude. There is no doubt. It's blood, particularly human blood.

I grouped the shoes with the journal, realizing that even if this was all nothing, something sinister might be at play here. "What else have you hidden in this house?" I muttered, struggling to lift the heavy box.

"Okay, anything else you wanna give me, magic box?" I rummaged through it once more and found something unexpected: an envelope. It was perfectly sealed but coated in a layer of dust and mustiness from years of neglect. There was nothing else in the box.

I decided it was time to leave this suffocating space. With a leap, I jumped down, landing awkwardly and spraining my ankle. The pain was bearable, and I didn't cry out.

I surveyed the items I had retrieved. Nothing particularly haunting screamed "This house is haunted," except for the bloodied shoes. I examined them closely, hesitant to touch them further. They had been in that filthy attic for a long time—what pathogens could they carry?

Despite the unease gnawing at me, I couldn't resist the urge to investigate further. It felt as though I had opened Pandora's box, uncovering secrets best left buried.

"Fuck, let's make this quick," I whispered to myself, opening the journal. It looked old and underused.

The first entry was dated 12/3/1920. I brushed off the dust from my sleeve as I turned the page, revealing faded ink.

"It has been two weeks since we were shut in. Mother refuses to explain, but it's clear as day. The townsfolk are protecting their peace and locking us away. We are the chosen ones. I can feel it. It's only a matter of time before it comes and frees us."

I shuddered as I read the words. What did they mean by "chosen ones"? Were the townsfolk involved in this sinister affair? I needed to leave—no, we needed to leave this house.

As I read on, I realized that 1920 was far older than my grandparents' time here, suggesting previous owners were involved. A chill ran down my spine.

"God, this can't be real. We have to get out of here," I muttered, hurrying downstairs. As usual, my parents were there, my father absorbed in his game and my mother sipping tea.

"We're leaving," I declared, expecting an immediate response. No one moved.

"Didn't you hear me? We're leaving!" I shouted, my voice quavering.

They exchanged puzzled looks. My mother frowned. "Tristan, we're not doing this during my self-care time. Let's not, okay?" she exhaled deeply.

Before she could continue, I threw the shoes at her. She jumped back in surprise.

"Trish! What in the world?" she exclaimed.

"Yeah, I found these upstairs. In all the years I visited, I never knew about that space. Did you?" I pointed upstairs.

"God, where did you get these?" my father asked, concern in his voice.

"And it seems we have a pest problem up there too. Funny how thoughtful you were to give me a room that might kill me in my sleep one day!" I snapped.

"Trish, mind your words..." my mother warned, her tone sharp as she examined the shoes beside her. Her look of disgust already says she didn't know a single thing about this house.

"Yeah, no. Either I get a new room or I'm leaving," I insisted, my frustration boiling over.

They exchanged another glance, disbelief written on their faces. No one spoke for a moment. Then my father sighed.

"Alright, you can have our room, but you have to help us clean up that space you mentioned," he bargained.

I nodded, satisfied. 

"Or..." my mother interjected.

"What Mom? Let me sleep there and die?" I bit my tongue.

"Oh my god, young man!" she hissed.

"NO, I was going to say we could all sleep in our room." she smiled. "And then we could all clean up your room and you could sleep there." 

 She wasn't serious, was she?

"Mom! I am not a baby, I am not sleeping with mommy and daddy," I scoffed.

"It's that or nothing, young man, you're welcome to sleep outside if you want to," she said rigidly.

"Mom! Why do you keep ruining my life!" 

"Tristan, all I'm asking is for us to adjust a little bit in this new house if you can't even do that..." 

"She's right Trish, your mom and I have already been through a lot, the least you could do is listen to us and adapt to this new environment," Dad remarked.

"That's right Trishy, we don't want you to get in trouble again, we just want you to listen to us!" Mom continued.

"Nah, I am not having this." I put my shoes on scantily.

"Young man, where are you going this time of the night?" Mom neared me with a frown on her face.

"I actually have money, so I am going to sleep somewhere else!" 

"What? You're not serious!"

"Trish, listen to me!" Mom screamed, this time her anger reaching its boiling point.

"Tristan! You don't even know this town! Where are you going? At least tell me where you're going!" I heard mom cry as I bolted out of the house into the pitch black darkness.