Strange Noises in the Attic(1)

Author：Zhu Li Zhu Qi

There was a monster locked up in my attic.

This monster was my biological brother. He was locked up by my parents for 24 years.

My parents told me that my brother was mentally ill and had severely violent tendencies, so he could only be locked up to prevent him from hurting others.

However, I once accidentally entered the room. My brother covered my mouth immediately and told me with a fearful look that those two people were not my real parents.

1

When I was three years old, I was already aware that there was a monster locked up in my attic.

To be exact, that was my older brother, Hendrix Lewis.

Yet, as far as I could remember, I had never seen Hendrix before.

Hendrix had always been imprisoned in a small room in the attic. My parents told me that Hendrix was ill.

They claimed that Hendrix hurt people for no reason, had an intellectual deficiency, and had serious violent tendencies.

In order not to let him go outside and hurt others, my parents had no choice but to lock him up in the attic.

I had seen my parents secretly wipe their tears because of Hendrix more than once.

Whenever it was time for dinner, the food was always delivered to the attic by my mother or my father. I had never been inside that small room.

This was because I was afraid of Hendrix.

Since I was a child, I had been hearing chains dragging in the attic as well as the sound of Hendrix's continuous growling.

This almost became my childhood trauma.

The words "older brother" simply sounded like a nightmare to me.

I didn't mention Hendrix to any of my friends.

That day after school, my parents went out to run errands. They told me that there was food in the refrigerator and I just needed to reheat the food.

My mother warned me repeatedly on the phone not to go to the attic.

In fact, even if she didn't say it, there was no way I would have gone there.

To me, that place was a forbidden area.

I took out the food and reheated it, and then began to eat while watching a TV show.

Suddenly, I heard the noise of chains dragging coming from the attic.

It was Hendrix.

I frowned and was determined to ignore it, but there was also an anguished roar reverberating from upstairs.

The voice sounded like it was in extreme pain, which made me very uncomfortable.

I wondered if Hendrix was feeling unwell.

Although I didn't like him, he was my family, still.

Withholding my fears, I walked up the stairs and arrived at the attic.

The attic was narrow and dark, with a lock on the red wooden door.

I knew where the key was. Although my mother hid it behind my back every time, I still managed to sneak a glimpse.

I stood on the tips of my toes, took a book from the bookshelf, then took out the key hidden in between the pages.

A heavy howl resounded from inside the room. As the key was inserted into the keyhole, my heart beat faster and faster.

Finally, the door opened.

It had been eighteen years, yet this was the first time I came to this room.

What greeted me was an extremely foul smell, which made me gag several times.

I saw a man with chains on his hands and feet. His beard was ragged, and his long hair almost covered his entire face.

This was Hendrix, my closest relative by blood.

When I saw him, I didn't feel the fear I had imagined. Instead, I had an impulse to cry.

"Hendrix?" I called him softly.

Hendrix was panting heavily. He opened his mouth and made a hissing sound.

It was then I realized Hendrix might not have known how to speak.

From the look in his eyes, however, he didn't seem like he wanted to hurt me.

I approached him carefully. The closer I got to him, the stronger the unpleasant smell became.

I squatted down in front of him. "Hendrix, do you have something that you want to tell me?"

Hendrix nodded. Unexpectedly, tears began to roll down from the corner of his eyes.

I found a paper and pen and handed them to him.

However, Hendrix's hand was full of wounds, and he couldn't even hold the pen.

He bit the pen with difficulty and wrote a single sentence on the paper: [They are not our real parents.]

2

I was instantly stunned upon seeing the sentence.

Yet, before I could ask Hendrix what he meant, I heard the sound of my parents opening the door downstairs.

There was fear and panic in his eyes, and he signaled to me with his eyes that I needed to leave quickly.

I ran out frantically with the pen and paper and locked the door, then put the key back where it was.

I heard the footsteps of my parents coming upstairs and hurriedly hid behind the bookshelf.

Luckily, my parents didn't notice me and took out the key to open the door.

They walked in with the food in their hands, and Hendrix's howls resounded again.

Before they came out, I took the opportunity and hurried downstairs to hide in the restroom. Then, I pretended to have just come out of the restroom.

My mother saw me and smiled at me. "Look at what I brought home for you."

I followed my mother's gaze and looked at the table, where my favorite tiramisu cake was placed.

Throughout the past eighteen years, my parents never forgot to bring me my favorite cake as long as they went out.

They took good care of me, so to speak.

When I was a child, I remembered once having a fever of 102 degrees Fahrenheit, and my mother took care of me strenuously for three days without sleeping.

My parents loved me so much, so they couldn't possibly be faking it.

Yet, Hendrix's words still filled my heart with doubts.

I pretended as if nothing had happened. While eating the cake, I asked, "Mum, did you take portraits of the whole family when I was a child?"

My mother smiled and said, "Of course. Have you forgotten that we will take a family portrait every year? But it's just that your poor brother..."

Her eyes reddened as she spoke.

"I meant family portraits before I turned three," I said slowly.

My mother looked at me in surprise. "Renee, why do you suddenly want to see the photos from that time?"

"It's because my teacher is holding a themed class meeting soon and wants us to bring our family portraits from childhood to now." I simply made up an excuse.

My mother said helplessly, "Before you were three years old, it was the time when our family's income was at its tightest. How could we possibly have the money to buy a camera at that time?"

My heart sank.

I only began to remember things when I was three years old, and I had a memory of what my parents looked like back then.

Unfortunately, we didn't take a family portrait before I was three, so I couldn't prove whether or not Hendrix's words were true.

At that moment, I heard my father heave a deep sigh, saying, "Renee, Hendrix's illness is getting worse. These days, he will make up all sorts of lies just so he can escape."

"Lately, we have been looking for a doctor to treat Hendrix. We don't want him to burden you in the future," my mother said with reddened eyes.

My heart was a mess.

I believed in my parents, who had raised me for 18 years, more than Hendrix, who I just met.

They had been good to me, and it wasn't a lie.

After eating the cake, I went back to my room and did my practice worksheet absent-mindedly.

Next year was a crucial year for me.

However, I couldn't forget the pained look in Hendrix's eyes.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door, and my mother came in with a glass of milk.

"Renee, I know you're working hard, but you should also take a good rest." She placed the glass of milk on my table.

I was full from eating the cake. I didn't want to drink any milk, but my mother just stood there and stared at me intently.

"Renee, drink it while it's hot. I'll take the glass and wash it." Her eyes were full of urgency.

I was stunned for a moment. It seemed that my mother had always acted this way before. She always watched me finish the milk eagerly.

"Mom, just put it there. I'll drink it later."

Hearing that, my mother left reluctantly. Before leaving, she repeatedly reminded me to drink up the milk.

At that moment, I actually began suspecting that something was wrong with the glass of milk.

However, I quickly denied that thought. I had been drinking the milk for over ten years. If there was something wrong with it, something bad would've happened to me a long time ago.

I picked up the milk and was about to drink it when I suddenly caught a glimpse of the door opening.

I turned my head and saw my mother's pale face near the opened crack. She was looking at me expressionlessly.

3

"Mom, what are you doing?" I blurted out in fear.

An awkward smile appeared on my mother's face. "I'm just worried you won't be able to get enough nutrition if you don't drink the milk."

Yet, my mother's attitude made me think that there was something wrong with milk.

"Mom, I'm not a child anymore. Don't worry," I said helplessly.

"I know. You must drink it, all right?" With that, she left.

My heart was racing, and I immediately poured the milk into the toilet and flushed it.

Late at night, while my parents were asleep, I came to the attic again.

I gently unlocked the door with the key. When Hendrix saw me, excitement filled his eyes.

The food in front of Hendrix hadn't been taken away. It was the food that my mother served him today.

I was utterly shocked when I saw the food.

These dishes were all leftovers of what we had eaten, and they were all mixed together, giving off an unpleasant smell.

I recalled the delicious food I ate and compared it to the food Hendrix ate, which could be considered pig feed. Immediately, I felt the urge to cry.

I couldn't believe that my parents would treat Hendrix like this, and I wondered if what Hendrix said was all true.

"Hendrix, is that what Mom and Dad usually give you?" I said, unable to bear it.

Hendrix was silent, but I already knew the answer.

He was already an adult man, yet his arms were thinner than mine.

I handed the pen to Hendrix, and I was eager to obtain the truth.

If they were not our real parents, then where did my real parents go?

With some difficulty, Hendrix bit the pen with his mouth and wrote a line of crooked words on the paper: [They killed our parents when you were only two years old.]

Seeing this, I shuddered with fear and couldn't believe it.

He wrote: [At that time, I was eight years old. I saw their faces, so they kept me locked up here and lied to you that I was sick. Our grandfather deposited a large amount of money for us in the bank a long while ago. The bank transfers money to us regularly every month. They cannot use the money, so they kept raising us. But if you have an accident, they can go to the bank to withdraw the money. Don't eat anything they give you, including the drinks. They must have drugged your food with slow poison.]

The crookedly written lines on the paper were extremely shocking to look at.

Hendrix reached out his skinny hands and grabbed my shoulder.

His gaze was firm and powerful.

This was the last sentence he wrote on the paper: [You have to strike first and gain the upper hand. End them and avenge our parents.]

Just then, I heard the sound of the door opening downstairs.

I hurried out and hid the keys.

Hendrix shouted hoarsely behind me as if he wanted to say something to me.

I saw my father open the door to my room. After seeing that I wasn't inside, he suddenly turned his head to the restroom.

It was too late to pretend that I just got out of the restroom.

I saw my father's gloomy face in the darkness, and he walked quickly toward the attic.

I hid behind the bookshelf, holding my breath.

My father took out a key and opened the door, then entered the room.

When I was about to leave, I suddenly realized that I had made a fatal mistake.

I was too flustered just now, and I left all the paper and pen in the room!

I suddenly felt cold sweat on my back, and there was only one thought left in my mind. I had to run.

Unfortunately, it was too late.

I saw my father appear in front of me impassively.

The thunder flashed outside the window, illuminating my father's face.

The face of my usual kind father was now ferocious and terrifying.

4

"Renee, why are you hiding here?" My father pulled me out from behind the bookshelf.

I looked at him in fear and couldn't speak.

It was raining heavily outside. The raindrops were hitting the window, making a loud noise.

"Renee, why aren't you saying anything?" My father reached out and touched my face.

His hands were usually very warm, but now they were horrifyingly cold.

My whole body was trembling uncontrollably.

My father squatted in front of me and asked with a strange look, "Renee, you went into this room, didn't you?"

Since things had come to that, I had no choice but to admit it.

I nodded in fear. "Dad, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I just wanted to see Hendrix."

My father looked at me very gravely and said, "Renee Lewis, how many times have I told you that your brother has serious violent tendencies? He is very dangerous. Why do you still want to go in?"

"What's the danger? If I didn't go in, I wouldn't have known that you were treating Hendrix like this. Are you two really my parents? Was what Hendrix wrote true?" I blurted out angrily.

But as soon as I finished speaking, I regretted it.

My father fixed his gaze on me, and his expression was grim. His face twitched a few times before he sighed heavily. "We didn't mean to tell you about this, but now that you are an adult, you have the right to know the truth."

What my father said next shocked me.

"Renee, actually, the person being locked inside is not your biological brother," he said.

I looked at my father blankly.

My father sighed again with a painful expression on his face. "Hendrix died when you were only two years old. He was five years older than you. He was a very cute boy. To give him the best education, we spent a lot of money to send him to the best private school. But we didn't expect that this decision would kill him. The person being locked inside is the murderer who killed Hendrix!"

I looked at my father in disbelief. "But he seemed to be only in his twenties. How could he be the murderer who killed Hendrix?"

There was hatred and resentment in my father's eyes. "His name is Louis Carter. He is Hendrix's classmate, but he is a lunatic with an antisocial personality disorder. When he entered school, his mother hid his illness from the school. He hit Hendrix with a stone and watched Hendrix die in the end!"

My father breathed heavily and grabbed my shoulder. His hand trembled violently. "Back then, if he had a little sense of humanity and kindness when he was seven, Hendrix wouldn't have died. If he hadn't just stood idly by and watched Hendrix die, the latter would have been 25 years old!"

"So, you captured him and imprisoned him here?" I asked in shock.

"That's right. We want to take revenge. Louis was only seven years old at that time, so the law couldn't convict him. However, we decided to take the law into our own hands. If we just let this lunatic grow up freely, he will kill more people in the future!" exclaimed my father with a pale face.

I slumped heavily to the ground and couldn't believe the truth.

"Renee, I saw everything that Louis told you. It's your mother's and my fault. We should have told you earlier. Everything he said is a lie! He is a demon!" my father said with reddened eyes.

"Dad, since this is the truth, you have already locked him up for more than ten years. He has been punished. We should hand him over to the police!" I said with a trembling voice.

"Are you crazy? We can't hand him over to the police. If things go wrong, your mother and I will be arrested. Who will take care of you then, Renee?" my father said agitatedly.

My chest heaved violently, but it was clear to me that my father was right.

If we called the police, Louis would become the poor victim, and my parents would go to prison.

But I couldn't help but wonder if what my father said was actually the truth.