part 3 the first encounter

Chapter 3: The First Encounter

It was a week after Sarah's unsettling reflection when the first encounter occurred. The day had started like any other, with sunlight streaming through the windows, birds singing in the trees, and the children out on their daily adventures. Mark had a video call scheduled with a colleague, so Sarah found herself alone again, wandering the house in search of something to occupy her mind.

She had decided to explore the attic—a place she hadn't yet ventured into. The old house, though large and charming, had its mysteries, and the attic was one of them. There was something about the narrow staircase leading up that gave her pause every time she passed it. The door at the top of the stairs creaked loudly when she opened it, and she stepped cautiously inside, the musty air of decades past filling her lungs.

The attic was dimly lit, with only a small window letting in the afternoon light. Dust motes swirled in the air, and boxes of forgotten items were piled high in every corner. It smelled of old books, leather, and the faintest hint of something she couldn't identify—a scent she couldn't quite place but that made her feel uneasy, as if she wasn't the only one in the room.

Sarah began to sift through the boxes, finding old photographs, yellowing letters, and relics from another time. Some were marked with the previous owner's name, but most were unlabelled, left behind like forgotten memories. Her fingers brushed over a small, leather-bound book hidden at the bottom of a box. Intrigued, she opened it carefully.

The pages were filled with handwritten notes, but they weren't written in English. The strange symbols and letters seemed to twist and curl across the paper, almost like a language she should know but couldn't understand. Sarah felt a shiver run down her spine as she turned the pages, her curiosity growing despite the unease building in her chest.

Suddenly, a loud bang echoed from the far corner of the attic, followed by the unmistakable sound of footsteps. Her heart skipped a beat. Someone was up here.

Frozen, she listened intently, trying to make sense of the noise. It sounded like someone walking—slowly, deliberately—but there was no one else in the house. She quickly stood up, heart pounding, and turned to look at the corner where the noise had come from.

The attic was empty.

Her breath hitched in her throat as she looked around, feeling a chill crawl across her skin. The floorboards creaked again, but this time, the sound was closer. Sarah spun around, her eyes scanning every shadow, but still, no one was there.

The air grew heavy, thick with an unexplainable pressure, and then, in the reflection of a dusty mirror on the far wall, Sarah saw something that made her blood run cold.

A figure.

It was only a shadow at first—like the outline of someone standing in the doorway. But as Sarah's eyes focused, the figure took shape, a faint, ethereal presence, like a wisp of smoke made solid. It was tall and thin, with indistinct features, as though it were a silhouette drawn by a hand that didn't quite know how to finish the picture. The shadow seemed to shift, moving slowly, and Sarah could hear a faint whisper—a voice, low and distant, as though it was calling her name.

"Sarah…"

The whisper was so soft, so clear, that she could almost feel the breath of it against her ear. Her heart raced, and instinctively, she backed away, her mind screaming at her to leave, to get out of the attic. But her legs felt heavy, rooted to the spot, as if the house itself was holding her in place.

And then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the figure in the mirror faded, disappearing into the reflection like mist in the wind. The whisper stopped, and the air seemed to return to normal, leaving Sarah breathless, trembling, and confused.

She bolted down the attic stairs, nearly tripping over her own feet. Her pulse was pounding in her ears, and her mind raced with a thousand questions. What had she seen? Was it a trick of the light? Or had it been something more? She glanced nervously over her shoulder, half-expecting to see the figure following her down, but there was nothing.

Mark was still on his call when she reached the kitchen, trying to steady her breath. Her hands were shaking as she grabbed a glass of water, but she didn't know how to explain what had just happened, not even to herself.

"Are you alright?" Mark asked, pausing in his conversation, his eyes narrowing in concern.

Sarah looked at him, then back toward the attic, her voice barely above a whisper. "I saw something. In the attic. A figure… a shadow."

Mark looked at her for a long moment, his brow furrowed. "Sarah, you've been under a lot of stress. Moving is hard. Maybe you just imagined it."

She nodded, though the unease still lingered deep inside her. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was just her mind playing tricks. But she couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching her—something ancient, something tied to the house.

And that night, when the house fell silent, Sarah lay awake, listening for footsteps she knew she couldn't hear—wondering if she would encounter the shadow again.