Chapter 462

Old Milena lived in a house that sagged like a tired spine, its wooden bones groaning under the weight of years. The village of Srem, nestled in the Serbian countryside, had long forgotten her, much like a discarded toy. She was a relic, a whisper of a past that no one cared to remember.

Each night, the quiet of her solitude was invaded by sounds that defied logic. It wasn't the wind, which she knew well, that produced the unsettling scrapes from the attic, nor was it the settling of the old house; this was something different.

The sounds started subtly, almost imperceptible, like rats scurrying in the walls, but they grew, like weeds pushing through cracked cement. Milena would sit in her worn armchair, the one she'd had since her wedding day, the faded floral pattern as familiar as the lines on her own hands.

Her hands, gnarled and twisted by time, would grip the wooden arms of the chair, her knuckles white as bone, her eyes, the only part of her that seemed to have resisted the erosion of time, would dart towards the source of the sounds. "Who is there?" she'd call out to the darkness, her voice raspy, but it was a question she knew would go unanswered.

One particular night, the scratching sounds were insistent, like fingernails on a blackboard. Then came a soft, dragging noise, as if something was pulling itself along the floorboards above her.

Milena felt a coldness seep into her bones, a coldness that had nothing to do with the autumn chill seeping through the cracks in the walls. She rose from her chair, her old knees protesting, and went to the fireplace, and threw in a few pieces of wood, the flames casting long, dancing shadows that seemed to mock her fear.

She poured herself a cup of lukewarm tea from the pot that sat on the stove, and the clinking of the cup against the saucer sounded deafening in the silence. "It is just the wind," she told herself, but her heart beat like a trapped bird in her chest, it did not believe its own lie.

The dragging sound came again, closer this time, and the house seemed to hold its breath, waiting. The scraping sounds intensified, then a series of soft thumps came from the ceiling above the living room, it was like something was testing the limits of the wood.

Milena picked up the old iron poker, the metal cold against her shaking hand, her old eyes narrowed, and with each noise that she heard, her body tensed. The metal was the only weapon she had. "Show yourself, you wicked thing," she growled to the ceiling, but only silence answered.

She climbed the creaking stairs, each step a struggle, her breath coming in short gasps, the old house was a labyrinth of shadows, and the darkness seemed to deepen with each step she took. The door to the attic was old and warped.

Milena reached it, her hand trembling as she touched the cold metal of the handle. She pulled the door open, slowly, revealing an attic that was dark and suffocating, thick with the smell of dust and decay. The single bulb in the attic barely illuminated the space, and the shadows seemed to have their own life, stretching and contracting, dancing across the old furniture and forgotten keepsakes.

The sounds had stopped. Milena looked around, her eyes darting from one shadow to another, and there was nothing but dusty furniture, and cobwebs that looked like ghostly shrouds.

She was about to turn back when she saw it, a dark shape huddled in the corner, almost invisible against the deep shadow. Milena raised the poker, her heart pounding like a drum in her ears, "Who are you?" she called out, but the shape did not answer, it did not move, so Milena took a step closer.

As she did, the shape began to move, slowly at first, then it began to unfold itself. It was tall, impossibly so, its limbs long and thin, like those of a spider. Its skin was pale, almost translucent, and it seemed to absorb the dim light, and where its eyes should have been were just two dark, empty holes. A shiver went through her and she knew that it was not from the cold.

The creature's head tilted, and a raspy sound emanated from it, a sound that was not quite a voice. It stepped out of the shadows, and Milena took a step back, her grip on the poker tightening. She knew, with a certainty that chilled her to her core, that this was not something of this world. This was an ancient evil that had somehow found its way into her home.

The thing took a slow, deliberate step towards her, and Milena swung the poker, her old arms straining with the effort, but the metal passed right through the creature as if it were smoke. The creature did not stop, and it did not flinch, it continued its slow march towards her, its empty eyes boring into her soul, the raspy sound becoming louder.

Milena tried to shout, but no sound came, and her throat constricted with fear. She turned to run, but the creature was faster, and its long, skeletal hand grasped her arm, its touch cold and clammy like the hand of a corpse. Milena screamed, this time a sound managed to escape her, a primal scream that echoed through the old house.

The creature pulled her towards it, and she could feel its cold breath on her face. It opened its mouth, and Milena saw that it was filled with rows of sharp, needle-like teeth. It was going to devour her, she was sure of it, and the idea sent a wave of nausea through her.

It did not devour her; instead, it pressed its cold, skeletal lips against her forehead and began to draw something out of her. She felt a pulling sensation, like something precious was being ripped from her very soul, and it was not a pleasant feeling, and she tried to fight it, she tried to pull away, but the creature was too strong, too cold, and she was trapped, and could do nothing.

Milena felt her memories fading, her past dissolving into nothing. The faces of her loved ones, the sound of laughter, the feel of warmth, all began to slip away. She tried to hold on, she tried to remember, but the creature was relentless, and slowly, her life, her identity, was being drained from her.

The world went dark, but it was not the darkness of sleep, it was a darkness of oblivion. She was not even a vessel, she was nothing, she was just a shell. The creature continued to draw from her, and soon her body went limp, her spirit gone, leaving behind an empty husk.

The creature then released her, and the body of Milena fell to the floor, with a dull thud. The creature turned, its empty eyes fixed on nothing, and it began to shrink, its form becoming less defined, like a shadow retreating into the night.

It finally disappeared, leaving behind only the dust-filled attic and the lifeless body of Milena. Her eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, and her face, once lined with the stories of a long life, was now just an empty shell. The house stood silent, its wooden bones no longer groaning, as if it too was in mourning. The sounds had stopped. The night, indifferent to the tragedy that had transpired, continued its course.

The next morning, the sun rose, casting its warm light on the village of Srem. The villagers went about their daily lives, oblivious to the horror that had unfolded in the old house on the edge of the woods. They did not know that Milena was gone, that she had been erased, not just from this world, but from her own memories.

And when the neighbors did come to the house a few days later to check in on her, they found the door unlocked, and Milena's body, cold and lifeless, on the floor of the attic. They called the authorities, and the police came and took pictures of the scene, and made notes, they concluded that she had died from a heart attack, because that was what made sense.

There was no evidence of any struggle or forced entry, they never even considered an attack, or a monster, or any paranormal occurrence, it was just an old lady who had died alone in her house. They took the body away, and the house was left empty.

Eventually, the house was boarded up, and left to decay further. The villagers did not speak of Milena, they did not want to remember her, it was easier to pretend she had never been there. Her name slowly faded from their memories, much like the life had been drained from her.

The old house, left empty, stood alone in the woods, a silent testament to the tragedy that had occurred. The attic remained dark and dusty, and if you listened carefully, you could still hear the faintest scratching sounds, the faint echo of a creature that no longer had a form, but still had a desire.

And if you were to look at the floorboards, you would see the faintest marks, like something had been dragged. The creature had taken Milena's memories and her soul, it had left her an empty shell, but it was not finished.

It had gained something from her, something that it needed to continue its existence. The creature was still there, somewhere, waiting, drawing power from the memory of Milena, and planning its next victim, the next person to come near the house, a new soul to feed from. The creature was patient, it had all the time in the world, it was not going anywhere.

It was home. The silence that remained was deafening, a hollow, empty sound, full of the absence of a life that had once been. And this, was the saddest part of it all.