The Broken Tile

I used to be obsessed with thriller and murder mystery movies. Every night, I'd sit glued to the screen, lost in the suspense, until I heard my mom's voice calling from the hallway, "Ethan, it's time for bed, you hear me?" That was my cue to reluctantly turn off the TV and crawl into bed. Mom was the best—strict when she had to be, but always fair. She had a way of making our house feel warm, even when she was upset. Sure, she could be tough, but she always had her reasons.

The controller sat untouched on my desk. The TV remained off. Outside, kids laughed, but their voices felt like they belonged to another world—one I no longer stepped into. We had moved to a new town, a small, quiet place called Holloway. It felt eerie, almost like fate, that our family name and the town's name were the same. My dad called it a fresh start. But to me, it was anything but fresh. It was just... empty.

Our new house never felt like home. It was just a place where I existed. I spent most of my time locked up in my room, drowning in my own thoughts. I barely spoke to my sister, barely acknowledged my dad. The only thing that connected me to my old life were the cassettes Mom used to listen to.

It was 19th June 2000. Sitting in the lounge, I stared at the TV trying to find my old self.

What are you really up to Ethan Holloway, do you really wanna destroy yourself?

I wavering this question in my mind, stood up and moved towards my room. I entered it and locked the door. It was 6 p.m. right now.

I opened my drawer and took out one of my mom's cassettes. It was titled as "My Love: Ethan Holloway". I inserted it into the cassette player and started listening to it.

Listening to my mom's beautiful, warm and, soft voice, I fell asleep.

I woke up hours later. It was almost 12 at night. I played my mom's cassette again and laid down on the bed. Until suddenly the cassette stopped, I knew it hadn't finished then what suddenly caused it to stop.

"Thud"

It sounded like something had fallen in the attic but soon something shook my attention. I heard heavy footsteps.

Who could be upstairs at this moment?

I froze, but curiosity pulled me towards the attic. I pulled the ladder and moved up entering into the attic.

The attic smelled of dust, forgotten memories, and something else… something wrong. The air felt thick, pressing against my chest. As I took a step forward, the floor groaning—not just under my weight, but almost like it was… shifting.

I moved forward turning on the light but it seemed like it had fused. but then I felt something behind me, like someone was moving. It started with a whisper. Faint. Almost like a breath against my ear. But when I turned, there was no one there.

Then I felt strangled like something—someone was trying to choke me from behind. I tried to turn and forcibly turned. I blinked, and for a second—just a second—I saw a figure crouching near the chest of old books. It was hazy, flickering like an image on a dying TV screen. But the eyes… they were locked onto mine. And then—gone.

I ran towards the attic's door to leave but a gust of air brushed against my ear, carrying something soft… words? I couldn't tell. But then, the picture of Mom slid off one of the chests there and landed right in front of me. And beneath it, the broken tile.

I picked my Mom's picture and kept it in my pocket. As I stood there something attracted me right were I was standing at the moment. Something felt off. I couldn't move.

"Whoever you are just stop this shit." and suddenly I felt free but the broken tile, it wasn't actually broken. It felt like someone had purposely broken it. I moved it aside and saw a book covered in dust right below it.

Picking it up, I blew away the dust on it and opened it.

Terror shook me as I saw the first page. It said:

Ethan, this is for you. Don't trust them.

Who exactly was them and how did the diary know me. I probably thought of it as a prank at first but who would do this kind of prank, no one could and how could it be a prank if no one even entered the attic. The diary felt like years old, it smelled like dust.

But the ink...

As I stared at the words, my breath caught in my throat. The ink… it was smudged, like someone had written it just moments ago.

I wanted to keep it back but I couldn't.

The Diary, it felt like it was controlling me. The moment I turned the page, the attic door slammed shut behind me. But then I heard whispers, they seemed to be of someone I know but I don't know who's.

"Ethan, there is no going back, you have entered this dark path and you can't leave it until I want you to. You would know very well, what's written in the diary. You can never get away now because you are the owner of this curse."

"How? I have never even seen a diary like this before. How could this ever belong to me. And what exactly is this curse. Just tell me!"

The figure loomed in the shadows, the flickering light casting an eerie glow on its face. Its voice was like a whisper carried by the wind, heavy with the weight of secrets long buried.

"The town has always known you, Ethan. But you—your past—was never meant to stay buried. You're not a visitor here. You never were. The book you hold... it was never meant for your hands, yet here you are, turning the pages. You think you're the one in control, but remember this: you're not. You're already part of it, and the town has been waiting for you to remember."

It paused, its eyes gleaming with a dark, knowing light.

"Loyalty is an illusion, Ethan. Even the ones you trust are part of the puzzle you can't escape. Your friends—your sister—think they're safe. They're not. What's lost in Holloway is never truly gone. It just waits. And when the time is right, it calls for those who were meant to remember. The ones you love... they will become part of the darkness, whether they know it or not."

The figure's lips curled into a knowing smile.

"You'll look for them, but you will never find them. And when you do, it will be too late to save them... or yourself. Don't worry, though. You will learn, Ethan. The more you learn, the less you'll wish to know. But you'll learn, whether you want to or not. After all, the truth was never meant to be buried. It was always yours to discover... and to face."

And then suddenly the figure vanished without leaving any trace. Then I looked back towards the diary, gripping it tightly within my hand and ran towards the attic door slamming it open and running into my room locking up myself again.

Who was that figure and, what did he really meant.