The attic was colder than she remembered. Dust floated like ghosts in the air, thick and slow. Alex brushed aside the heavy curtain of cobwebs, her flashlight flickering as if it knew what she was about to find.
Under a loose floorboard near the far corner, she heard a hollow echo when she stepped. Her fingers dug beneath the rotted wood until something scraped against her nail — a box.
Not just any box.
It was wrapped in faded blue ribbon, knotted like someone had meant for it never to be opened again. She hesitated. The last time she found something hidden, it changed everything.
Inside:
Alex's hands trembled as she unfolded the letter. The edges were burnt, like someone tried to destroy it — but gave up. The ink bled in some spots, but the words were still legible. Carefully, she began to read aloud in a whisper:
"If you're reading this, then the silence didn't keep you away.You don't know me, but I know you.They lied to protect you.But the truth still breathes in this house."
Her throat dried up. The attic felt suddenly smaller.
She looked again at the photograph — the girl had the same eyes, same birthmark just below her jaw. But her smile was different. Sadder. Wiser. Like she'd seen things no child ever should.
Alex flipped the photo over. In smudged pencil, it read: "Eden – age 12."
"I don't know an Eden," Alex said aloud, though her voice sounded hollow.But something inside her shifted — a tug in her chest, like she did know. Like she had always known.
Behind her, a floorboard creaked.
She froze.
The flashlight dimmed again. She turned around slowly, heart racing — but no one was there.
Then she saw it.
Scratched into the attic wall, in jagged letters, barely visible under old wallpaper peeling away:
"I was here. I still am."
Alex backed up, breath hitching.The floorboard beneath her foot cracked louder this time — not just from weight.
A voice whispered, not from around her, but inside her ear, as if it belonged to her own mind.
"You're next."
She dropped the box. The stone necklace hit the floor and shimmered — not just from light. It glowed, just faintly.
As she turned to run, she felt the attic shift — not physically, but emotionally. Like a memory trapped in the walls had finally woken up.
And it was hungry.