Ava's breath caught in her throat. The muddy footprint stared back at her like an accusation. She leaned closer, her pulse quickening. The edges were still damp, glistening faintly under the pale light leaking from the window.
It wasn't hers.
And it wasn't old.
Her gaze traveled up the staircase, into the darkness that seemed to swallow the attic door whole. Every creak of the house felt heavier now, as though the manor itself were holding its breath, waiting.
She whispered to herself, "You're alone. Remember that. You're alone."
But deep down, she knew she wasn't.
---
The rope meant to block the attic entrance sagged uselessly, its knot half-unraveled. Ava hesitated. A wave of cold air drifted down, brushing her face with the faint scent of soil—wet, metallic, almost copper-like.
She reached for the banister. It was icy under her palm. Slowly, one step, then another, she began to ascend.
The higher she climbed, the more the air thickened, like invisible hands pressing against her chest. By the time she reached the landing, her throat was dry, her ears ringing from the silence.
The attic door loomed at the end of the corridor. Its wood was warped, swollen from years of damp, but a thin sliver of blackness seeped through the crack where it didn't quite close.
Her hand trembled as she reached for the knob.
Before she could touch it, something shifted above.
A dragging sound.
One step. Scrape. Another step. Thud.
Just like Elora had written.
Ava's stomach turned. She stumbled back against the wall, the diary pressed tight against her chest.
The sound stopped.
Then—a whisper. So faint she wasn't sure if it came from the attic or from inside her own head.
"You shouldn't be here."
---
Ava ran.
Her footsteps thundered down the stairs, her breath ragged. She didn't stop until she was back in the kitchen, her hands braced against the counter. The kettle sat cold where she had left it, the faint smell of tea leaves mocking her panic.
Think, Ava. Think.
If someone was in the attic, how had they gotten in? The manor's doors were locked. The windows on the upper floors were bolted shut—she had checked them herself.
Unless…
Her eyes darted to the garden outside. The hedges. The shadow she thought she'd seen earlier.
Maybe she hadn't been imagining it.
---
Night came faster than she expected.
By 6 PM, the manor was drowned in gloom, every corner stretching with shadows that seemed to move when she wasn't looking. She lit a few candles from the box she found in the pantry, their flames flickering nervously against the walls.
At the dining table, she opened Elora's diary again. Her fingers traced the ink, smudged by age but still sharp with dread.
"He waits by the window sometimes. I tried to pray, but the words wouldn't leave my throat. I think he knows when I sleep. I think he counts my breaths."
Ava shut the book, her skin crawling. She couldn't sit still anymore.
She had to know.
Grabbing a lantern, she made her way back to the second floor. Each step echoed in her chest louder than the last. When she reached the attic stairs again, she forced herself not to look at the footprints, though she could still feel them behind her eyes.
This time, she gripped the knob and turned it.
The door creaked open.
---
The attic smelled of rot and damp cloth. The lantern's glow illuminated rows of covered furniture, their shapes distorted beneath yellowed sheets. Cobwebs draped the rafters like funeral veils.
She took a cautious step inside. Dust spiraled upward in the thin beam of light.
Nothing. Just silence.
Then she noticed it—at the far end of the attic, a trunk. Large, iron-bound, its lid slightly ajar.
Her pulse hammered.
The dragging sound began again. Not from the trunk. From behind her.
She spun around, the lantern swaying wildly.
Nothing. Just the attic door, half-open, the darkness beyond the corridor yawning back at her.
She turned again—
And the trunk lid creaked wider.
---
Inside, she saw it.
A figure.
Not alive. Not fully dead.
Its skin was gray, stretched thin over bones, one leg twisted unnaturally, a boot dangling from its foot. Its head lolled sideways, eyes clouded with milky film, yet watching her.
The lantern flickered.
And then—
It smiled.
---
I decided to continue this novel