Chapter 2 {Someone Was Inside The House}
784 Words
Melissa didn’t remember walking downstairs.
One moment she was standing in the attic…
The next…
She was staring blankly at the family portrait hanging above the fireplace.
Emily smiled back at her.
Warm.
Gentle.
Alive.
Melissa reached out and touched the glass.
“…Why did you hide those letters?”
Silence.
The house never answered anymore.
She glanced at the grandfather clock.
9:15 a.m.
Jason should have left for work by now.
She walked toward the window.
His car disappeared around the corner.
Only then did she lock the front door.
Close every curtain.
And quietly climb back upstairs.
Something about those letters…
Pulled at her.
Almost…
As if someone wanted her to read them.
The attic felt colder than before.
Melissa frowned.
“That’s weird…”
She was certain she’d closed the window earlier.
Yet now…
It stood wide open.
The curtains fluttered wildly in the wind.
She walked over and shut it.
A sudden chill crawled across the back of her neck.
She wasn’t alone.
She spun around.
Nothing.
Just old furniture.
Boxes.
Emily’s memory chest.
Melissa laughed nervously.
“You’re imagining things.”
She knelt before the chest.
Inserted the silver key.
Click.
The lock opened.
The first letter lay exactly where she’d left it.
She unfolded it carefully.
The paper still carried the faint scent of lavender.
My Little Sunshine,
If this letter has found you…
then I’ve lost the chance to tell you these words myself.
First…
Please forgive me.
Melissa frowned.
Forgive her?
For what?
There are going to be days when you’ll hate me for leaving.
There are going to be nights you’ll cry yourself to sleep.
I wish I could stop every single tear.
But I can’t.
So instead…
I’ll leave pieces of myself behind.
Melissa’s fingers trembled.
A tear landed on the page.
Promise me something.
Don’t believe everything people tell you about my death.
Melissa froze.
Her breathing stopped.
“…What?”
She read the sentence again.
Slowly.
“Don’t believe everything people tell you about my death.”
Her pulse thundered inside her ears.
What did that mean?
The doctors said…
Heart failure.
Everyone said…
Heart failure.
Even—
She turned the page.
Nothing.
The letter ended there.
“No…”
Melissa whispered.
“There has to be more.”
She searched the envelope.
Nothing.
She checked inside the chest.
Nothing.
She looked beneath the scarves.
Nothing.
Frustrated…
She slammed the lid shut.
BANG!
The sound echoed through the attic.
Then…
Another sound answered.
Creak…
Melissa froze.
That wasn’t the chest.
It came from downstairs.
Someone had opened the front door.
Her heart stopped.
“Dad?”
No answer.
Maybe he’d forgotten something.
She hurried downstairs.
“Dad?”
Silence.
The living room was empty.
The kitchen.
Empty.
The dining room.
Empty.
The front door…
Still locked.
Melissa frowned.
“…Impossible.”
She had locked it herself.
Then what made that sound?
A cold breeze drifted through the hallway.
She slowly looked toward the staircase.
The attic door.
It was moving.
Very slightly.
Back…
And forth.
Back…
And forth.
She had closed it.
She was sure she had.
Very slowly…
She climbed back upstairs.
One step.
Another.
The wooden stairs groaned beneath her feet.
She reached the attic.
The door stood half-open.
Her breathing quickened.
“I…”
“I closed this.”
She pushed it open.
Everything looked normal.
Until she saw the memory chest.
The lid…
Was open.
Melissa’s blood ran cold.
She distinctly remembered closing it.
Then she noticed something worse.
The letters had been disturbed.
They were no longer stacked neatly.
Someone had searched through them.
While she was downstairs.
Across town…
Jason’s phone vibrated.
Unknown Number.
He answered immediately.
“…Who are you?”
A distorted voice chuckled softly.
“You should’ve burned the letters.”
Jason’s entire body stiffened.
“What letters?”
Another chuckle.
“You know exactly which ones.”
The call ended.
Jason stared at his phone.
His hands began to shake.
“No…”
He whispered.
“Emily…”
Back in the attic…
Melissa carefully counted the envelopes.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
She frowned.
“There were seven.”
She counted again.
Still six.
Her heart pounded violently.
One letter…
Was missing.
Outside the house…
A black sedan sat beneath a large oak tree.
The driver watched the attic window through binoculars.
He picked up his phone.
“She found the chest.”
A woman’s voice answered calmly.
“And the letter?”
“…She read it.”
Silence.
Then…
“Go back inside.”
“Find the missing one before she does.”
The line disconnected.
The man stepped out of the car.
His eyes never left the Anderson house.
- Writer
