Don't Open
the Attic Door

You expected the house to feel abandoned.

Instead, it feels paused.

The lights still work. Fresh flowers sit in the kitchen. A record player hums softly somewhere deeper in the home, despite the layer of dust coating the furniture.

Your suitcase slips from your hand the moment you notice the photograph hanging beside the staircase. It's the one from senior year. The one your former best friend ripped in half the night everything happened.

Except here, the photo is perfectly restored.

You step closer slowly. That's when you realize something cold:

Someone recently cleaned the glass.

Not old-house settling. Footsteps.

The footsteps begin again above your bedroom.

Slow. Measured. Back and forth across the attic floorboards.

You stare at the ceiling while the entire house groans around you. You know nobody else is supposed to be here.

But the worst part isn't the sound. It's that the pacing feels familiar. Like whoever is upstairs walks exactly the way your former best friend used to.

Your phone buzzes suddenly against the nightstand.

Another footstep drags overhead. Directly above your bed.