Over the next week, life settled into a strange rhythm. It was a blend of normalcy and unease, comfort and tension, routine and the constant awareness that something unseen was moving beneath the surface of this house. During the day, I work on my articles and rummage through the boxes in the attic, trying to make sense of the remnants of a family that may be mine. Zeke and his father spend their days setting up the new branch of their construction business. Every evening, Zeke returns home with tired eyes and sawdust clinging to his clothes. At night, we renovate the kitchen together, preparing for the new appliances arriving at the end of the week. It feels almost domestic, almost safe, but this house never lets me forget the danger that lingers within its bones.
After Zeke leaves for the day, I head upstairs to the attic to continue sorting through boxes. The air always feels heavier up here. Dust motes float lazily in the sunlight streaming through the small attic window, and the wooden floor creaks beneath my feet as if it's reacting to my presence. I create piles for items to keep, donate, or discard. The first box I need to move is tall and awkward; I brace it with my arms and gently push it away from the wall toward the trash pile. It's filled with mildewed sheets, towels, and bedspreads that are not salvageable. The smell of mildew clings to the air, mixing with the attic's natural mustiness.
While moving it, my foot catches on a small box in front of me. I stumble forward, landing hard on top of it. The impact knocks the wind out of me, and I roll onto my back, staring up at the rafters. A laugh escapes me. It's a ridiculous, breathless sound. I probably look funny lying here like a starfish on the dusty floor.
I push myself into a sitting position, brushing the dust from my clothes. When I glance at the wall where the box had been, something catches my eye. There's a narrow gap in the wood paneling. It's subtle, almost invisible unless you're looking directly at it. Curiosity prickles through me. I walk over and press my hand against the gap. The wood shifts beneath my palm, and a hidden door swings open with a soft groan, revealing a large room behind it. My breath catches. It's a hidden room.
The room is dim, lit only by the faint glow filtering through the attic doorway. Several shelves line the far wall, stocked with canned food: rows of soup, vegetables, fruit, all neatly arranged. On the opposite side of the room sits a bed with a thin mattress and a small, older-model TV perched on a rickety stand. The walls were painted white, though age has yellowed them, and cobwebs hung to the ceiling like delicate lace. The wood floors looked dingy and needed cleaning.
It feels like a bunker. A place built for hiding or fear. It also reminds me of the diary entry where Amber mentioned her dad's paranoia. Maybe she was right. He really was preparing for something. Something he believed was coming for him and his family. I step inside the small room; the air inside feels cooler than the attic. A shiver crawls up my spine.
As I'm scanning the shelves, I hear footsteps approaching the stairs. My heart leaps into my throat. At first, I think they might be phantom footsteps again, like the ones I heard before, the ones that echo through the house when no one is home. I instantly freeze and listen intently. The footsteps grow louder, more distinct. My pulse races because I'm alone. Fear grips my insides. The air thickens around me, pressing against my skin. Then I hear Zeke's voice.
"Hey Rocky, are you up here?"
"Yeah, Z, I'm in here," I call out. His footsteps cross the attic floor until he appears in the doorway of the hidden room. His eyes widen.
"Oh, wow, how did you find this?" He asks.
"Honestly," I chuckle, "I tripped over my own two feet with a box and found this behind it," I say.
"That doesn't surprise me; you can be clumsy," he says, smiling. I roll my eyes playfully.
"Hey, we could fix this up and make it a safe room. In case anyone breaks in here again." I state.
"Yeah," he says, looking around the room, "if we fix the door and clean it up, it would be perfect."
"Well, let's save that for another day," I say, nudging him out of the doorway and shutting it. The door clicks softly, sealing the room away again. We head downstairs together, and the house feels different. It's heavier, more aware.
Since the night of the break-in, we have shared a room. At first, it was because it made me feel safer, but now…now I want him closer. I crave the warmth of him beside me, the comfort of his presence. After changing, I climbed into bed next to Zeke. He's scrolling on his phone, wearing only sleep pants. His bare chest catches the soft glow of the lamp; shadows trace the line of his muscles. My eyes linger on him longer than I intended. He must sense me staring because he suddenly looks at me. It caught off guard and quickly look away; my face burns with embarrassment. He chuckles softly and returns to his phone, but I know he noticed. My cheeks feel like they're on fire.
"Zeke, can we talk?" I ask quietly. He nods, laying his phone on the nightstand and turns his full attention to me. His eyes soften, warm and patient.
Taking a deep breath, I continued, "I have something to tell you, but I hope it doesn't ruin the friendship we have."
My gaze drops to my hands clutching the blanket on my lap. My heart pounds so loudly I'm sure he can hear it. Zeke gently places one hand over mine. With the index finger of his other hand, he lifts my chin until I'm looking into his eyes. Then he leans down and kisses me. It's soft, warm, and impossibly tender. When he pulls away, he smiles a slow, knowing smile that makes my stomach flip. I'm completely speechless.
"Does that help clarify my feelings for you, Rocky?" He asks, breaking the silence.
"H-h-how did you know that's what I was talking about?" I stutter, feeling flustered but happy. He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck.
"We've been sharing the same bed for a while, and I've had a crush on you since high school. We know each other better than anyone." He explained.
Smiling at myself, I gently pressed my finger to my lips, which are still tingling from his kiss, and rest my head on his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath my ear, grounding me. Darker thoughts start to creep in: fear for his safety, fear of what we're uncovering, and fear of the house itself. I run my hand up and down his chest, needing the reassurance of his warmth.
If someone hurt him because of me and my curiosity, I would never forgive myself. He meant everything to me, but I was determined to keep searching for answers about this family. It wasn't fair to ask Zeke to keep endangering himself by staying here. He needed to know I was ok if he decides he didn't want to stay. I take a few moments to muster up the bravery to talk to him about the subject.
"Zeke," I whisper.
"Yeah, Baby," he replies, looking down at me with soft eyes.
"I just wanted to say that I don't expect you to stay here and continuously put yourself in danger for me," I say it quickly. His expression shifts to gentle, protective.
"Rocky baby, look at me and listen," he says. I lift my gaze. " I'm not leaving or going anywhere." He leans down, kisses me again, deeper this time. Relief floods through me, warm and overwhelming. I melt into him, letting his presence soothe the fear clawing at my chest.
Later that night, sleep pulls me under, but it doesn't bring peace. Another dream haunts me. It plays like a suspenseful movie, with me as the sole spectator. Amber and her brother ascend the stairs and run towards her bedroom while her father's anguished screams echo through the house. The sound of someone hurting him was unmistakable. Once they are in the bedroom, Donovan slams the door in my face, locking it behind them. Suddenly, the scene changes, and I find myself standing inside the room with them. Donovan hands Amber a backpack.
"Amber, run towards the tree line and hide," Donovan instructs her urgently. "Samuel and Betty are waiting for you. Keep them safe till I get there. I love you, little sis." The sound of banging on the door caused them both to jump in fear. Amber's eyes fill with tears.
I jolt awake, heart racing, sweat clinging to my skin. My breath comes in sharp bursts. The dream felt too close. Too real. If Amber ran away, then she could be my mother. The timing of her pregnancy and the uncanny resemblance to my mom …. It all lines up. Is this why my mom told me not to investigate her family? She must have been scared they would come after us and kill us both. So many questions assault my mind. I had to find out more. Zeke, who has been sleeping next to me, leans up and pulls me into his embrace.
"You ok?" he murmurs. His voice was laden with sleep.
"Yeah, I just had another dream; this time it was about her and her oldest brother," I tell him. "I'll tell you more about it tomorrow."
"Go back to sleep, baby. It's only three in the morning," Zeke says sleepily. His warm breath brushes my skin. His deep breathing lulls me back into slumber.
When we woke up the next morning, sunlight filters through the curtains. After breakfast, I decide to search more of the house. The one room that interests me the most is Mr. Catalano's office. It was one of the rooms we hadn't explored yet. There had to be an answer somewhere in there. The biggest question I need answered is whether they're my family.
Zeke had left early that morning to meet his father at their new branch location. They're interviewing potential employees, so he'll be gone for a while.
That was fine with me. It would give me time to explore the office and hopefully have some answers to share with him when he returns home. Hopefully, he will be back before dark, because that's when everything seems to happen, but I will try to put on a brave face. Before he left, I told him about my dream from the previous night, and he seemed genuinely concerned.
He cups my face gently. "Rocky, your mom was very secretive about her family, and I know it hurt you," he says with concern on his face. "Please be careful until I get home. I hate leaving you alone with everything going on. Call me right away if anything happens." I nod, promising I will. Once he's gone, the house feels heavier, lonelier.
Clearing my head, I walk to the office, focusing on the task at hand. The oak door has intricate carvings and a rustic doorknob. I gently push it open to reveal a room bathed in warm sunlight streaming through the large window on the opposite wall. Walking over to the large desk, I lowered myself into the plush desk chair and began opening the drawers. As I opened the middle drawer, I found two different calendar books. One was for his law practice, and the other was his family calendar. As I place them carefully back in the drawer, I notice there is a key in the corner of the drawer. It was a small silver skeleton key. I set it on the desk, deciding to figure out what it was for later.
Exploring most of the drawers was disappointing. The majority of the files were for work. The last drawer won't budge when I pull on it. Thinking it was stuck, I yank harder, but nothing happens. Examining the drawer further, I find a hidden key slot.
"I wonder if the key goes here," I say to myself out loud. I insert the key into the slot; the drawer opens, revealing several folders. Placing them on the desk, one stood out to me. It is labeled "Andrew." Could this file be about Amber's boyfriend and the father of her baby? I hoped the folder would contain clues about who he was and confirm whether he might be my father. I really believe these people are my long-lost family. With shaking hands, I slowly open the file. The first piece of paper is a report from a private investigator. It lists his basic information. It was then that I realize Sheriff Dawson, my worst nightmare, is his father. That means he could be my grandfather. The revelation leaves me feeling numb, and the only thought running through my head was, "What did I do to deserve this? Is he why my mom was so scared?"
After finding the file, my enthusiasm for searching evaporates. I gather all of the documents and place everything back in the drawer, locking them up. I slip the key onto the necklace around my neck. Only I can access it now, and I know one thing for certain: The house isn't done revealing its secrets, and neither are the people connected to it.