For those who haven’t read the prequel to this story, here is the link-(The Box In The Attic (Part 1) | Mili’s Mindscape (miliscape.com))
Enjoy!
A few days. A few hours. That’s how less it can take to completely change you. It’s almost amusing, when your life seems normal, you’re on your daily routine, grabbing a cup of coffee, running for the bus because you’ll be late to school or work, birthdays, Christmas, a happy, picturesque, maybe monotonous, sometimes boring, typical week. Restart. Repeat. Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Sundays, stretching on and on and on. Nothing extraordinary or abnormal…right?
That’s exactly what I thought too.
It all started on that Saturday, two months ago, 22nd October 2022. As an investigative journalist and aspiring detective, I had an unquenchable thirst for the queer, curious and weird, absorbing myself in murder mysteries, engrossed in library archives, articles as old as time while my colleagues would party the night away. I’d read everything possible, and I longed for something stimulating, exciting, to brighten up every tedious week. So, the moment our manager announced a week’s break, I rushed back home and began scrolling through the web for an ideal vacation that could satisfy my interests. That was when I chanced upon Ireland, an enigmatic, majestic place filled with mysterious castles and vivid autumn colors. To my delight, I discovered a castle in which accommodation was being offered. The irresistible desire to experience the atmosphere of living in these cavernous, historic structures overtook me and I instantly booked a room to stay. That night, I packed my bags, eager to travel. The flight there was satisfactory, but the continual turbulence simply glanced off my senses, my mind filled with dreams of grand battlements, luxurious tapestries, and canopied beds.
The moment I pushed open those oak-paneled gates at night, I knew that I would spend the most memorable days here. Of course, your idea of “memorable” and mine probably do differ, as travelling to a castle for a vacation? Strange, isn’t it? However, individuals have a variety of interests, don’t they? The cornfield(There was one to my utter shock)had a husky fog bordering its expansive lengths, a cool breeze caressing my hair, rustling the green and yellow flames on the trees, swaying the golden cornstalks glinting under the silver moonlight. The imposing citadels towered menacingly over me, and the drawbridge was raised, its rusty, old hinges creaking and groaning like old men with stiff joints. Footsteps prodded behind me as I trotted into the great hall, a virtual basilica of shadows at this time. The high glass dome was pierced by shafts of light that stabbed from above, filtering through the tiny spaces and dissolving before they touched the ground. The hall was bordered by frescoes, sculptures of fantastic animals, mythical creatures, and ethereal, angel-faced deities. I sauntered into the dining room, meeting my “room-mates” for the first time. They were a fascinating mishmash of cultures and races. I took a particular liking to this couple and their group of family and friends, comprising a majority of the tourists. Greetings exchanged, introductions over, we retired to bed, exhausted by the day.
In the middle of the night, I woke up abruptly to ear-piercing screams. Wails, sobs resonating through the castle’s walls, echoing off every corner and crevice. At first, I ignored it, in a groggy and disconcerted state, but as they continued, my senses sharpened, and I grew alert. Swiftly donning a robe, I sprinted downstairs, the source of the sound, clambering down the marble staircase, its sinuous contours obscured by a blue-tinted gloom. Rounding a corner, I stopped, aghast, rooted to the spot as I recognized the young woman collapsed onto the floor. Her face with streaked with tears, eyes red and bloodshot, she looked at me helplessly. I couldn’t understand that this girl, Susie, was the same bubbly persona I had met only three hours ago, eagerly, warmly welcoming me with open arms to the castle with her husband and family.
“What’s wrong?”, I questioned, pushing, and jostling my way to her through the crowd, a baffled look etched into everyone’s faces. “The c-creature, it t-t-took John. I was right beside him and it just c-carried him away, and I didn’t even n-notice. He simply vanished and all I saw was t-this note saying I h-had a day left and I-I…”, she stammered, hyperventilating as I cut her off,“ Alright, calm down. I’ll try my best to help you, but you have to trust me. Come with me, you can stay in my room tonight. Okay?”, she nodded silently. Placing a soothing arm around her shoulders, I escorted her up the stairs. “Show’s over!”, I yelled at the huddled, waiting groups downstairs, speaking in low, worried tones. I tossed and turned all night, disturbed by the events that had betided. However, my curiosity was piqued. It was all very bizarre, on the first day too! “I’m going to solve this”, I vowed, determination inundating my senses.
Regret always fills you even after weeks, months or even years. I shouldn’t have meddled, been more careful where Susie went, chosen a different place or even tried harder…
I awoke with a muddled mind filled with different trains of thought going round and round and round. Paying no heed to the kingly bed, or the velvet drapes pulled back to let the crimson rays of the sun through(When were those pulled away? Weren’t they closed?), I stumbled to the washroom, or “powder-room” in the language of the posh, splashing ice-cold water onto my face in a daze. I had figured out from the note, that something terrible was going to befall everyone today, if I didn’t intervene and solve this mystery. This gave me no hope and did nothing to lighten my spirits. A feeling of despair gradually crept in as I bent over the sink, staring at the little streams of water.
“Hi!”, chirped a cheery voice. I turned to face Susie, nearly giving me a heart attack. “Oh! You scared me! How d’you feel?”, I asked. “Much better”, she said beaming. “Come join us for breakfast!”, she replied, strolling downstairs with…was that a spring in her step? You would expect a person who just lost a near and dear one to an unknown cause to be dejected, but Susie seemed…overly happy? Like nothing had happened. I shook it off…telling myself to cut out the paranoia. After all, everyone was jumpy after the previous night. It just seemed a little odd, that’s all…
I should’ve paid more attention, looked harder.
After devouring my breakfast, I spent my day looking for clues frantically. Roaming the castle, one thing I found particularly unusual was the numerous, demonic creatures dotting the rooms, placed in tiny corners and behind doors, scaring me out of my wits and making me jump every single time I found one. It shouldn’t have bothered me, but the creatures looked strange-like nothing anyone had ever seen before. They were everywhere and it was beginning to feel like an omen.
I was finding dead ends to every logical lead, and this frustrated me to no end. There had to be a rational explanation-it was the first rule I had abided by as a journalist! But it was beginning to look more and more like a paranormal entity was behind this. I found a legend about a malicious creature that haunted abandoned areas, about how it had haunted an old manor years ago but had been vanquished by the little girl living there with her family. However, some believed it still remained in this realm. It made no sense! Maybe it was a prank? Who would even think of doing such a cruel thing? How could a man just…vanish like that? Absorbed in my speculations and engrossed in my notes, I was getting absolutely nowhere! Exasperated, I slammed my notebook onto the wooden table. Then, I noticed three things.
Alarming things.
One, Susie was gone.
Two, it was almost nighttime, 7:30 p.m. Whatever would happen to Suzie would happen very soon, AND I COULDN’T FIND HER. Maybe she was anticipating my arrival downstairs for dinner?
Third, the diary she always carried with her was gone. She’d shown it to me, a gold-embossed journal which she’d carried with her since her childhood. She wrote everything in there and had started writing because she’d faced some sort of past trauma. Something about a monster?
Monster. Secrets. Haunted manor. Little girl. Had I ever stopped to consider that the monster she’d been talking about had been real?
The revelation resonated through my mind, panic raging and spreading like wildfire. What is this monster had come back? For revenge? Trying to regain my composure, I raced downstairs, calling out for Susie. Her family didn’t know where she was, as she’d told them nothing about where she’d gone. Her friends had been out all day, as apparently Susie had told them that she wasn’t feeling well.
Outside! Maybe she was outside, in the cornfield! Where else could she have gone? It was worth a try! As darkness settled in, sleepily blanketing the twilight skies, the ambiance of the castle shifted. It was no longer charming, entrancing, or royal. In fact, it was quite terrifying to be within the castle’s stone walls. In a frenzy, I pushed open the ginormous doors, racing into the field. It felt like I had walked onto the set of a horror movie as soon as I stepped into the cornfield. The moon was full, and a misty fog settled around me. Chills crept down my spine as I advanced further inwards. My heart began to pound and suddenly, I was afraid for my life.
Then I saw her. Kneeling on the ground. Head bent as if in supplication. As if imploring for something. Relief flooded my senses, and I ran to her. “Susie! Come on, let’s go!”, I tried pulling her up.
Then I realized it.
She was shaking like a jelly. My blood ran cold, and my hair stood on end. “Susie?”, I asked tentatively, turning her face towards me. She was crying, weeping, and she couldn’t stop. She could hardly breathe between sobs. As I looked around, I soon began to realize that something was terribly wrong.
A fleeting shadow. Susie’s heart-wrenching scream. That monstrous face which had made my flesh creep when I had first discovered that legend.
Too late.
Two months later, I sit here, narrating this story to you. I found a page of her diary, written on it “The Box In The Attic”. I don’t know what that was, what transpired that night. The night she was simply…gone. But some truths are best left hidden.
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget that scream. The memory still remains, fresh as a bleeding wound. And it will stay.