When Celia inherited her grandparents’ house, she did everything she could to preserve their memory while still making it her own. But a few weeks into her big move, strange things start happening, including a random note to meet a stranger in her own attic at midnight. Will Celia go?
When I inherited my grandparents’ house, it felt like a dream come true. This was the place where I’d spent countless summers as a child, playing in the garden, helping Grandma bake in the kitchen, and listening to Grandpa’s stories by the fireplace.
The house was filled with memories, and there was a deep sense of comfort that made me feel safe, even when I moved in by myself.
But lately, that comfort had turned into something else—something unsettling.
“What’s it like, Celia?” my mother asked me as we unpacked all my belongings. “Is it different without them?”
“Of course, Mom,” I said, putting the pots and pans in their cupboards. “It feels familiar and strange at the same time.”
“As long as there’s a sense of comfort, that’s all you need to get going in your new place,” she said.
And it was fine. I eased into my new house, slowly making it my own with yellow accent pieces all over.
It was only a few weeks ago that things started to feel very strange. For weeks, I’d wake up every morning to find the attic door slightly ajar. At first, I tried to brush it off as the house settling into itself or a draft, but the idea that someone was sneaking into the house I slept in gnawed at me.
I mean, I lived alone, and the thought of an intruder was terrifying.
“Stop, Celia,” I told myself one day as I made a salad and grilled some chicken for dinner. “There’s nothing scary happening here.”
One evening, after a long day at work, I came home and poured myself a glass of wine, ready to unwind with a hot bubble bath. But something caught my attention.
There, stuck to the kitchen door frame, was a small piece of paper.
“That definitely wasn’t here before,” I said, a cold shiver running down my spine.
The note was short but enough to shake my core:
Come to the attic at midnight. Come ALONE.
A wave of fear washed over me. I didn’t know what to do. Was it worth calling the police? And what would I say? That someone had broken into my home and left a note? There was no sign of a break-in, so it would be difficult to believe.
My mind raced with possibilities, none of them comforting. I told myself it had to be a prank, maybe some kids messing around, but the dread in my gut wouldn’t let me relax.
“You just need to talk to someone about it, Celia,” I told myself as I pulled my phone out.
I called my best friend, Laura, hoping for some reassurance.
“You won’t believe what I just found,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
“What is it? Are you okay?” Laura asked.
“A note. Like, it was stuck to the attic door, Laura. It says that I should go up there at midnight. Alone.”
“Celia, that’s just creepy as hell! Are you sure you’re okay? Maybe you should call the police and get to the bottom of this,” Laura said.
I could hear the nerves in her voice. She was stressing and would probably be pacing and biting her nails.
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