"What are you doing, Rocky?" He questioned as he approached where I was kneeling.
"I found something under this floorboard. Can you help me pull it up?" He stepped forward, gripping the corner of the board. With a few determined tugs, it suddenly gave way, causing him to stumble backward and land hard on his backside. My laughter burst out uncontrollably, echoing through the room. Zeke looked up, surprised, then cracked a grin and joined in. We both paused for a moment, catching our breath, then I reached into the dark hole beneath the floor. Carefully, I pulled out the bag. Sitting back down on the floor beside Zeke, I opened it, revealing its mysterious contents.
There were three plain folders. One was labeled Dawson, another Ted, and one was unlabeled. Inside Ted's folder, I found a detailed arrest record with photos and dates of drug deals. The most shocking evidence was a picture of Ted and the sheriff sitting at a table with bags of drugs and stacks of money, both smiling widely. The unlabeled folder contained information on known drug dealers, including their addresses, phone numbers, and illegal activities. Sheriff Dawson's folder provided proof of corruption and unlawful acts. I was stunned by the contents, confirming my suspicions. The main question was: why were these files hidden in the attic, and who put them there?
Processing the information left me speechless. Instead of explaining, I handed Zeke the folder and let him look through the information. When he came across the picture of Ted and Sheriff Dawson, he had the same expression of shock and confusion.
"I knew something wasn't right about both those men," I finally said. "Whenever they are around, I feel uneasy. Do you think they are connected to the family's disappearance?"
"I'm not sure, Rocky; let's just keep looking through the files and what else is in there," he replied. "But one thing is for sure, neither one of them is trustworthy." My head nodded in agreement as I handed him the folder with a list of drug dealers.
As we went through the folders again, the attic door suddenly slammed shut with a loud BANG. I'm beginning to think the doors in this house like to scare us. Soon after, we heard soft knocking that grew louder, as if the door might come off its hinges. We both jumped in shock, nearly knocking papers off the attic floor. As soon as we stood up, the noise ceased. We were both visibly shaken.
"What the hell just happened?" Zeke asked, voice tinged with concern.
"I think the attic door shut by itself. Did you hear the knocking too?" I replied.
Zeke nodded; I watched his eyes flicker around, searching for a sensible explanation.
"Zeke, let's go downstairs," I urged softly. I'd had enough of the attic and just wanted out.
"Do you want to take the papers with us or put them back under the floorboard for now?" he asked. His calm tone was surprising, considering how disturbed I knew we both were by everything.
"Take them with us and gather all the information," I said. We quickly collected the papers and stuffed them into the bag. When we approached the exit, the doorknob started rattling and moving as if someone was trying to open it but couldn't. We froze, unsure of what to do. This was all the proof I needed—there's no other explanation but that the house is haunted. What else could explain these events?
Zeke cautiously reached for the door handle, pulling it open. I think he thought someone would be on the other side, but the stairwell was empty. We stood for a minute listening for any more weird sounds, but the house was eerily quiet. As we stepped out of the attic, I tapped Zeke on the shoulder.
"Still don't believe in ghosts?" I asked as we hurried down the stairs to the safety of the living room. We collapsed onto the couches, drained both emotionally and physically. As we sat there, the image of the metal box returned to my mind. I felt the need to look at its contents again. I picked up the family photo I had seen earlier and flipped it over. On the back, the names of each family member were written, but only one name caught my attention. The girl who resembled my mother shared the same name: Amber Rayne. I quickly handed the photo to Zeke. "Look at this picture again. It has to be my mom. They not only look alike, but their names are the same—just different last names." He took the photo from me and studied it more carefully.
"You know, she does look a lot like your mom and you. The same eyes, hair color, and the scar above your mom's left eyebrow are all the same." He said, pointing at the picture.
Excitement replaced the earlier fear. I may finally be getting closer to learning about my mom's family, but at the same time, this news fills me with dread because of the mystery surrounding their disappearance. Zeke began to yawn next to me, both of us feeling exhausted.
"How about we put this up for the night and look at everything more closely tomorrow," I suggested, smiling at Zeke.
"Sounds good to me. It's been a long day, and I'm ready to crash." He agrees readily.
"I'm going to put everything in the plastic bag we found the files in and hide them under my mattress. That way, I can keep a better eye on them." Grabbing all the files and putting them in the bag, I stand up and offer Zeke my hand. He grabbed it and pulled himself up. Leaning down, he kissed me on the head.
"Come on, Rocky, I'll walk you to your room," he says gently. Putting his hand on my lower back, he guides me towards the stairs.
As we climbed the stairs, I held the files close to my chest, which made me feel more secure. It was as if letting them out of my sight might invite trouble; the feeling that someone was lurking, waiting to snatch them was strong. I knew that was probably paranoia. The information was sensitive and could put us in danger. Still, I was committed to keeping it safe until we could verify everything and find the right people to help us uncover this mystery and seek justice for the family—whatever that might entail.
It took a while to fall asleep that night. Every sound had me looking for the cause of it. Finally, I fell into a peaceful sleep, but it was interrupted by a terrifying nightmare. The woman in blue was back. She stood before me with fear in her eyes. She gripped my shoulders, squeezing tightly as if she was trying to crush them.
She Screamed, "Run! He's in the house." I tried to get out of her grip by jerking my shoulders away, but she had too tight a grip. Then she suddenly pushed me away from her, and I woke up in a cold sweat, my heart pounding in my chest like it might jump out of my body at any moment. I took deep breaths in, trying to calm my frazzled nerves down. Then a BANG from downstairs followed by shuffling caught my attention. Is this why she told me to run? Someone was in my house again?
Immediately, my mind kept saying it's just the rainstorm or the house settling, anything to rationalize it. But the banging and shuffling persisted, and it sounded like someone rummaging through cabinets downstairs. A chill ran down my spine as I contemplated the possibility of an intruder. As quietly as I could with trembling hands, I got out of bed and slipped my feet into my slippers. Suddenly, my door swings open, making me jump in fright, only to reveal it was Zeke.
Whispering, he asks me, "Did you hear that?" His voice is laced with concern. I nodded to him, scared of what we might find downstairs. We stood still in my room, listening to see if someone was still down there. The sounds wafted upstairs again, but this time, it sounded like they were slamming drawers.
"Who do you think is in the house?" I asked quietly as my voice trembled with fear. He placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder, then quickly put his finger to his lips, signaling me to be quiet.
"Call for help," he whispers.
Reaching for my phone, I call the sheriff's office.
"Sheriff's office. Deputy Andrews speaking, what can I help you with? The voice says.
"I think someone is in my house," I whisper.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. What did you say?" He asks.
"Someone is in my house. Please send help," my voice a little louder than before.
"Okay, what's your address?" the deputy asks. I suppress a nervous gulp and rattle off the address quickly, trying to keep my voice steady. Suddenly, my phone's screen flickers and then goes dark—the battery's almost dead. I had forgotten to charge it in my exhaustion. Desperate, I reach frantically into my nightstand drawer, fingers fumbling for the charger. Before I can plug it into my phone, it dies, and I pray he heard me. Then set my phone down on the nightstand.
"Oh my Lanta," I exclaimed quietly. The frustration of not knowing if the deputy heard me or not was palpable. "What do we do now, Z?" I asked, hoping he had a solution.
"I'm going to go down and check it out. You stay here," Zekes instructed me.
"Oh no! There is no way I'm waiting up here for you, not after last time. I'm going with you, buddy," I exclaimed.
"Fine, but you do what I say," He demanded. He motioned me to follow him, and we quietly crept out of the room and down the stairs. Watching carefully where we stepped was crucial. We didn't want to make a sound and signal whoever was there; we were creeping up on them. When we reached the bottom, he pointed toward the dining room, indicating he was going to check it out.
I nodded at him and motioned that I would check the living room. He shook his head to signal me not to, but I ignored him. Quietly stepping toward the living room, I was startled to see a man covered in black clothing wearing a ski mask rifling through my drawers.
The man's presence surprised me so much I screamed and tried to back out of the room, but tripped over my own two feet. "Of all the times for my clumsiness to show, it had to be now," I thought to myself. My scream and movement startled the intruder; he flipped around and stared at me as I got back on my feet. It looked like he was figuring out the best way to get out of there.
Then, to my shock, he charged at me, knocking me back to the floor. It scared me so badly that I screamed again and landed on my back. This time, pain shot through my back because of the impact from the hardwood floors. The intruder didn't stop; he just ran out the front door.
When I looked up, I spotted Zeke hurrying towards me from the kitchen area. His face was sketched with concern.
"Are you ok? What happened?" He asked urgently. I could see the anger simmering beneath his surface at the thought of someone almost harming me. Unfortunately, he arrived too late. The masked man got away and fled the scene. I recounted the terrifying incident.
"Th-th-there was a man in a ski mask." I stammered. "H-h-he was in the living room rummaging through the drawers of the cabinets. I t-t-tripped over my own feet, which startled him. He came charging at me, and I fell flat on my butt," my words coming out rapidly. "It was so frightening. What was he looking for?"
Zeke's response made everything click into place. "He's probably looking for the files you discovered in the attic last night," he said. He was probably right, but I couldn't comprehend how anyone could have known they existed.
We turned on the living room light to assess the extent of the damage caused by the man. Drawers were emptied, contents spilled across the floor, and cushions were overturned. I sighed, feeling exhausted not only from a terrifying and stressful week but also because now I had to deal with the cleanup.