I didn’t expect anything dramatic when I moved into my father’s old house. Creaking floors, outdated wallpaper, that musty smell of a home left untouched for years — that’s what I was prepared for. What I wasn’t ready for were the noises coming from the attic. Faint rustlings at first, then thuds that made the ceiling shiver. I told myself it was just the house settling or maybe a few persistent mice, but the sounds persisted. Curiosity soon shifted into unease, and unease edged closer to fear. I hadn’t spoken to my father in nearly a decade. Not out of...
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