Shei
por SaltAn old house in the province was passed down to a young woman by her uncle, who had suddenly vanished. She had no intention of taking the house, but after losing her job in the city, she had no choice but to leave city life behind and return to the province.
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She felt like she had been circling the same lonely stretch for hours. Just as panic began to settle in, she caught a glimpse of an abandoned wooden house through the trees and almost on cue, her car stalled directly in front of it.
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Something inside her stirred as she look at the house. Despite the dread twisting in her gut, her curiosity was louder than her fear, compelling her toward the porch.
She grabbed her bag and walked toward the house. Certain that nobody lived there based on its outward appearance, she still called out a hesitant “Tao po” before slowly turning the rusty knob.
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The moment she stepped inside, lights flickered to life on their own, casting long shadows across the decaying interior. She tried to convince herself it must be some kind of automatic system, but her instincts screamed otherwise”
She noticed a strange-looking door at the far end of the hallway. From the outside, that section of the house was supposed to be a solid wall, yet here stood a crooked door glinting faintly in the dim light. Before she could make sense of it, the door creaked open on its own, revealing a staircase that descended into total darkness.
Her heart pounded, but her body moved on its own. That wasn’t her — she was never this nosy or reckless — and yet she descended slowly, each step swallowed by the pitch-black void below. A cold wind clawed its way up the stairs. Then, from somewhere deep in the darkness, a low, whispering voice brushed against her ear, haunting yet gentle:”
“In the depths of the basement, a kerosene lamp flickers to life, casting trembling shadows on forgotten things. The light falls upon dust, upon memories long buried… and upon remnants that should have stayed hidden.
Among them — brittle photographs, fading with time… and a newspaper, its pages yellowed and fragile, yet still screaming with the weight of the past.
On the front page… two familiar faces, struck through with violent strokes of black ink. A headline that chills the blood: ‘Trust Betrayed: A Family’s Final Night.’
The words that follow cut like knives, each sentence tearing deeper than the last. A story of a family destroyed, of innocence stolen within these very walls.
And then… the truth no heart could bear.
A trusted guardian, an uncle… a murderer.
The man who claimed her as his own… the very man who took everything away.
He had killed them for their fortune, erasing their lives to seize what was never his.
And now these walls remember.
This house is no refuge… it is a grave. A monument to betrayal.”
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She froze, her body trembling as the truth sank in — the man she had called uncle all her life was the reason she was an orphan. Her mind refused to accept it.
The words blurred together on the paper, her chest tightening as denial clawed at her. She needed proof — anything to prove this nightmare wasn’t real.
She staggers to her feet, clutching her chest as if trying to hold herself together. Her phone lies dead on the table. Desperate, she snatches it up, searching the walls for an outlet. She plugs the phone in.
For a moment, nothing. Then suddenly — the screen glows to life. She gasps, tears filling her eyes.
Her breath hitched, and she wasted no time. Her fingers moved wildly, searching article after article about her parents. Then her blood ran cold. A headline flashed across the screen: “The Mercadejas Killer Escapes from Asylum — Yesterday.”
Her heart pounded as she dialed the asylum, her hands slick with sweat.
(Phone ringing… then a click.)
