Chương 73: Chapter 73
Amanda had always known that there was something wrong with the attic. It wasn't the dust, or the cobwebs, or the smell of old books and forgotten things. It was the stillness, the way everything in that room seemed to stop when she stepped inside. Even after all the years of being away, the attic always felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for something.
She was 38 now, and she had come back to the old house after her mother's death. No one else in the family wanted the place, so she took it. What was she supposed to do? Sell it? Let it sit there, empty and decaying like her mother had?
The first time she had climbed into the attic, she noticed a small wooden box pushed into the corner, half hidden under an old blanket. It was simple, unremarkable at first glance. But there was something about it that grabbed her. The box had no locks, no hinges, just smooth, unbroken wood. On its lid were small pieces of paper, faded and yellowed with age.
The first label read: Do not open.
Amanda almost laughed. It was some kind of joke, wasn't it? The second label read: It will destroy you.
Now that stopped her. That was odd, even for something her family would do. The third label, though, made her blood run cold: The world will end.
She stared at the words. There was no sense in them. Who would write something so ridiculous on a box?
She could have left it there. She should have. But the longer she stared at the box, the harder it was to resist.
Amanda reached for it. Her fingers brushed the lid, and the air seemed to grow even colder.
Her hands shook as she peeled off the papers. Each word etched into her mind like fire. Still, she opened the box.
Inside, the contents were worse than she could have imagined. There was nothing, at first. A small piece of cloth folded neatly, and then a broken, cracked mirror. The glass was shattered, pieces scattered inside the box. But when Amanda reached inside to touch it, something happened.
A sound like a low growl filled her ears. The world around her twisted, the walls of the attic cracking open like a wound. She pulled her hand back, but the room wouldn't stop moving. The air felt thick, and she couldn't breathe. It was as if the house was choking on itself, its walls crying out in agony.
She stumbled back, tripping over an old chair, her heart pounding. But the horror wasn't in the house. It was outside, something crawling up the windows, something filling the world with black.
She ran downstairs, but it was too late. The sky outside was dark, not a storm, not nightfall, but something worse. The sun was gone, replaced by a strange, hollow feeling that seeped into the streets like a sickness. People in the town were standing outside, staring up, their faces blank, their eyes vacant.
Amanda could hear their screams as she looked out the window. But no matter how hard she looked, she couldn't make out what was happening. The ground beneath her feet cracked open, splitting apart like the earth was being torn in two.
She didn't know what she had unleashed. She didn't know how it was possible. But the box had done something. And now, it was too late.
Amanda ran back to the attic, the air thicker now, as if the world itself was closing in on her. The house was still. The box was there, still open, still empty, but the labels—those damn labels—were gone. The pieces of paper were nothing more than ashes, blown into the wind.
It was then she realized that the world hadn't just ended outside. It had ended inside her too. The house was gone, the world was gone, and there was nothing left. Not even time itself.
The last thing Amanda saw before the silence swallowed her was the small, broken mirror lying in the box. And when she looked at it, her reflection was already gone.
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