章節 2: Chapter 2
My stomach growled loudly, shattering the silence that had settled thickly around me in the old house. I checked my phone again, practically willing that pizza to arrive sooner. Come on, Marco's… I just needed some comfort food, anything to make this whole experience feel a little less unsettling.
Finally, there was a knock at the door, startling me out of my thoughts. I crossed the foyer and swung the door open, but… no one was there. Just a pizza box, sitting by itself on the doorstep. Frowning, I picked up the box and noticed a slip of paper wedged underneath.
Sorry for leaving it here. Didn't want to stick around, house gives me the creeps. Enjoy your meal.
My frown deepened. Gives you the creeps? I muttered under my breath, stepping back into the house and locking the door quickly. The thought lingered, but the smell of pepperoni and cheese was enough to distract me, at least momentarily.
After eating a few slices I set the box down in the parlor, though the idea of eating more didn't seem so appealing. My eyes kept drifting to the mantel above the fireplace. There it was, the owl statue my grandfather had mentioned in his letter, staring back at me with chipped, glassy eyes. My fingers itched to pull it, but a sense of dread tugged at me just as hard. After everything I'd read in the letter I was apprehensive to pull it.
But curiosity, morbid curiosity, won out. I reached up, wrapping my fingers around the owl, and gave it a gentle tug.
A soft click, then the sound of gears shifting from somewhere behind the wall. I held my breath as the entire fireplace began to slide to the side, revealing a narrow passageway that led to a hidden room.
My jaw dropped. "Grandpa… what the hell were you into?"
I stepped cautiously into the hidden library, the air thick with the scent of dust and time. The walls were lined with shelves, packed tightly with old, cracked leather-bound books and strange artifacts that looked out of place in any normal Midwestern home. The light filtering through a single window cast eerie shadows across the floor. It felt like I'd stumbled into another world entirely.
Then my gaze fell on the low table in the center of the room. A stack of VHS tapes lay in a neat pile, each one labeled in my grandfather's careful handwriting. 1992. 1993. 1994. The dates continued on, ending in 2019, the year he'd died.
I reached out, my hand shaking slightly, and picked up the first tape: 1992. The same year he'd written in the journal about moving into the house, the same year he'd started experiencing… whatever horrors he'd hinted at.
Swallowing hard, I left the library and went back to the parlor. I slid the tape into the old VCR, my fingers lingering on the play button. Part of me was desperate to turn it off, but another part needed to know. I pressed play.
The screen flickered to life, and there he was, my grandfather, staring into the camera. Louis Horner, younger than I'd ever seen him, though his face still carried the lines of a man burdened with too many secrets. He cleared his throat, his expression strained.
"This is Louis Horner," he said, voice heavy with something I couldn't quite place. "Today, my wife Eleanor and I have just moved into this house."
He turned slightly, and that's when I saw her, a woman standing just behind him, laughing softly at his side. My breath caught in my throat. Grandma Eleanor. She looked nothing like the few, faded photos I'd seen of her. Here, she was alive, radiant even. I felt a pang of something bittersweet watching her smile at him, at the house, at the life they thought they were about to start.
"Look at this place, Louis!" she said, a laugh in her voice. "It's perfect. I can hardly believe it's ours."
I watched, mesmerized, as they explored the house, joking about renovations and future plans. She made a comment about filling the rooms with life and light. For a few minutes, I almost forgot what I'd read in the journal, as if somehow this was just a happy home video. But when they stepped into the backyard, the atmosphere shifted.
My grandfather's expression grew dark as he glanced at the old well at the edge of the yard. "This place has been here longer than anything else around it, Eleanor. There's… history here. A history I don't understand."
They walked closer to the well, the camera panning down to show its ancient, moss-covered stones. My heart pounded as the screen began to glitch, static crackling and distorting the image. The well's dark mouth yawned open on the screen, and as the static cleared for just a moment, I saw it, a pale hand, thin and clawed, clinging to the edge.
My grandmother gasped and stumbled back, her hand flying to her mouth.
"Louis," she whispered, voice shaking. "What… what is that?"
"I don't know," he murmured, sounding equally shaken. He held onto her, pulling her away from the well, his face pale and drawn.
The image flickered, static overtaking the screen again, and then, darkness. I sat there, frozen, the taste of fear thick in my mouth. I'd seen enough horror movies to know what I'd just witnessed, and yet, this was different. This wasn't fiction. This was my family.
I stared at the stack of tapes, at the next one labeled First Dive. Dread weighed on me, but I couldn't stop myself. I reached for the second tape, slid it into the VCR, and pressed play.
The screen flickered again, and my grandfather reappeared, standing by the well in the dead of night. He wore a grim expression, a shotgun slung over his shoulder, flashlight in one hand. His voice came through the screen, low and unsteady.
"My name is Louis Horner," he said, "and today… I'm going down into the well. To find Eleanor."
I felt a shiver race down my spine. My fingers clenched around the arm of the chair as I watched him tie a rope around his waist, securing it to a pulley over the well. Then the camera angle shifted, and I realized he'd strapped it to his shoulder. The picture jostled as he began his descent.
The well's walls loomed around him, rough stone and creeping vines. The beam of his flashlight cut through the darkness, illuminating the cramped space as he lowered himself further and further down. I could hear his breathing, quick, tense, betraying the fear he tried to mask.
And then, the stones gave way to rotting timbers, the remnants of an old mine shaft. His flashlight swept across the wood, revealing deep, frantic scratch marks carved into the walls. My grandfather muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, "What did this?"
A chill ran down my spine.
He continued forward, his footsteps echoing in the hollow space, until he reached a split in the path. He paused, the camera lingering on two tunnels ahead. The left one seemed dark, thick with stagnant air, while the right carried a faint breeze.
"I don't know what waits for me down here," he whispered, almost as if he were talking to himself. "But… I have to know."
He chose the right tunnel, following the breeze, and after a few minutes, his flashlight illuminated something ahead. Two figures stood in the darkness, eyes gleaming with an unnatural light. My stomach clenched as the camera focused on one face, my grandmother's face, twisted, hollow, and no longer human.
I heard my grandfather's breath hitch, and his voice broke. "Eleanor…?"
But she didn't respond. She only stared back, her mouth opening in a low, guttural moan. A second figure lurked just behind her, its pale hand clawing the ground, ready to pounce.
"What the fuck is this?" I muttered under my breath.
My grandfather's hand shook as he raised the shotgun, whispering, "I'm sorry."
The gunshot echoed through the tunnel, a sharp, awful sound. I flinched, feeling the weight of his sorrow, his horror. Another shot rang out, then silence.
The recording cut to black. When it resumed, he was above ground again, standing over a small, hastily dug grave. He stared blankly into the camera, his face hollowed out, broken.
"Goodbye, Eleanor," he whispered, his voice barely audible. Then, in a voice devoid of all emotion, he looked directly at the camera and said, "I'll seal the tunnel. No one should ever go down there again."
The screen went dark. I sat there, feeling the silence press in on me, feeling the weight of what I'd just witnessed settle like lead in my chest. My grandmother… turned into a monster, my grandfather forced to put her down. This wasn't just some horror movie.
Slowly, I looked out the window toward the backyard, where that cursed well lay hidden. My grandfather's words echoed in my mind.
"No one should ever go down there again."
But something inside me, a gnawing need for answers, told me I wouldn't be able to resist. Not until I'd uncovered every last secret he'd left behind.
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