I hesitated, my hand hovering over the doorknob. The letter's warning echoed in my mind, but my curiosity got the better of me. I turned the knob and pushed open the door.
A cold draft swept past me, extinguishing the lights and plunging me into darkness. I fumbled for my phone to use as a flashlight, but as I turned it on, I realized that I was not alone.
The attic was filled with old trunks, dusty boxes, and forgotten relics. But as I swept my light across the room, I saw something that made my blood run cold - a series of old photographs, each depicting a person with a grotesquely distorted face.
Suddenly, I heard a faint whispering in my ear. It was a soft, raspy voice, and it seemed to be coming from all around me. The voice spoke in hushed tones, telling me secrets and revealing dark truths about my family's past.
As I listened, transfixed, the whispers grew louder, more urgent. I felt myself being pulled towards the photographs, as if some unseen force was drawing me into the very heart of the Broken House.
And then, everything went black.
When I came to, I was lying on the floor, my phone still clutched in my hand. The photographs were scattered around me, but as I looked up, I saw something that made my heart stop - the faces in the photographs had changed, and now, they were all staring back at me with my own face.