Ellie wasn’t supposed to open the attic door. “It’s dangerous,” her grandmother warned. But one stormy night, whispers called her name.
“Ellie… let me out.”
It sounded like her mother, who had vanished years ago. Trembling, she opened the door.
Darkness spilled out, alive and shifting. Eyes blinked in the void, and a smile stretched impossibly wide. Something cold and sharp wrapped around her wrist.
Her scream echoed, then stopped.
The next day, the door was shut. Ellie was gone. Scratched into the wood was one word: Hungry.
