Scary Feary Tales

It all started when me and my parents moved to a new home in Chicago. It was a breezy day, and most of the people I saw looked nice. While pulling up to the driveway, I took a glance of a white figure from the attic window that was staring back at me. I believed it was just a trick of the mind. As I entered the large cobweb filled home, I felt a big rush of wind blowing towards me. I didn't think too much about it, I just said to myself, "It's just the wind", while shutting the door behind me. When heading upstairs with my box of clothes and books, I felt another breeze, but much colder, as if someone was pouring ice in my back. I walked faster and down the hallway to my bedroom. I didn't like how it looked because it reminded me of a haunted nursery room from a scary movie I had seen. I unpacked my clothes into my dresser and began to put away my books on the bookshelf in the corner. While putting the last book at the top of the shelf, my hand knocked something down. It was cold and metal like, I looked at the ground to pick up what seemed to be an old, antique key. I put the key in my pocket and scanned over my room. My room was finished because the furniture was already prepared with the house, although the outside could use a little touch up. I headed back downstairs to see if my parents needed help with the other luggage. They asked me to take a few boxes to the attic, which was not too far from outside my room. I carried the boxes up towards the attic and sat the boxes down on the floor. I was too short to reach the string, so I jumped and pulled the hatch down. After extending the latter and securing it in place, I finally lifted the boxes up and carried them up. As I entered the attic, I sat the boxes in a corner and decided to look around. I was amazed at how interesting it looked. It was like a whole room. There was a bed, a dresser, a powder table, and a desk…but the chair wasn't an ordinary chair. It was a wheelchair. But if the people who lived here before had a wheelchair, wouldn't it be important to take it with them…unless something or someone was keeping them from taking it or throwing it out. And why would it be in the attic? I sat the boxes down in an empty corner, then I walked towards the dresser and opened the top drawer. I saw a metal box that was locked, but it looked very worn down and withered. I picked it up and scanned the box, then something came to mind. The key! I took the key from my pocket and tried it on the lock. It unlocked! I slowly began to open the box, until I was stopped by a small whisper. It kept repeating those words over and over again saying, "Open Me, OPEN Me, ¡OPEN ME!" It got louder and louder. I didn't know what to do, so I did something that I truly regret. I opened it. I was shocked and scared at what I saw in the box. I wanted to call my parents, but I just couldn't speak. It was a blood-stained knife. You might be wondering, "Why do you think it's blood?". I know it's blood! It had a stench of rotten meat and who would try to hide a knife in a locked box for no reason. I felt a light tap on my shoulder, then a cold shiver ran down my spine. I slowly turned around and saw something very frightening. It was a white figure sitting in the wheelchair. It appeared to have long black hair and dark eyes. The skin was very pale and she had no emotion. She spoke in a low wretched voice like an old witch you would see in a movie. She said, "Help me.", in her wretched voice, but sounded very sad and pitiful. I began to feel bad, although I was still scared. I looked at her neck and noticed a deep scar. I asked her what she wanted from me. After a long pause, she said, "Tell them, tell them my story.", while pointing toward her desk. I looked at her and at the desk, then slowly walked toward the desk. I found what appeared to be some type of diary, it must have belong to her. I read it, and was brought to tears. I felt even more bad for her. It read, "July 10th, I just came home from the hospital, an 18-wheeler hit our car while driving home from the store. My parents were forever gone, and my legs are gone, my heart is empty, and everything is just gone!…I don't think I could live in this cruel world, I can't stand it, it hurts to be all alone. I will join them, at least it won't hurt me anymore, we will be reunited again." I understood her pain for some reason. She just did not want to be alone, she was heartbroken by her parents death, and lost her ability to walk on her own, so she took her own life in hopes of joining her parents again. I cried even more. I turned back to her and told her, "I will not let you down…I will tell everyone. I left the attic and went to my room. I was shocked at everything. I didn't know exactly what to do, until something popped in my head again. I could make a pod cast by telling her story from using the info from her diary. It took about an hour and a half to get through all the recording. After I posted it, it people instantly wanted to hear it. They never knew about her accident, but were very interested and empathetic in the comments. I ran to the attic to show her. She listened quite thoroughly and even smiled a little, then looked at me and said, "Thank you, I will never forget your kindness." Then she disappeared. It all happened when I was 15 years old, and now I am 25. She never showed herself again, I believed she was truly satisfied with my help, and although I was scared, I felt I did the right thing.