The second I stepped into my in-laws’ house and felt the unsettling quiet, I knew something was off. But when I found my mother-in-law locked in the attic, I realized this was no ordinary family visit — this was the beginning of something far darker.
I went to visit my in-laws alone last weekend, and I seriously wish I hadn’t. What I found when I got there… well, it was like something straight out of a horror story.
It all started when Bryce, my husband, got stuck at work. We were supposed to visit his parents together, but at the last minute, he called me and said he wouldn’t make it.
Now, I’ve always had a good relationship with his mom, Sharon. She’s the kind of woman who sends handwritten cards for no reason and insists on giving you the last slice of pie, even if she made it for herself. So, I figured I’d go ahead and drop by anyway to surprise her with some cookies I baked the night before.
I thought it’d be a nice gesture: just pop in, chat for a bit, and leave. But when I pulled up to their house, something felt off. There were no lights on, and the front door, which Sharon usually swings open with a wide smile, remained closed. Still, I shrugged it off. Maybe Frank, my father-in-law, had taken her out for a late lunch.
I knocked and waited. No answer. After a minute, I let myself in, balancing the plate of cookies in one hand while calling out, “Sharon? It’s me, Ruth! I brought something for you!”
Nothing. No reply.
I looked around. The house was eerily quiet. It wasn’t the cozy place I was used to, filled with the smell of fresh coffee or Sharon’s humming in the kitchen. I pulled out my phone and texted Frank, just to check.
“Hey, I’m here at the house. Where are you guys?”
But today, the key was in the lock.
His response came back almost immediately. “Out with the guys. Sharon’s resting. You can head home if you want.”
Resting? That didn’t sit right with me. Sharon was always the one who jumped up to greet us, even if we’d been there the day before. And resting in the middle of the day? It wasn’t like her at all. A weird feeling crept into my stomach. I slowly made my way through the house, my voice echoing as I called her name.
“Sharon? Are you okay?”
Still nothing. That’s when I heard it. A faint tapping sound.
I froze. It was coming from upstairs, somewhere near the attic. My heart started to race as I climbed the stairs. The tapping continued, steady and strange. When I reached the attic door, I stopped cold.
It was always locked. Frank had made it clear — nobody went into the attic. Not even Sharon. It was his space, some kind of personal workshop or storage room, I guessed.
But today, the key was in the lock.
I swallowed hard, my hand hovering over the doorknob. Something about this felt wrong. “Sharon?” I called again, this time my voice barely above a whisper.
No answer, but the tapping stopped.
I hesitated for a moment before turning the key and pushing the door open. And there she was. Sharon, sitting in an old wooden chair in the dim light, looking as though she hadn’t moved in hours. Her usually bright face seemed worn, her smile weak.
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