That night, shrouded in the scent of dust and memories, Edgar and David slipped into the grandfather's house through the back door. The place was submerged in darkness, smelling of rotten wood and forgotten time. David turned on his flashlight, its weak beam dancing over the crumbling walls as if the light itself was afraid to wake something that had been sleeping there for a long time.
David said in a light tone, trying to break the silence:
"Are you sure this is your grandfather's house? Or are we breaking into someone's home and writing our first crime?"
Edgar replied in a steady voice, despite a hidden tremor in his tone:
"I told you, it's my grandfather's house. Look... that picture on the wall over there. It has me and him, and my mother and father... The only proof that we were ever a family."
David approached, picked up the dusty picture from its place, directed the flashlight toward it, then furrowed his brows and said:
"The picture... is flawed."
Edgar turned to him, surprised:
"What do you mean, flawed?"
David pointed with his finger:
"Look closely. The picture is precisely cut... as if someone cut out your grandfather's face, and yours too, in a calculated circle. Only the father and mother remain clear. This isn't a coincidence."
Edgar moved closer, and his breath caught when he saw what David was talking about. He whispered in confusion:
"But... I've been here before. The picture was completely intact. It wasn't cut."
David said, staring into the void:
"Then someone was here before us... but why? Why cut out only your face and your grandfather's face?"
Edgar said:
"I don't know... This was the last picture of us before my grandfather kicked us out of the house. I never saw him after that. A picture he requested, then immediately rejected."
Suddenly, David raised his hand and whispered sternly:
"Quiet!"
Edgar stopped talking, looking at him confused:
"What is it?"
David said in a low, tense voice:
"There's something moving above us..."
The two ascended the stairs with cautious steps, the wood groaning under their feet as if screaming. They opened every door, entered every room, but found no one. Yet, a strange feeling continued to weigh heavily on their chests.
Edgar stood in his grandfather's room, looking at the bed worn down by the years, and at the curtains through which he had once seen someone watching. He noticed a muddy shoe print on the floor. He bent down, examined it, lifted his own foot and compared, finding it a perfect match for his own shoe size. He trembled as he whispered to himself:
"The person who was here before me... has the exact same feet as me."
Before he could delve deeper into his thoughts, David shouted from the adjacent room:
"Edgar! Come quickly, you have to see this!"
Edgar ran toward him, finding his friend in an old room filled with decaying furniture.
Edgar said:
"What am I supposed to see here? It's just junk!"
David smiled lightly and said:
"That's why I always tell you your observation skills are weak."
He then pushed a painting hanging on the wall, revealing a recess behind it. He brushed away the dust with his hand until a hidden handle appeared. He pushed it, and the wall slowly opened, as if breathing for the first time in a century.
Behind it was a secret room, expertly concealed, almost empty except for the marks of many keys that had once hung on the four walls but were removed long ago, leaving long, pale impressions. David, directing his flashlight toward the floor, said:
"Look... a key. It seems someone forgot it."
Edgar bent down and slowly picked up the key, examined it for a long time, then said in a faint, hesitant voice:
"This key... isn't ordinary. It's from the same system as the old house locks..."
David asked:
"What?!"
Edgar, serious, tried to hide the key from David, but the latter quickly caught on and said, smiling:
"Try it. Maybe it's the solution you're looking for."
Edgar hesitated, then said:
"Why?"
David said with a strange seriousness:
"Because keys aren't created without purpose. Every key exists to open something. Try it, you have nothing to lose."
Edgar took the key, inserted it into the door's keyhole, and turned it slowly... The sound of metal on metal was like the whisper of the past coming back to life. The door opened, and a strange air seeped out, smelling of old soap, iron, and memories.
Edgar entered, while David remained behind, seeing only the junk-filled room. But what Edgar saw was different.
The room was completely white, its walls pristine without a shadow, and in its center stood a human form with its back to him, but that back wasn't human — it was composed of glowing red lightning; not just the back, but the entire body except for the head. Its body cracked and flashed with every moment.
Edgar froze, breathing with difficulty. He took a step forward, whispered in a trembling voice:
"Who... are you?"
David heard nothing, saw nothing. For him, the room was empty.
But Edgar saw the strange entity slowly turn its head toward him.
A tear fell from Edgar's face unconsciously.
The entity was wearing theMask of Keys, the same one Edgar had seen in his childhood when he hid in the shadows from the whispers and pity of people.
Then he noticed what was behind the entity: the corpse of his grandfather, Lewis, lying on the floor, a red sword plunged into his stomach in his handwas a key that resembled the one Edgar held.and the Blood drew a mysterious circle around him, as if it were a ritual.
Edgar repeated in a faint voice emerging from the depths of horror:
"Who are you?"
The entity reached its hand to the keys mask and slowly lifted it.
Time froze.
"Behind the entity, He did not see the killer face, There was a strange fog covering his face., but he felt that the shadow looming in the background... knew him from somewhere."
Especially when he said in a heavy voice, as if coming from another time:
"I'm still figuring it out..."
The sentence was simple, but it carried a profound horror — as if it were an answer to a question not yet asked.