We slowly climbed the old wooden ladder and peered into the dark and gloomy attic room. I looked over at Peter. His eyes were wide open, he was breathing fast.
The wail of a thousand screams could be heard as the wind beat down on the old latched window weaving its way throught the cracks that had formed over time. The moonlight shone down on the dusty panes of glass illuminating the room ever so slightly.
Even though fear was rooted deep within me, I had to continue. There was something magical about this room that drew us in, all that antique wood that painted a picture of former glory.
Yet there was something deeply disturbing about this room, the air was icy cold and even though we were the only living souls in that room, there was a feeling that somebody, something was watching our every move.
As if its eyes where burning down on my back like the heat of the sun, the darkness of this very thing was like something from the depths of hell.
"Peter," I whispered. I couldn't break this horrifying silence. I glanced at his face again. His eyes, black with fear, were focused on something across the room. I didn't dare look away. The life was seemingly being sucked out of his face. It was getting darker by the minute.
I had to look. It's what I'm here for. Slowly, I forced my head around.
No. No, it can't be. It isn't. It is.
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