The television light filled the room.
A flickering blue light.
A cacophony of sounds.
Commercials.
Laughter.
News.
Anything… to break the silence.
But—
the silence wasn't the problem.
John stood in the middle of the room.
His eyes were fixed on the screen.
But his mind… was elsewhere.
Elias's words.
"Something old in the house."
Something old.?!!
In this house.?
John swallowed.
This house wasn't new.
He bought it five years ago.
It belonged to an old family.
He hadn't paid much attention to the details back then.
Just a decent house.
A good price.
A quiet place.
But now—
Everything was different.
John gradually lowered the volume of the television.
Then…
He turned it off.
Silence returned.
But this time—
It wasn't comfortable.
More… Expectant.
John turned slowly toward the hallway.
The same place…
where he'd heard the footsteps.
He stood there for a few seconds.
Then he started to move.
One step.
Another step.
The wooden floor creaked softly beneath his feet.
He reached into the hallway.
The darkness there was deeper.
Colder.
John reached out…
And switched on the light.
Nothing.
The hallway was empty.
The bedrooms were locked.
Everything…in its place.
"My imagination…" he muttered.
But his voice didn't sound convincing.
He began to open the doors one by one.
The bedroom.
Empty.
The child's room.
Quiet.
Tidy.
Just as he'd left it.
Then—
He stopped.
A door at the end of the corridor.
A door he hadn't thought about in a while.
The pantry.
John froze for a second.
Why now?
Why this door?
His heart raced.
A slow step toward the door.
His hand rose.
He stopped.
Then—He pushed the door open.
A long creak…
Like a protest.
The light didn't come in completely.
The room was half-dark.
An old smell.
Wood.
Dust.
Boxes.
Forgotten things.
John entered.
Slowly.
His eyes scanned the room.
Old furniture.
Closed boxes.
Memories of some of his father's belongings.
Old things.
Then—
A feeling.
The same feeling.
He'd felt on the island.
A slight pressure in his chest.
As if the place…
was watching him.
John moved further.
Until he reached an old table in the corner.
Covered with a faded cloth.
His hand reached out.
He pulled at the cloth.
Dust rose into the air.
Beneath it—
A wooden box.
Small.
But heavy.
John stared at it.
"Something old…" he whispered.
He knelt slowly.
He reached for the box.
He hesitated.
Then he opened it.
The sound was sharp in the silence.
The lid rose slowly.
And inside—
Papers.
Yellow.
Very old.
And a photograph.
John took the picture first.
He held it up to the light.
And froze.
The photograph was of this house.
But…
It's not like it is now.
Older.
Much older.
And in front of the door—
A man is standing.
Looking directly at the camera.
His face is not entirely clear.
But…
Something about him is
Disturbingly familiar.
John zoomed in further.
His breathing became heavier.
No…
This is impossible.
But the features…
Like him.
Unnaturally.
John almost dropped the photograph.
He took a step back.
"This…doesn't make sense…"
Then—
A voice.
Just behind him.
Inside the storeroom.
The same voice.
Quieter this time.
Closer.
"...you're starting to see it, aren't you?"
John didn't move.
He didn't turn around.
His whole body froze.
A fine dust cloud filled the air.
John didn't know what to do.
The voice continued—
"This house… you didn't choose it."
A short silence.
Then—
"It chose you."
The light in the room…
flickered.
Twice.
Then—
it went out.
Once.Darkness swallowed everything at once.
John didn't move.
Even his breathing grew slower… quieter… as if he were afraid of being heard.
Silence returned.
But it wasn't the same silence.
This time…
He was alive.
One second.
Two seconds.
Then—
A soft sound.
Like a footstep on the wooden floor.
Behind him.
John clenched his fist.
He tried to control his body… to force himself to turn around.
But something inside him refused.
"Who are you…" he said in a low voice.
No direct answer.
Just the same people.
Then—
"…that's not the right question."
The voice was closer.
Very close this time.
John felt cold breath pass by his ear.
"Then what is it?" he said with difficulty.
Silence.
Then—
"Why you?"
John closed his eyes for a second.
"Tell me…" he murmured.
But when he opened his eyes—
There was light.
Faint. Its source.
The picture.
That fell to the ground.
John looked at it.
Light was emanating from inside it.
Faint. Yellow.
As if the photograph… wasn't just a piece of paper.
He hesitated for a moment.
Then he bent down slowly.
He raised it again.
This time—
The photograph wasn't still.
John froze.
Inside…
The man in front of the door—
Moved.
Slowly.
He raised his head.
He looked directly at John.
The same look.
The same unsettling feeling.
John took a step back.
"No…"
But the image didn't stop.
The man began to approach.
One step.
Then another.
Inside the picture.
Until he was close to the door.
Very close.
Then—he reached out.
Toward the handle.
John felt his heart almost stop.
"Stop…" he whispered.
But... !!!
The handle in the picture… moved.
And the door—
opened.
A soft sound.
The same sound…
Behind it.
John froze completely.
There was no longer any doubt.
The image…
Isn't just of the past.
But of something happening now.
Slowly…
Very slowly…
He began to turn.
Darkness still filled the room.
But—There was something.
An illusion.
He stood by the storeroom door.
The same spot…
The same pose.
Just like in the picture.
John couldn't see the face clearly.
But he didn't need to.
He knew.
Somehow...
He knew.
"...This isn't real," he said, his voice trembling."
The figure didn't move.
But the voice returned.
"...You've been saying this for a while now."
John took another step back.
"Get out…" he said with difficulty.
"…this is my house."
What do you want from me? Leave me alone.
I didn't do anything. I'm peaceful. Please, I'm tired and confused.
...... Silence......
It's cold.
" Is it? "
The floor beneath John's feet made a soft noise.
As if it—
is responding.
The air felt heavier.
And the walls…
They didn't look the same anymore.
John looked around quickly.
The room—
It wasn't the same anymore.
The details began to emerge.
The paint.
The furniture.
Everything has become…
older.
Damaged.
Just like in the picture.
"No…" he whispered.
His gaze returned to the person.
Who began to take one step inside.
Slowly.
Then he stopped.
"...You've cleared the way."
John's eyes widened.
The same sentence.
The same message.
Everything started to connect.
The island.
The tunnel.
The room.
And this house.
"Why me…" he said, this time louder.
The figure remained silent for a second.
Then it said:
"…because you came back."
Silence.
Then it added: "...and you brought it with you."
It is an ancient and precious heritage.
John glanced down at the table.
The disc.
It began to light up.
Brighter this time.
The lines on it were no longer faint.
It moves.
It draws the same symbol.
But— Completely.
For the first time.
The air vibrated.
The light extended slightly beyond the disc.
As if— It were opening something.
John felt a little dizzy.
The sound in the room intensified.
The sound of water.
But closer than he should have been.
The figure in front of him raised its head slightly.
As if the light…
was calling to him.
John stepped back.
"Stop this…" he said sharply.
But nothing stopped.
The light intensified.
And the sound—
became clearer.
Waves.
Moving.
Screams all around.
It rises.
It draws near.
John pressed his hand to his head.
"No… no… not here…"
But the voice replied calmly:
"…there is no 'here' anymore."
The room shook for a moment.
A loud, jarring noise.
And the light—exploded in a powerful flash.
John stumbled backward.
There was a chair behind him that he hadn't noticed.
John fell violently, hitting his head on the wooden floor.
A sudden pain at the back of his head.
John fainted in front of the door.
Then—silence.
Absolute silence filled the place.
As if nothing had happened.
The lights came back on.
The television started playing the news.
Everything seemed normal. But John was still lying on the floor, alone in the house.
Is what's happening to John real or just a figment of his imagination?
What secrets lie hidden in the objects in the storeroom?
Has John awakened something that has slumbered for thousands of years?
The coming days may unveil some of the mysteries, or perhaps the enigma and suspense will only deepen.
.......
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