The Cupboard That Fell

It all started with that cupboard. I swear I never wanted to go into the attic. Mom always told me to stay out of there, but when you’re fourteen and bored, sometimes you forget about rules.

That Friday evening, I was up in my room playing video games, zoning out to the endless clicking of the controller. My parents had gone out for dinner, leaving me alone with just the hum of the house. I don’t know what made me stop the game and listen, but there it was—the faintest of creaks coming from above.

Our house is old, so noises weren’t exactly unusual, but this was different. It wasn’t just the settling of the wood or the wind. It was…something else.

Creak. Thud.

I turned off the TV and listened again. It was coming from the attic.

I’d been in the attic once when I was little. Mom took me up there to show me the family heirlooms: old photographs, dusty trunks, and a big oak cupboard shoved into the corner. She said it belonged to my great-great-grandfather. He built it himself, but it hadn’t been opened in years. “Don’t touch it,” she warned me back then. “It’s better left alone.”

But now, with my parents out and that strange noise echoing down from above, my curiosity got the best of me. I grabbed a flashlight from the kitchen and made my way up the narrow staircase that led to the attic.

The door groaned as I pushed it open, and cold air rushed out, making me shiver. I swept the beam of the flashlight around the dusty room. The trunks were still there, stacked against the walls. Old portraits stared down at me from the corners, their painted eyes following my every move. And then I saw it—the oak cupboard, standing tall in the shadows.

Only, it wasn’t standing anymore.

The cupboard had fallen over.

I froze. The cupboard had been upright when I was younger. How could it have fallen on its own?

I stepped closer, my heart pounding in my chest. The doors had been forced open when it hit the ground, but what caught my attention was something small and dark lying just in front of it. I crouched down and shone my light on it. It looked like a small, leather-bound book. The edges were frayed, and the cover was blank, but it called to me.

I should have turned back. I should have left it there. But instead, I reached out and picked it up.

The moment my fingers touched the book, a strange sensation ran through me. The air around me felt thicker, colder. I opened the book, my hands trembling. The pages were yellowed, filled with spidery handwriting that I couldn’t read. It was in some language I didn’t recognize, but as I flipped through the pages, I noticed a small drawing—a symbol. Something about it made my stomach drop. It was like a twisted star with eyes in every corner, staring out at me.

Suddenly, the room felt smaller, suffocating. I stood up, clutching the book tightly, and that’s when I heard it. A whisper. Faint, almost like a breeze, but there were words.

“Let me out.”

My flashlight flickered. I turned in circles, the beam bouncing off the walls, but I was alone. The whisper came again, louder this time.

“Let me out.”

I dropped the book. It hit the floor with a dull thud, but the whisper didn’t stop. It grew louder, more insistent, as if something was right there beside me, just out of sight.

I stumbled back, my heart racing, and that’s when I noticed the cupboard had moved. It was now standing, upright, exactly where it had been before it fell.

My skin prickled with cold terror. The cupboard was still open, and I swear, I could see something moving inside. Something dark and shifting, like shadows that didn’t belong in the dim attic light.

I turned to run, but the attic door slammed shut on its own. My breath caught in my throat as the whisper turned into a low, menacing growl.

“Let. Me. Out.”

I banged on the door, screaming, but it wouldn’t budge. The growling grew louder, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw something crawling out of the cupboard—a long, thin hand, pale and bony, stretching out into the air. I backed away, pressing myself against the wall, my mind racing. This couldn’t be real. This had to be some kind of nightmare.

Then, the figure stepped out fully. It was tall, much taller than anyone should be. Its face was twisted, hollowed out like it had been carved from stone. Its eyes—if you could even call them eyes—were just empty sockets, but I could feel it looking right at me.

It opened its mouth and whispered again, but this time, I understood.

“You released me. Now, you take my place.”

Before I could react, it lunged at me. I closed my eyes, bracing for the impact, but instead, there was nothing. Silence.

I opened my eyes, and everything was still. The cupboard was on the ground again, the book lying next to it, and the attic door was wide open.

I ran downstairs, my heart hammering in my chest. When my parents got home, I told them everything, but they didn’t believe me. They said I’d imagined it. That the cupboard had fallen because of the house settling. I tried to show them the book, but when we went back to the attic, it was gone.

That night, I lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of what had happened. And then, just as I was drifting off to sleep, I felt it—the cold, unmistakable touch of bony fingers wrapping around my wrist.

I shot up in bed, but there was nothing there. Nothing except the faintest whisper, echoing through the darkness.

“You take my place.”

I didn’t understand what it meant. Not then. But now, as I sit here, trapped inside this attic, I know. I know because the cupboard has fallen again, and someone else has picked up the book.

And soon, they’ll be the one reading this story.

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