Chapter 1 - The Vent Above the Kitchen
The loose metal vent cover scraped loudly against the ceiling as I pulled it free.
Dust rained down into my eyes.
Rick remained perfectly still on top of the cabinet, staring directly into the opening.
He wasn't barking anymore.
He simply watched.
That frightened me even more.
I raised the flashlight with one trembling hand and pointed it into the narrow ventilation shaft.
At first...
Nothing.
Only years of gray dust clinging to rusted aluminum walls.
I exhaled, almost laughing at myself for believing something terrible might actually be hiding there.
Then the beam reflected off something metallic.
Several feet inside the vent rested an old steel box.
It looked completely out of place.
Someone had deliberately pushed it deep into the ductwork.
The corners were wrapped in faded electrical tape.
No manufacturer logo.
No markings.
Just a heavy rectangular container coated with decades of grime.
Rick suddenly growled again.
Low.
Slow.
Warning me.
I climbed another step higher and stretched my arm inside.
The metal felt freezing cold despite the summer heat surrounding the house.
My fingertips barely reached the box.
It wouldn't move.
Something behind it seemed to be holding it in place.
I climbed down and searched the garage for a longer tool.
An old fireplace poker finally did the trick.
After several careful pushes, the box slowly slid toward me.
The sound echoed through the ventilation shaft like someone dragging chains inside the walls.
Every instinct told me to stop.
Instead, curiosity pushed me forward.
Finally, the box reached the opening.
It was heavier than expected.
Almost twenty pounds.
I carried it onto the kitchen table while Rick refused to leave the cabinet.
He kept staring into the vent.
As if the box wasn't what had been bothering him.
As if something else still remained inside.
The tape cracked as I peeled it away.
Inside lay dozens of yellowed photographs.
Every picture showed this exact house.
The kitchen.
The hallway.
The backyard.
Even my bedroom.
But the furniture looked completely different.
Different owners.
Different decades.
Some photographs appeared to date back nearly forty years.
Others looked surprisingly recent.
Then I noticed something impossible.
Every photograph had been taken from inside the walls.
Tiny hidden angles no normal camera could reach.
Someone had been watching every family that ever lived here.
I slowly turned over the final photograph.
Written neatly across the back were only six words.
"They never look up until late."
Rick barked violently.
Not at the box.
At the vent.
Something shifted inside the darkness above us.
May you like
Something alive.
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