The Vanishing 13th Step：Chapter 1

As I pulled up to the damned Victorian house, the rain pelted the windshield. Honestly, if it weren't for the "13 consecutive days of living in the house to inherit it" clause in the will, I would never want to go back to Cold Spring, New Hampshire.

Lawyer Howard's fingers left sweat marks on the edge of the will, and he choked when he read "the attic is permanently sealed." I swear I saw a dark shadow pouring out of his open mouth, as if someone had poured tar down his throat. He knocked over the brass lamp as he fell to the ground and scratched the floor with his bloody fingers - it wasn't the number 13 at all, but an unfinished staircase pattern.

There was a banging sound from the attic window frame, but the diamond-shaped window was clearly nailed with boards. There was a half-burned blue print buried in the ashes of the fireplace, and it was still warm to the touch. When I turned on the flashlight of my mobile phone and pointed it at the crack of the basement door, the sound of rusty iron chains suddenly exploded above my head - the sound came from the attic.