The Haunted Inbox

Kara had never been one for superstitions. Growing up, she’d seen her mother avoid mirrors in the dark, heard tales of family members who refused to stay in the old house at the end of the street, but Kara always chalked it up to the kind of folklore you outgrow with age. She was practical, logical—until one night, when the first email arrived.

It was 2:03 AM when her phone buzzed. Kara squinted at the screen, the notification a pale blue light piercing the darkness of her bedroom. It was a message from her late grandmother, Judith, who had passed away three years ago.

Kara’s fingers hovered over the notification, skeptical but strangely compelled. The subject line read: I’m Still Watching You. Her breath caught in her throat, and she quickly opened the email.

From: [email protected]

Subject: I’m Still Watching You

Sent: 2:03 AM

Message:

You always hated the attic, didn’t you?

I remember the way you’d peek up the stairs, just a glance, and run away. The dust, the cobwebs… and that old rocking chair. I never told you about it, but you should know by now. I was watching you. Always.

Grandma Judith.

Kara felt her heart leap into her throat. The attic. It was true—she had been terrified of the attic as a child. It was a dark, dismal place where only the faintest sliver of light ever reached. And that rocking chair... she could still picture it in the corner, the eerie creaking it made when no one was there. She hadn’t thought about it in years.

Kara quickly checked the sender’s email address. [email protected]. She felt a chill run down her spine. There was no way. Impossible.

She reached for her phone again, intending to delete the message, to dismiss it as some kind of prank, but her fingers hesitated. Instead, she found herself typing a response.

To: [email protected]

Subject: This isn’t funny.

Message:

Grandma, how is this possible? You died three years ago.

This isn’t funny.

She hit send, her pulse racing. A part of her wondered if it was a mistake. Maybe someone had hacked into an old account, maybe some bizarre glitch had caused the message to arrive now. But why the subject line? Why the reference to the attic?

Her phone vibrated again, this time with an incoming reply.

From: [email protected]

Subject: Don’t you remember?

Sent: 2:12 AM

Message:

You’ve forgotten the rules. I told you, Kara. You can never forget where you came from. I didn’t leave you. I told you I would always be there. Remember the attic? You never saw what I kept there. Do you want to know?

You should have listened. You should have stayed away.

I still see you, Kara.

Grandma Judith.

Kara’s stomach twisted. The message was chilling, personal, and far too intimate. How did Grandma Judith know about her lifelong avoidance of the attic? How did she know her deepest fear, a fear she hadn’t thought about in years? And then there was that line: I still see you, Kara.

The air in the room seemed to grow heavy, the temperature dropping. Kara felt as if the walls were closing in around her. The connection to her grandmother had always been strong, but now it felt like something more, something suffocating and foreign.

The emails kept coming. Night after night. Sometimes, they came at strange hours, long after she should have been asleep, and each time, the messages grew darker, more insistent. There were details no one but Kara would have known. Her secret fears, her childhood memories, things she had long buried.

One email, weeks later, made her stomach churn.

From: [email protected]

Subject: The Broken Clock

Sent: 1:42 AM

Message:

You always asked me about the broken clock in the kitchen. You were so obsessed with it, so curious. You tried to fix it, didn’t you? You opened the back and touched the gears, and that’s when it all changed. The clock started ticking again, but it wasn’t the same. It was never meant to tick again.

You broke it, Kara. You opened it, and now it’s broken forever.

It’s ticking now. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Always.

I’ve been waiting for you to come back. I’m still watching you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed what you’ve been doing.

Kara could feel her pulse in her throat as she read the email over and over again. The broken clock in the kitchen was another memory she’d long buried. It had belonged to her mother, a relic passed down from her grandmother’s house. The clock had never worked right. She’d always found it fascinating, trying to repair it when she was younger, convinced that if she could only fix the gears, it would make everything better. But she had never succeeded. It was broken, always stuck at 2:15.

What was it about this clock? Why was her grandmother bringing it up now?

Kara felt her mind unraveling, the edges of her reality fraying. Something was wrong. The words in those emails were starting to blur, starting to feel like more than just messages. They were warnings.

And the clock. The clock was ticking in her house now, too.

A week later, Kara received a call from her mother. She hadn’t heard from her in several days.

“Kara,” her mother’s voice crackled on the line. “You’re not going to believe this, but... did you get any strange emails recently?”

Kara froze. She had been dreading this moment, the moment when someone else might start to notice. “What do you mean?”

Her mother hesitated, the sound of rustling papers in the background. “I’ve been getting emails from your grandmother... and they’re not just random. They’re too specific. They know things. Things about me, about the house, things we haven’t spoken about in years.”

Kara felt a surge of panic flood her chest. “What kind of things?”

“They know about the basement,” her mother whispered. “They know about the boxes we left behind after your father passed. The ones we sealed shut. How did they know about that?”

Kara’s heart hammered in her chest. The basement. Another place she had been terrified of as a child. She’d never been down there, but the sound of whispers always seemed to float up through the vents, as if something was hiding in the dark corners.

Kara’s voice shook. “Mom... the emails. They’re from Grandma Judith.”

Her mother was silent for a long time. “No... that’s impossible. She’s been gone for years.”

“I know, but...” Kara’s throat tightened. “She’s been sending them. The messages are too specific. Too real.”

Her mother’s voice dropped to a whisper. “There’s something wrong with the house, Kara. Something we didn’t want to face.”

Kara couldn’t sleep that night. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw images from the emails, vivid memories she thought she had forgotten. The broken clock, the rocking chair, the basement—dark, suffocating, the air thick with something unseen. Something that had been waiting.

Around 3:00 AM, her phone buzzed again. Another email from Grandma Judith.

From: [email protected]

Subject: The House is Waiting

Sent: 3:02 AM

Message:

You’ve seen it now, haven’t you? The house. It’s calling you. The things you buried are waking up. They were never gone. You can’t run from what’s inside. You’ve opened the door, Kara. And now, you’ll never escape.

I’ve always been here.

I’m waiting for you.

Always.

Kara looked up from the screen, her hands trembling. The room around her felt suffocating, the walls closing in. She could hear it now—an old, familiar sound. The creak of a rocking chair. Slowly, softly, it rocked back and forth, as if being moved by unseen hands.

It was coming from the attic.

Without thinking, Kara grabbed her jacket, her heart pounding in her chest. She had to face it. She had to know. She couldn’t run any longer.

As she stepped toward the attic door, the air grew colder, and she heard it again—louder this time. The creak of the chair.

And then, the whisper. It was faint, but clear.

“Come closer, Kara. I’m waiting.”

Kara pushed open the attic door, the air thick with dust and the scent of decay. The light flickered above, casting long, wavering shadows. Her grandmother’s rocking chair sat in the corner, creaking softly, as if alive.

Kara stepped forward, her heart racing. The attic seemed to stretch before her, an endless void of memories, each one beckoning her closer.

And then, from the darkness, she heard a voice.

“You’ve come back, Kara. You’ve finally come back.”

Kara turned, her breath catching in her throat.

Standing in the far corner