The Words That Summoned Her"

Chapter 1: The Locked Drawer

The attic smelled of dust and mothballs, the kind of air that clung to your lungs. I hadn’t planned on cleaning out Grandma’s house so soon after the funeral, but the will demanded it. The lawyer said there was no time to waste—sell it, empty it, move on.

I almost missed it. Beneath a stack of yellowed National Geographic magazines, tucked behind her old sewing kit, was a small wooden box. It wasn’t locked, but it resisted as I pried it open, as if something inside didn’t want to be found.

The diary was bound in cracked leather, the pages brittle. The first entry was dated October 17, 1942.

"Tonight, I spoke the words. Mama warned me never to, but I had to know. And now… I hear her. In the walls. In my dreams. She says she’s hungry."

My blood turned to ice.

Chapter 2: The Invitation

Grandma’s handwriting grew frantic as the entries went on.

"She comes closer every night. I see her in the mirror—just a shadow, but I know it’s her. The woman with no eyes. She wants me to finish what I started."

I scoffed. Grandma had always been superstitious, the type to leave salt on the windowsills and refuse to speak of the dead after sundown. But then I turned the page.

At the very back of the diary, written in what looked like rust-brown ink (though I knew it wasn’t ink), was a single sentence:

"Say my name, and I will come."

Beneath it, Grandma had scrawled:

"DON’T READ THIS ALOUD."

Of course, I did.

Chapter 3: The First Night

Nothing happened at first. I laughed at myself, tossing the diary onto my nightstand before bed.

Then, at 3:17 AM, I woke to the sound of breathing.

Not mine.

It came from the corner of my room, where the streetlight didn’t reach. Something stood there—a silhouette too tall, too thin. The air smelled like damp soil and rotting flowers.

I squeezed my eyes shut, praying it was sleep paralysis.

Then, a whisper:

"You called."

Chapter 4: The Rules

I tore through the diary the next morning, searching for answers. Buried in the margins, I found them—rules for surviving her:

Never look directly at her. (Grandma had underlined this twice.)

Salt the thresholds. (Too late—she was already inside.)

Don’t speak to her. (But I already had.)

The last rule was scribbled hastily, as if Grandma had been interrupted:

"If she brings you a gift, REFUSE IT."

That night, I lined my door with salt.

It didn’t matter.

She left her first gift on my pillow: a lock of hair, gray and brittle.

Mine.

Chapter 5: The Bargain

She spoke to me in dreams.

"Your grandmother owed me a debt," the woman hissed. Her voice was like dry leaves scraping stone. "She promised me a life. Then she hid."

I tried to scream, but my throat sealed shut.

"You will pay instead."

When I woke, my wrists were bruised, as if gripped by skeletal fingers.

Chapter 6: The Last Page

I burned the diary at dawn, watching the pages curl to ash.

For a week, nothing happened.

Then, last night, I heard it again—the breathing.

This time, it came from inside my closet.

And this time…

I answered.

Final Line:

"Come in," I whispered. The door creaked open. And then—

(Diary entry recovered from the scene, written in an unknown hand:)

"The debt is paid."