The attic itself looks like an exhibit from a life that never truly existed.
Every inch of the small room is soaked in an off-putting pink. Not vibrant or alive—more like faded bubblegum left to rot in the sun. The wallpaper is a strange grid pattern, almost clinical, clashing with the softness of the furniture. The ceiling slopes just enough to make standing awkward, as if the room was trying to push them back out.
A single twin bed sits under the slope, its blanket neatly tucked in with unsettling care. It's decorated with lace and flower-trimmed sheets, all untouched. Too clean. Like a showroom frozen in time.
Old dolls rest on a shelf, their button eyes facing the wall. A child-sized vanity stands by the corner, covered in dust. Sitting on the chair: a faded pink dress. Laid out like it was waiting for someone to return and put it on.
An air purifier hums softly in the center of the room—functional, yet coated in age. There's a faint scent of powder, perfume, and something underneath it… like time decaying.
The small pentagon-shaped window lets in a pale light that doesn't move.
And then—
Sitting calmly at the edge of the bed is the mannequin.
Its limbs are slightly too long, bent stiffly at the elbows and knees. Its surface is scratched plastic, but its head has been spray painted with a crude, melting smiley face. The black paint drips down like tears.
In its hand: a worn, crumpled poster board. The words "WE MISSED YOU" scribbled in large, childish handwriting. The last word is slightly smudged, as if someone tried to erase it and failed.
Ethan stares at the mannequin.
His heart doesn't race. It doesn't skip.
It just drops.
Jo is the first to speak. Her voice is low. "Why is your name on those boxes, Ethan?"
He doesn't answer. He steps forward instead, eyes scanning the room like he's waiting for it to shift.
Nika studies the photograph again—the one of her and Nick, eyeless. Her lips press into a thin line.
"Why here... Is this place, for us?" she mutters.
Nick doesn't respond. His eyes are locked on the mannequin. His posture, for once, is unreadable.
Jo leans toward the vanity. She picks up a comb and turns it in her hand. There's hair tangled in it. Blond. Too clean.
Suddenly, Ethan reaches out and takes the poster from the mannequin's hand.
Nothing happens.
But something changes.
The room gets quieter. Like the silence just sank into their bones.
He flips the poster over. On the back, in smaller, neater writing:
"Do you remember?"
The mannequin's head tilts slightly.
No sound.
No movement.
Just gravity.
Aiden, already halfway down the stairs, mutters what they're all thinking.
"…What's with this place?"
As he walks through the house, a sudden WRAAANGK! ERRRRNT—ERRRNT—ERRRNT! explodes from every walls.
Alarms sound.
Sharp. Mechanical. Not natural to the house—too artificial, like an emergency broadcast for a world that forgot how to speak.
Aiden stumbles back, fists half-raised. "Where is that coming from?!"
Jo and Ethan rush down next, hands clamped over ears.
Jo yells, "What the hell!"
"I don't know," Aiden snaps back. "It just started!"
Nika and Nick descend in silence, unfazed.
The alarm stops. Instantly.
And then—
Stillness.
Back in the living room, something's… different. Not just in the house.
Outside the window, what used to be blue sky now stretches into a deep, blank black. Not night—absence. But somehow still lit, like light with no source.
Jo squints out. "Is it night time?"
Nika opens the door, steps into the front porch. Ethan follows her, shoulders tense.
It's like stepping into a dream with no edges.
The wind doesn't move. The world feels paused.
Nick peeks his head out the door behind them. "Hey sis. It's dark. So what. This place has groceries. I'm gonna chef it up. Get inside before you get snatched by something."
Ethan's stomach growls. Nika hears hers echo the call.
They exchange a look. Hunger outweighs dread.
Inside again, Nick throws open the fridge and chest freezer.
Nika's eyes widen. "What are we gonna eat? This place actually has variety for a change. Like… actual stuff. Chicken, pork, tofu, eggs, fish, even scallops—"
Before she finishes, Nick appears behind her like a blade in a magician's sleeve.
He ties on a black skull-emblazoned apron.
He cracks his neck. Then his knuckles.
Flashes a devilish grin.
"Sit down. Watch the master work."
---
Cue music. Something funky. Over-the-top. You know the vibe.
Nick slides to the fridge, door flung open like it owed him money. He grabs ingredients by the fistful—eggs, leeks, shiitake mushrooms, ground beef, heavy cream, garlic cloves, seaweed, udon, rice paper, kimchi, lime, scallops.
He spins, lands with the grace of a dancer, and flings an egg into the air. One swift motion: he SLAPS a wok onto the stove, flicks on the flame, and CRACKS the egg mid-air with a spatula. It lands sizzling.
Jo watches, blinking. "Is he… flambéing scallops and folding dumplings at the same time?!"
Aiden sits silently jealous. Hating Nick and his skills
"Turns out he's a master chef." Ethan adds, watching Nick flip a sauce pan behind his back without looking.
Nick pirouettes across the tile, pulling noodles from boiling water with chopsticks in one hand while tossing a crepe with the other. Fire flares under one burner, a torch hisses to life on another. He sears pork belly with surgeon-like focus and stacks plated sides like architectural blueprints.
An unknown amount of time later:
The kitchen smells like heaven got kicked in the teeth by flavor.
He lays down the final tray. A full spread of chaos-fusion comfort food:
Udon carbonara with scallop crisp
Korean pork crepes
Sweet kimchi fritters
Lemon-sake rice rolls
Beef & mushroom stew
And, of course, a side of miso popcorn.
Everyone's silent. Not out of reverence. Out of confusion.
"…Who are you?" Jo asks, eyes wide.
Nick sits, wiping his hands. "I'm just a guy who likes knives and Asian cuisine. Eat."
---
LATER THAT NIGHT
The plates are licked clean. The group, for once, is full. Sated. Warm.
They sit scattered around the living room. Some on the couch. Some on the floor. A sitcom silence.
"Okay," Jo says, leaning back. "Let's play something dumb. Something stupid and human."
"Like what?" Ethan mumbles, curled up with a blanket.
Jo shrugs. "Truth or dare. Two truths and a lie. Spin the knife. I don't care."
"I'll go first ." Jo says. "I once kissed a guy named Trevor, I got expelled for hacking my school, and I've never broken a bone."
Ethan points. "You never got expelled."
Jo smirks. "Wrong. I did. The kiss was a lie."
Nick fake-gasps. "Sucks to be Trevor!"
Nika lounges near the window, listening, her face unreadable but… present. She watches her brother laugh—actually laugh—with a bunch of strangers.
Ethan leans back against her shoulder.
"…This is weird," he murmurs.
"Yeah," Nika replies. "It is."
"Feels fake."
"Everything here does."
The fire crackles from the gas stove.
"But it's the first time I've felt...okay in days," Ethan adds.
Nika nods. Doesn't speak.
Outside the window, the black sky stays still. Light with no source. Stars forgotten.
But inside, for a moment—
They are just people. Eating dinner. Breathing. Existing.
As if they belong.
Tomorrow, they might die.
But tonight?
Tonight, they live.