'Why did they decide to sell it? We could have thought of something better. There was no need to sell it! Can fear truly exploit us enough to forget the love and memories?'

Such thoughts ran through my mind as we moved out of the house with big and lofty suitcases. My father was standing there, instructing the packers and movers. My mom stood with a grim face, tears rolling down her cheeks and  washing away her makeup along with the memories of the house. My uncle was trying to soothe my grandmother telling her that what was being done was for the good of the family.

We had lived in that huge, old ancestral house for a long time, long before my birth. It was a house melted in butterscotch and chocolate brown with three floors, four rooms on each. It also had a garden with lush green fruit trees and a well with the sweetest water ever tasted by mankind.

Now we were leaving such a perfect home, forever, leaving after those horrifying chain of events.

One day, my cousin and I were playing video-games, my grandfather, uncle and father were discussing something and grandmother was throwing in her suggestions in- between while knitting a sweater. Just then we heard a scream from the first floor!

We all ran upstairs to find my mother inside my aunt's room, staring at something —a horrified and stunned look on her face— and as we followed her gaze we too were horrified.

My aunt was hanging from the ceiling fan! There was a note in her hand which said:

"It would be better to die than look

at her ghostly face again. She

scares me every day. Today she

scared me to commit suicide."

Soon the police arrived and inspected the scene. At last, it was declared a case of suicide, the reason assumed to be in depression as they even found a bottle of anti-depressant in her closet which was kept hidden from us.

Two-three days after her cremation my grandfather died of a heart attack. Though it was quite natural as he had a weak heart but quite unexpected as he had been taking pills regularly and had gone through routine checkups timely. On his bedside table was a torn piece of note. It seemed as if he had the premonition of his death that night and he had written it but somehow it got torn. It read:

sell and
"My last wish is for you to^ leave

this house. I am afraid that .."

Though we never found the other part of the note, we were quite sure that grandfather was afraid of something in the house, something which could hurt us, something dangerous and dark! The torn piece of note augmented my uncle's curiosity and he somehow convinced us all to stay.

Two deaths in almost a single week! Was it really just a coincidence or was it something dark and sinister? Time answered the question but at a cost of something.