Chapter 2: Grandmother’s Office

Grandmother’s office sat at the end of a narrow third-floor hallway that had fallen out of use years ago. The rest of the house had been repainted, recarpeted, refitted. Up here, the original wallpaper still peeled at the seams and the floorboards groaned beneath every step, as though they resented the intrusion. The air hung thick and still, undisturbed for months.

The key slid into the lock without resistance. My fingers lingered on the brass knob, cool and slightly tarnished, and my heart beat harder than a closed door had any reason to deserve. I turned it. The latch gave a soft click, and the door swung inward.

Dust and old paper met me first, then the faint scent of dried herbs beneath the furniture polish. I found the wall switch, and light flooded the room. A heavy wooden desk stood beneath the window, its surface filmed with dust. On top sat a sleek monitor and keyboard, intruders from another decade. The ergonomic chair beside it, all mesh and adjustable arms, looked far too expensive for the room.

A tall bookcase ran along the left wall, its shelves packed with leather-bound volumes and stacked folders. In one corner stood a wooden filing cabinet, its drawers dark with age. Beside the door, a glass-fronted cabinet displayed rows of small bottles, jars, and bundles of dried plants tied with string.

Nothing announced itself as strange. That quiet normalcy made the room feel stranger still.

I shut the door behind me, and the click echoed in the stillness. I’ll only look, I told myself. The lie sat warm in my chest. Curiosity had already taken hold, sharp and insistent, and it pushed me forward.