Haunted (Alastor x OC)

Ch 2

Meet Aria! I'm aware I draw hair the exact same for every female I draw, this is a flaw we will have to endure together.

Aria's POV

I found myself spending far longer in the attic than I first meant to.

I had gone through boxes and boxes of this man's things, just looking through his life.

I found one box that held instruments! A trumpet, and a violin. I could only imagine how ancient these items were.

I didn't even take the risk of touching them, gently closing the box back after observing them for a moment.

Finally I sighed, standing up.

I was going to make my way back towards my abandoned box to tuck it away somewhere when I misstepped and tripped over something.

My knees hit the hardwood and I hissed at the pain. With tears pricking my eyes I stood up, rubbing my knees and looking down at what I'd tripped over.

Another box.

I don't remember this one...

I lowered back down, opening the box curiously. I wonder what's-

Newspapers.

My expression fell and I pouted.

"Really, dude?" I mumbled with a soft chuckle. I pulled one of the old papers out, being careful with the brittle pages.

Actually...it is kind of neat now that I think about it. The papers were dated all the way back to 1921.

I flipped through them, but nothing really caught my interest.

That is until I got to one from 1923...this one was marked up.

The black pen was slightly faded, but I could clearly see he had written and added things. I looked to the first section he wrote something down.

It was a story about a missing person...the police were simply asking for any tips on the matter, giving the address for the local department.

However...it's what he wrote that made chills crawl up my back.

'Fools.'

He wrote it in elegant, swirly letters. His handwriting was pretty...but the more I looked over his notes the more I felt put off.

He marked the next page as well, underlining a headline.

LOUISIANA SERIAL KILLER STRIKES AT NIGHT!

I was confused as to why that was underlined until my eyes fell onto the note he had written.

My blood ran ice cold. A cold sweat set into my palms, and I suddenly felt like bricks were tied to my legs, keeping me from moving.

'Perhaps I will switch my workings and give them something to talk about.'

I read that over and over and over...and over.

I quickly grabbed another paper...this one had the headline of a murder. Someone had been struck to death in broad daylight at a local park.

There were no witnesses and no leads.

All that was written on that page was a messy 'HAHA' across the entire article in big letters.

Each paper I went through I became more and more unsettled. It became increasingly obvious to me why this house had been so cheap.

It belonged to a serial killer.

This entire time I'd been looking through this man's things...I had been none the wiser that he was a killer. That handsome face suddenly haunted me.

It was then I remembered the little black leather journal that had been with the pictures. I tossed the paper in my hands down and scrambled over the that box.

I grabbed the journal, looking it over in my hands. The cover was slightly curled back and the pages were yellowed.

I opened it, looking at the first entry.

He didn't write the months only the year...

1921-

Mother says I need to write my feelings down. I'm not sure why...
She says I take unnatural pleasure in killing woodland animals. That I do, I cannot lie, however I fail to see the issue.

Well that's horrible. The next entry wasn't much better, though...

I won't even say what was in it.

Instead of writing his feelings he began a detailed account of each animal he killed. He would describe the noises it made as it died, and even explain his methods of torture.

I felt sick by the fourth entry, and nearly stopped reading before my eyes rounded at the fifth...

1923

I've murdered my father.

That's all...that's all it said.

A chill ran down my back once again, and I decided to keep reading. However I quickly slammed the book shut when the detailed accounts began describing his murders.

Just like that, one kill was all it took for him to switch from animals to people.

I suppose that's how most serial killers work.

I tossed the book back into its box, standing up and heading towards the attic door. I pushed my box over to a corner and then quickly descended back into the main house.

I quickly got the other box and put it up as well before shutting the attic off and pretending none of that ever happened.

A serial killer.

A serial killer lived in this house.

My house.

With a heavy groan I made my way up to my bedroom.

I need to lay down...the eeriness of this house skyrocketed and I wished I'd never gone into the stupid attic.

I made my way to my bedroom, opening the door quietly and slipping in. I closed my eyes, sighing as I kicked the door shut.

I ran my hands down my face, opening my eyes and preparing to fall into my bed and sleep for 10 years.

then I completely froze.

My blood turned to ice and my legs felt weak.

There on my nightstand...

Was the black leather journal.