So I suck at writing narratives but uh here goes nothing.
And there was a piece of paper.
It was dusty and was ripped and yellowing with age.
I turned it over. There was a photograph of two people - I didn't recognize one of them. The other was probably one of my great-grandparents that I'd forgotten about.
That's weird... who is the other one?
I closed the chest and crept down the ladder, making sure to not get any dust on the ground as I ran across the house. My parents were sitting at the table when I burst in.
"Mom, who's this?"
I pointed to the person I didn't recognize in the photo.
She didn't respond.
"Er... Dad, do you know who it is?"
He didn't respond either.
They both looked white. Paler than the clouds that drifted across the sky, sitting there, still as a statue. My mom finally shook her head and let out a rattling gasp.
"Where - where did you find that?"
"In the attic," I responded. "Why?"
"In the chest?"
"Yeah," I said slowly.
Dad stood up and snatched the photo out of my hand.
"Hey!" I exclaimed. "What-"
"Don't go up there again," He ordered.
"What's the big deal?" I demanded. "What's wrong with the photo?"
"That man," Mom said in a shuddering, ghastly voice. "That man beside your great-grandmother is the one who killed her."