Twilight Epiphany

This was not their first move, but it could be their last. “Forever home” had been vocalized multiple times throughout the process.

Wilson had made all the arrangements for the “new” house. The contractors had taken the turn-of-the-century home down to its studs, and even poured a new basement floor to ensure its stability for years to come. The home’s classic, functional design included high-end appliances and lots of storage space. Exactly what Wilson and Naomi had hoped for. There was even a large front porch, where they could sit in rocking chairs to enjoy people watching in the easygoing neighborhood.

Throughout the first week, Naomi and Wilson busied themselves with the typical chores related to a move: unpacking, hanging pictures, rearranging furniture to fit their needs. For the bigger projects, though, Naomi would offer to help, but Wilson would either ignore her or just do the task himself. 

Wilson had been unusually distant since they moved in, but Naomi was confident that his preoccupation was just a result of his upcoming work conference and presentation stressing him out. She knew he had been trying for a promotion, and this was the perfect opportunity for Wilson to take the next step, so she wouldn’t hold it against him.

His suitcase was packed, ticket purchased, and Uber scheduled. 

“This presentation needs to go well,” Wilson sighs, as he stares at the front. “It could be my last chance at the promotion before they offer it to Shane.”

“Don’t worry at all, honey. You have been preparing for this for weeks, and you are clearly more qualified than Shane. He’s only been working there for six months. They have to offer the promotion to you.” Naomi hoped that her reassurances would calm Wilson’s nerves, at least a little. She was able to sneak a kiss on his cheek, as he absentmindedly made his way out the door.

Naomi decided she would take on some of the pending house projects while Wilson was gone to surprise him, and she would start tomorrow.

Laying in bed alone the first night he was gone, Naomi hears some scurrying above her in the attic, followed by a small thump, and then what sounds like a muffled, female voice. 

“Help me…”

Naomi briefly opens her eyes and presses herself up on her elbows, a slight chuckle escaping her lips. 

“Of course, as soon as he’s gone, my imagination kicks in. Must have just been part of my dream.” 

The murkiness of the room is accentuated by the blackout shades and causes the smallest kernel of turbulence in Naomi’s stomach.

As she reclines back, though, Naomi goes rigid when a second eerie appeal comes, echoing the first. 

“Help me…” 

Now, Naomi is fully awake and fully aware that she did not fabricate this nocturnal articulation. 

She hadn’t even realized where the attic door was until the closet company representative had pointed it out during the initial consultation. Retrieving the step stool and placing it below the ceiling hatch, Naomi contemplates what she is about to do.

With several deep, but somewhat strained, breaths, Naomi pushes through the attic door, and is immediately met with a torrent of spray insulation. Covered and a little annoyed, she is determined to see what the attic is hiding, so Naomi continues.

The solo window allows for minimal moonlight as Naomi surfaces in the dusty, cramped loft. Eyes adjusting, she immediately recognizes an almost imperceptible hole in the window pane, which is undoubtedly the exit point of the critter that was recently roaming around. 

No sign of the night-loving intruder gives Naomi a small consolation, but she knows, that is not what lured her up to this inauspicious alcove. A quick scan of the space reveals only insulation, and tucked away in a narrow corner, one unassuming box tipped on its side.

Approaching cautiously, Naomi hears the whispered plea for help again. More imperative than the previous entreaty.

“Help me, PLEASE.” 

A chilling shiver grips Naomi, as she hears a new voice emanating from the box. 

“Help will never come for you again.”

Despite the strange tone and underlying menace, the voice is undeniable. Wilson.

But who…

Naomi didn’t need to finish her thought because the visions come crashing back to her. The broken furniture, the ear-splitting altercation, the bruises, the darkness.

If there were any doubts left in her mind, they quickly flit away with the reveal of the box’s contents.

Naomi can barely steady her hands, as she lifts each ominous item from its resting place. The tape recorder with the play button compressed, the not-yet faded newspaper clipping displaying her photo, and the floor plans for the new house. 

Peeling back the corners of the floor plan, Naomi holds back tears that she now realizes will never come again. There, on the blueprint sketch of the newly-poured basement floor, marked with a sickening red X and a single name, her name, is Naomi’s final resting place.