I have been feeling trapped lately. It's been three days since my grandmother died. She was the only one I had. Now I'm left with this empty home — yet I feel like I'm not alone. I laugh to myself. What's wrong with me? Maybe it's just trauma or loneliness. My grandmother's death was from a heart attack, and I don't believe in those ridiculous supernatural things anyway.
I'm Lycia, a journalist working for a good company. My parents died when I was ten, and since then, I had been living with my grandmother. She was my whole world — and now she's gone, leaving me with this house. I've always loved it; most of the furniture is made of wood, and the backyard is the most beautiful place you could imagine. But—
The workshop. It stands in the backyard. It's so old that if you even lean on it, you'd think it might collapse. Still, that was where she spent most of her time. The strange thing is, I've never gone there. Not because she stopped me, but because I never wanted to.
I open the curtains, revealing the backyard. My eyes lock on the workshop. I sigh and finally step outside. The weather isn't pleasant — it's evening, yet the sky feels darker than it should because of the clouds. There's something eerie about it. The wind brushes against my face as I walk toward the workshop. I don't know why, but I want to run back inside. Yet something is pulling me forward.
I slowly reach for the doorknob, my hands trembling. I don't even know why.
Suddenly, I hear a cracking sound. It's faint, but enough to make my body freeze. A shiver runs down my spine. I glance at the ground, expecting to see glass shattered on the grass. But when my eyes move to the workshop's window, I see it—
cracks spreading across the glass.