Craved by the Wrong Volkov-Chapter 176: The hidden skeletons

Braelyn’s POV

The drawer was locked. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Why was it locked? To protect it from ghosts.

I yanked at the handle again, harder this time, as the damn thing would magically give in if I was stubborn enough. It didn’t budge. Not even a little rattle. It’s just solid, mockingly resistant to my force. I clicked my tongue irritated as my temples started to throb.

This was just great. It was excellent. I just couldn’t understand why it was locked in the first place. In an attic nobody used, in a room that felt like it hadn’t been touched in years. Unless someone was hiding something they didn’t want found.

My stomach twisted. That bad feeling I’d been carrying since the nightmare got heavier, pressing down on my chest.

There was only one other person who could have free access here aside from my late parents. Me. What were they hiding from me?

Disappointed, I pushed myself up from my crouch, ready to storm downstairs and grill Agnes about keys. Where the hell were they anyway? But as I stood, my knee bumped the old bedside table. The lamp on top wobbled, teetered, and crashed to the floor with a sharp smash.

I jumped, heart slamming into my ribs. Glass shattered everywhere, scattering across the dusty wood like ice.

"Shit..." I started, half-ready to call out for help, when something glinted in the mess. My brows furrowed and I narrowed my eyes at it.

A key. It was a small brass key half-buried under a shard of the broken base. My eyes lit up. No way, my luck was this good.

I dropped back down, ignoring the glass biting into my knees through my thin pyjamas, and snatched it up, then reached for the lock without a second thought. My fingers shook a little as I shoved it into the lock. It fit perfectly. My eyes sparkled.

It turned with a sharp, metallic creak that echoed way too loudly in the quiet attic. The drawer slid open, and the screeching sounds from the old, rusted mechanism almost made me go deaf.

I immediately scanned inside, my eyes were wide, excited for whatever treasures awaited. Inside wasn’t junk or old clothes. It was books, I frowned for a moment staring at the three thick books that looked like diaries, leather-bound and worn. And right on top, catching the weak light from the attic window, was a locket. It was silver and oval, familiar in a way that made my throat tight. I remember seeing the same locket in Dad’s hand.

I picked it up first, hands trembling now for real. I clicked it open. My breath caught. It was an old picture. My eyes immediately went to the lady with radiant blonde hair rocking an old 60’s hair style. My mother.

She was very young here. This was the youngest picture of her I had seen. She was a teenager, smiling softly at the camera. The colours were bad since, from my guess, this was taken in the 60’s. I could still recognise those green eyes just like mine. The photo was faded, but it was definitely Avelina Alderheim.

My heart ached and my chest suddenly felt tight. Her picture gave me a bad premonition.

I set the locket down carefully, like it might vanish if I wasn’t gentle, and reached for the diaries. Three of them, no names on the covers, all locked with tiny clasps that matched the little keyhole on the locket.

Wait. I flipped the locket over. There it was, a key hidden on the back. It was a tiny key, folded flat into the design.

My heart was pounding again, but not from fear this time. From something else. Something big. I fitted the key into the first diary’s lock. It clicked open easily.

I flipped to the covers, and on the first page, the name glared up at me in faded ink.

Avelina Alderheim.

My mother’s diary.

My hands went cold. This was what they hid from me. I stood up to take a seat on the bed. Something then slid out from the pages of the diary.

A picture fell on the broken shards upside down. On the white part, the words "monster" were boldly written. With a hole in the middle, looking like a burnt hole

I picked up the picture and flipped it around

The air went cold and my hand was trembling. I didn’t understand what I was staring at.

It looked like a family picture of 3, dad at the right, mum at the left and a little girl sitting in the middle. At least I could tell it was a girl from the twin buns on her head...

But her face was ruined, burnt into a hole.

Who was that girl?

It couldn’t be possible that she was me. But how? Mum died at child birth. Why was there a picture with a little girl whose face was burned when I knew clearly I was the only child they had?

Something was off, I felt like I knew what it was but didn’t want to accept. The gala incident came to mind.

( Don’t believe what they told you about the fire )

No it can’t be...

Even if that was possible, why was the girl’s face burned away like she was something unwanted? I stumbled backwards, the glass pierced through my sole but I didn’t care.

I quickly started to flip through the diary, page after page but each page was messing with my sanity

Forgive me

Forgive me

Forgive me Dominic

I am a monster.

She is a monster

The words were scrubbed hard into the pages. Strokes repeated over and over again.

Something flashed in my mind, the same dream. My head being shoved in the water with someone repeating the same words...

Forgive me

Over and over again. Only that this wasn’t a dream. It didn’t feel like a dream; instead, it felt like a long-buried memory, and this time I could hear the voice more clearly. It was a lady’s desperate voice

It felt like I was in that lake again...the diary fell from my hand, and a shrieking scream let my lips. I stumbled backwards and fell on my butt.

Screaming and gripping my hair. I couldn’t escape the nightmare. The monster wanted to kill me.