You try your hardest to fall asleep but abandon the effort as you see the first rays of morning light begin to shine through the windows. You feel like absolute shit, and your mouth is insanely dry. You don't know exactly when it was that you woke up in the night, and you have no way of knowing how long it was that you spent staring into the darkness with your heart pounding in your ears and your breath caught in your throat. It could have been hours; it could have been minutes. Either way, you shrug, roll off the couch, and land unceremoniously onto the carpet. You can hear the crumble of the mysterious pinstripe candy you discovered last night and try to ignore it as you stumble into what you believe to be the kitchen. It was just as sparsely furnished as the living room had been. There was one window facing the microscopic and barren backyard, and a small wooden table with only two chairs sat beside it, stood atop the black and white tiled linoleum floor. There was a fridge, and the cabinetries as well as all of the appliances sitting atop the checkerboard countertop, were painted bright cherry red. You wonder if the previous owner of the home happened to favor black, white and red, as it seems to be a common theme in the home. You had no way of noticing it in the darkness, but in the growing light of day, you could now see that all of the picture frames in the living room were bright red, and the photos, even the more modern-looking ones which should have been in full color, were black and white. The couches were dark ichor, and the shag carpet, which you had difficulty discerning the color of upon first glance in the darkness, illuminated only by the light of your dying phone's flashlight, was a brilliant, snowy white. You drink from the sink with your hands. You could try looking through the cabinets for cups, but you feel as though you're dying of thirst. You wash your face and run your wet hands through your hair. You're still wearing the dress you wore to the funeral, and you're bare feet against the cold linoleum seem to sap the warmth right out of you. You decide to wander through the house and hope to find something warmer to wear. You wander back through the living room and walk past the couches, following the white carpet that continues into a narrow hallway and offers only two doors. One to the left and one to the right. You open the leftmost door and see that it is an unimaginably tiny bathroom. Keeping in theme with the rest of the home, it showcased a red bathtub with a black shower curtain sitting atop checkerboard tiles. You pull back the black curtain to see the motif continued to the tiles on the wall. A singular oval mirror sat atop the sink, and you avoid looking into it. You're sure you look as awful as you feel. You exit the bathroom and enter the room on the right. Here, there stood a modest little bedroom. Keeping in the color scheme of black, red, and white, a white shag carpet contrasts against the harsh red of the duvet on the bed. Beside the bed, there stands a black nightstand on either side. You curiously reach out and pull the drawer of the nightstand closest to you. It is full of pinstripe candy. You wonder what this old lady was like because the more you explored her home, the weirder she seemed to get. You close the drawer and continue to look around. There are red picture frames all along the walls, a singular vanity, a dresser, and a closet. You cross the room and throw open the closet door, relieved to see normal-looking clothes inside. You snag an oversized plaid button-down and throw it on over your dress. You dig around for an extra minute or two, and score a pair of warm wool socks, but you can't seem to find a pair of pants. You shrug; this will just have to be good enough for now. You return to the kitchen and throw open the refrigerator doors, only to find that it is completely barren, save for a few scattered piles of pinstripe candy. Some of which were so precariously piled that they spill when you open the door, clattering to the floor. You open the cabinets in confusion, only to find more of the same. In every drawer, container, nook and cranny, there are more tiny pinstripe candies. You're becoming more and more unsettled with each candy stash you find. You begin to wonder if the old woman starved herself or perhaps was neglected by vindictive relatives who starved her, and forced her to rely on them for nourishment. You wonder if she was just a senile old crazy lady who obsessed over old-time black and white candy. As you ponder, you notice the string hanging beside the light fixture in the hallway. You had previously assumed it was simply part of the overhead lighting, however, now, you realize that it sits slightly to the left of it. Your gaze follows it, and you see that there is a slight partition, a rectangular crack in the siling. You think it would make sense for the old woman to have had an attic. She had so little in the way of storage that her having an attack was probably the most normal part of the house you inherited. You pull the string, and the partition falls open, and a small wooden ladder slides out. You grab your phone to light your way through the darkness and begin your ascent up the attic stairs.
