The Inheritance

Chapter Six - The Family Secret

The days dragged on, each one blurring into the next as Mike fought to maintain a sense of normalcy. The haunting was worse now, seeping into every part of his life. He could no longer convince himself it was just stress or lack of sleep. Something deeper was at work.

He hadn't spoken to his mother in days. Her calls had become less frequent, but her silence now gnawed at him. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was something she wasn't telling him, something she'd hidden for years.

One evening, after a particularly restless day at the pub, Mike decided to visit her. She lived just outside of town in the same house he had grown up in, the place where his earliest memories—both good and bad—were forged.

The house stood at the end of a quiet street, tucked away behind overgrown hedges. As he pulled into the driveway, a knot of anxiety tightened in his stomach. The house hadn't changed in years, but now, it seemed... off. The windows were dark, the garden neglected. Mike hadn't visited her in a while, and guilt washed over him as he stepped out of the car.

He knocked, waiting for the familiar shuffle of his mother's footsteps. When the door creaked open, she looked smaller than he remembered, her eyes dull and tired. Her once-vibrant presence had withered over the years, beaten down by the weight of her own mind.

"Mike," she said softly, a weak smile forming on her lips. "I wasn't expecting you."

"I thought I'd check in," Mike replied, stepping inside. "Haven't heard from you in a while."

She gestured for him to follow her into the living room, where the heavy curtains were drawn, casting the room in a dim light. The old furniture, worn from years of use, seemed to match the state of the house—faded, tired, forgotten.

"How've you been?" Mike asked, taking a seat on the worn sofa.

She shrugged. "Same as always, I suppose. The days... they blend together. Some good, some bad."

Mike nodded, his eyes wandering around the room. It felt suffocating, the air thick with unspoken tension. He wanted to ask her about the dreams, the figures, the voices, but part of him was afraid of what she might say. He hesitated for a moment, then decided to just ask.

"Mom... did you ever—" he stopped, gathering his thoughts. "Did you ever experience anything strange when you were younger? Anything... like nightmares that felt real?"

Her expression shifted—just for a second—but it was enough. Her gaze flickered to the floor, her hands tightening in her lap.

"Why do you ask that?" she said, her voice barely a whisper.

Mike's heart pounded. She knew something. "I've been having these... episodes. Sleep paralysis, I guess. But it's more than that. I keep seeing things. Hearing things."

His mother didn't respond immediately. She stared at the floor, her lips trembling slightly, as if fighting an internal battle. Finally, she looked up, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and fear.

"I didn't want to tell you," she said, her voice shaking. "I hoped you'd never have to deal with it."

Mike leaned forward, his chest tightening. "Deal with what?"

She swallowed hard, her fingers trembling as they gripped the armrest. "It runs in the family. It happened to me... when I was your age. The visions, the paralysis... all of it. It almost broke me. I thought I was losing my mind, but then it stopped. I thought I'd escaped."

Mike stared at her, his heart racing. This wasn't just stress or sleep deprivation. His mother had experienced the same thing—years ago.

"What do you mean it runs in the family?" he asked, his voice barely steady.

She sighed, closing her eyes. "It's something we've never talked about. Your grandfather—my father—he went through it too. The dreams, the figures, the voices... they drove him mad in the end. He was obsessed with them, convinced they were real. That's why we never talked about him."

Mike sat back, his mind reeling. His grandfather? He had never known much about the man—just that he had died when his mother was young. The details had always been vague, and his mother rarely spoke of him. But now it all made sense.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Mike asked, his voice filled with frustration. "I've been going through hell, and you never said anything."

Tears filled her eyes. "I didn't want you to think it was inevitable. I hoped it had ended with me."

The room seemed to close in around him as the truth settled over him. This wasn't just a random occurrence. There was a pattern, something deeper, something inescapable.

Later that night, after returning to his apartment, Mike couldn't stop thinking about his mother's revelation. The idea that this haunting—these visions, the paralysis—was passed down through his family shook him to his core.

He needed answers. His mother had mentioned his grandfather's obsession. What had he uncovered? Why had it driven him mad? Mike couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more, something his family had tried to bury.

As he lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, he felt the familiar heaviness return. The room grew colder, the shadows lengthening once again.

And then, in the darkness, the voice whispered once more.

"It's your turn, Mike."