Hole in the Ceiling
There was one week before Christmas, and the wind was blowing, feeling like sharp glass against the skin, whistling through the windows.
Inside, my mom and I were starting to prepare to set up the Christmas tree, new lights glittering against the wall, a new tree skirt, white and fuzzy with embroidery of trees, and a train.
We were so excited to finally be setting up, as I was up in the attic getting the last box of Christmas decorations, I saw a fly pass me, and when I turned around, I saw a swarm of them surrounding a section of the ceiling. I went back, grabbed a broom, set down the last box, and went back to poke it.
As soon as I poked the broom through the ceiling, a large piece of drywall fell off.
I lost balance and fell. Mom shouted from the living room, “HONEY, ALEX, ARE YOU OKAY?” I responded, “ Yeah, I'm fine.” As I dusted myself and looked up, I saw a large bag.
I shouted for my mom, she didn't answer, she had turned on the Christmas music and was in her flow, nobody could get her out of it. I looked at the bag as the bugs started to swarm it. I grabbed the broom and left, with the goal in mind to tell my mom about the bag, and a piece of the ceiling is missing now. I was confused and in shock.
I went back inside the living room, and my mom handed me the stockings to set up and gave me a list of tasks to do so she could go prepare dinner. I forgot and lost track of time. Before I knew it, it was 7:00. My dad was just getting home, I heard his car pull up into the driveway, and I remembered I didn't tell my mom about the hole in the attic and the mysterious bag that fell from it.
Dragging
It was time for dinner. It had been two hours since my dad arrived home, and we sat down as my mom got the food on the table. When we had gotten halfway through dinner, I finally spoke up, “There's a hole in the ceiling in the attack, and a bag fell through it!” I blurted out. I slowly opened my eyes and unstiffened. I was expecting a lecture about how I could manage to make a hole in the ceiling. My mom looked at me, confused, “How did I not notice?” I replied, “Ma, you literally asked me if I was okay, you just didn't go see if I was okay.” My dad brushed past us in a hurry up to the attic. I heard the garage door close as he went up. My mom and I hurriedly followed behind him, confused on the fact why he stood up so quickly. The second dad stomped down the attic ladder with that bag, and the whole house felt wrong. Like the air got heavier. Like something was watching us from the dark corners. Mom didn't even move until the garage door slammed. Then she grabbed my wrist so tight it stung.
“Alex…I don't like this.”
I was still staring at the hole in the ceiling, the one I’d poked through. The flies buzzed around it like they were guarding something. Something accidentally uncovered.
I told mom, “Ma, look.” I pointed up at the wooden beam.
Her breath caught. The date. The name. The message was carved deep as if someone didn’t have time to do it neatly, they just needed it there.
HE SAW ME.
My name was right under it. Written like a warning. Or…. a threat. Mom pulled me downstairs so fast I almost tripped. “We’re calling the police,” she said, grabbing her phone. But when I looked out the window, I froze. Dad wasn’t putting the bag in the garbage. He was dragging it towards the woods behind our house. In the pitch black. No flashlight. Just yanking it like he’d done it before. It was ominous. “Mom,” I whispered. “He’s taking it outside.”
She ran to the window. Her whole face went pale, like her blood had dipped out for a second. “That’s not normal,” she whispered. “Your father,.. Why would he…”
Then the phone rang. Not my phone. Not hers. The landline.
We haven’t used it in forever. Nobody calls it. Mom picked it up with her hand shaking. “Hello?” A voice cracked through. A man. Calm. Creepy calm. “Ma’am….is this the residence of Alex Rivera?” My heart dropped so hard I swear it was in my stomach. Mom’s voice turned ice-cold. “Who is this?” The man replied, “This is Detective Abbott. We need to speak with your son immediately.” Mom looked at me with the slowest, most terrified turn of her head I’ve ever seen. The detective continued, “We have reason to believe he may be connected to a crime scene just discovered. Mom covered the phone and mouthed, They think you did it. I didn't even know what 'it' was. Before I could say anything, the attic creaked. Not like settling. Not like wind. Like footsteps.
Slow. Dragging. Right above us. But nobody was up there anymore.
Nobody is living, anyway.
Carving
Blue and red lights hit the windows before Mom even hung up the phone. I didn't think the cops could get here that fast unless they were already close, or already watching. Mom grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the front door, whispering, “Just stay calm. Don't say anything stupid.”
As if my heartbeat wasn’t already trying to crack my ribs.
When she opened the door, the two officers were already walking up the steps, snow crunching under their boots. One of them, tall, stiff posture, jaw clenched like he chewed bricks for breakfast, held a flashlight even though our porch light was on. “Alex Rivera?” he asked, eyes locking on me immediately. Not mom. Not the house. Me.
Mom stepped in front of me, protective like a mama bear that had just been startled. “What’s going on? Why are you here?” The officer didn’t blink. “Is your husband home?” That made mom hesitate. Just long enough for everyone to feel it. “He’s… outside,” she finally said. “Doing what?”
Same cold tone. No emotion
Mom swallowed. “He took something out to the woods.” The officers exchanged a look. Not a long one. Half a second. But it was enough to say: we expected that. The second officer, shorter and younger, but with eyes that kept darting towards the dark behind the house, stepped forward. “Ma’am, we received an anonymous call about suspicious activity at this residence. We need to speak with your son about a matter involving a missing person.” My blood iced over. Missing person? What did that have to do with ME? Mom’s voice sharpened. “We didn't call anyone. What anonymous call?” The tall officer lowered his flashlight, landing the beam right on my face. “Someone reported that Alex may be connected.” Mom snapped, “He’s seventeen. He hasn’t even LEFT the house today!” That was kind of true… except for the attic incident. The officers didn’t care. They stepped inside without waiting for permission. “Sir,” Mom hissed, “You can't just,” she got cut off abruptly. “Yes, we can,” the tall one said. “We have reason to believe that a body has been moved on this property.”
Body.
The word punched the air out of me. The young officer pointed toward the ceiling. “We need to check the attic.”My chest tightened. I swear, even the house felt nervous, creaking low like it was trying to tell us to run. The tall officer started up the stairs. Mom reached for his arm. “Please, don't go up there, my husband just came down from.,”
“We need to see it,” he cut in.
The young officer stepped closer to me. “Alex, when did you last go into the attic?” His tone was too soft. Like he was trying to trap me gently. “I, I don’t know. Earlier. To get Christmas stuff.” I was stumbling over the words, and I hated how guilty it made me sound. “Did you notice anything unusual?” he asked. Before I could answer, the officer upstairs shouted: “Ma’am? Can you come up here?” Mom froze. “What? Why?”
“There’s something you need to see.” She looked back at me, eyes shaking. “Stay here.”But the second she stepped away, the young officer moved closer, voice dropping low: “Alex… your fingerprints are on the bag.”
I swear my brain lagged. “What bag?”I whispered. He tilted his head. “The one in the woods.”My whole body locked up. Dad was still out there. Dragging it deeper into the dark. Before I could respond, the attic creaked again, louder this time. A heavy thud. Then mom shrieked. Not a normal scream. Not shocked. Not scared. A raw, ripping scream. The young officer bolted up the stairs. Itried to follow, but he shoved me back, “Stay down!” I stumbled into the wall, heart about to explode in my chest. For a second, everything went quiet, then: The tall officer yelled, voice shaking for the first time all night, “WE FOUND ANOTHER ONE!”
Footsteps. Scrambling. Someone running. And then Mom’s voice, breaking, “THAT'S NOT MY SON’S–THAT’S NOT–” I clapped my hand over my mouth. Because I finally understood, there wasn't supposed to be just one body. There were multiple. And someone was planting them in the attic. And carving my name next to them.
Truth
The house felt like it was breathing. Cops were swarming the attic, flashlights bouncing off the walls, tracking mud and snow everywhere. I didn’t know what time it was anymore. Mom was crying into her hand at the bottom of the stairs, her whole body shaking like she couldn’t keep herself upright anymore. I stayed frozen by the living room doorway, every muscle vibrating. I could still hear Mom’s scream echoing in my head. It was so eerie.
The tall officer thundered down the steps, face pale. “Where’s your husband?” Mom choked out, “He– he went into the woods, I told you–”
“WE need to locate him now,” He snapped, voice cracking. We found two bodies upstairs. Someone carved your son’s name–”
“I KNOW!” Mom exploded. “My son would NEVER– “ The officer didn’t look convinced. He kept glancing at his partner, like they were talking silently. Before he could say anything else, the front door creaked open. All the cops spun around.
Dad stood in the doorway.
Covered in snow, mud, and…. something darker.
Something that didn’t look like mud at all.
His breath puffed in the cold air behind him as he stepped inside, slow, like his limbs were heavy. Mom whispered, “Honey… what’s on you?” Dad didn’t answer.
He dropped something onto the floor with a wet thud. A mask.
A Christmas masquerade mask, painted red. Except the red wasn’t paint.
One of the cops reached for his gun. Dad lifted his hands, palms out. “Don’t shoot. I can explain.” But his eyes, they weren’t scared. They were… tired. Like he’d been waiting for this moment. “Mr. Rivera,” the tall officer said carefully, “you need to come with us.”Dad ignored him and looked straight at me. “Alex,” He said softly, “I didn’t want you to find it. Any of it.”
My heart sank to my stomach. “Dad… what did you do?” He closed his eyes for a moment, as if it physically hurt him to answer.
Then he said it.
“The killer isn’t me.”
The cops froze, Mom froze, I froze.
Dad swallowed hard. “He’s been setting me up for years, and now he’s setting up you.” The young officer scoffed. “Who? Who would do that?” Dad opened his eyes. And for the first time, I saw fear in them.
“You uncle.”
My skin went cold
“My WHAT?!”
Dad kept talking, voice shaking now. “Your mother’s brother. The one who ‘died’ twenty-two years ago. He didn’t die. He disappeared after.. After the first murders. He also comes back around Christmas.” Mom gasped, stumbling backwards. “You PROMISED me he was gone! You promised he would never–” Dad shouted over her. “He followed me this year. I found him hiding in the attic when I came home. The bag you found? He put it there. The message? He carved it.”
The house went dead silent. The tall officer spoke slowly, like he didn’t believe a word. “Sir, you’re saying your dead brother-in-law is framing your son for murder?” Dad shook his head violently. “HE’S NOT DEAD.” Then, a whisper drifted from the attic. Light, wet, like someone dragging their tongue across broken teeth. “Aaaallleeexxx….”
We all whipped our heads upward. Each cop drew their weapon. The attic door creaked open on its own. Just a slow, shaking creak. A figure stepped into view at the top of the attic ladder. Bare feet soaked in blood. Christmas lights tangled around his neck like a twisted scarf. His head sideways in that uncanny, wrong way that instantly makes your stomach drop. And the mask he wore? Identical to the one Dad dropped. Except this one was cracked down the middle. A smile carved too wide across it. Dad whispered, “Don’t look at him, Alex.”
Too late. The figure leaned forward, voice raspy and playful, like a kid telling a secret: “I saw you.”
Then he jumped. And everything went black.
Relief
By the time the cops are dragging the fake killer away, everyone thinks it’s over. Like, vibes restored, trauma processed, happily-ever- after loading,.. Except your gut is screaming nah, something's off. You go back to your brother’s room, trying to make sense of everything, and your eyes hit this tiny detail you never noticed, the window latch. It’s scratched up, as if someone forced it open. And that’s when everything kinda slams together in your head. The killer wasn’t running into the house that night… they were running out.
Before you can even process it, there's a soft creak behind you. You turn. And it’s someone you trusted way too much, someone who’s been in and out of your house, like it’s nothing. Someone who “just wanted to help” this whole time. Their smile? Lowkey nightmare fuel. They start talking like the final boss of a Netflix documentary, explaining how they framed the other person, how they thought you’d “understand eventually,” how this was all for some twisted idea of protecting your family. You’re backing up slowly, keeping them talking, stalling, praying your brother catches the text you secretly sent him earlier: “Come upstairs NOW. SOS.”
Right as the killer reaches for you, your brother bursts in like the hero he is, no hesitation, no fear, just full “I’d burn the world down for my sibling” energy. The two of you overpower the killer together, and by the time the cops storm in again, it’s finally real, finally over. This time, justice hits the right target. And the ending? It’s not depressing. It’s soft. It's a relief.
You’re sitting on the couch later, wrapped in a blanket your mom tossed at you, your parents fussing, your brother checking on you every five minutes even though he’s pretending he’s “chill. ”You lean on him without thinking, and for once, he lets himself lean back, letting you support him too.
You both know life’s gonna be okay now, messy, chaotic, but safe. And you’ve got each other. Always.
While I was writing this story, at first I didn't know what I was going to write about until I asked my friend, “Hey, what should I write about this year?” and they were like You should write something similar to what you wrote about last year, because they found the one I wrote last year entertaining. So I did that, and in class I wrote the “skeleton” of the story of how I wanted it to go. Then I spent all day the next day writing it out because I didn't realize I was going to stop so much in between. I wanted the story to have a lot of imagery, and I think there is a decent amount of it along with some suspension. I did want to explore writing more in first person from the kids' point of view, unlike my other one, where it was switching between POV's. I stuck to one only this time. Something that inspired me to write another story like this was remembering how much others complimented my previous story. So I thought I’d just stick with the horror, creepy vibes. I enjoy horror, and mixing that with Christmas was something new to me, but I wanted it to be related to the holidays. I hope y'all enjoy the story and that it's entertaining.