When my father died, he left behind a will.
The will was simple. The house, the land, and the lie.
It was written exactly like that.
At first, I thought it was one of my father’s strange jokes. He was known to be a prankster, so it wouldn't really be a strange thing to leave a final prank like this.
Patent No. 7713 — Registered Lie.
“It’s legally yours now,” the lawyer said.
That night I went back to the house.
Before bed, I found a note left on my father’s desk.
Never admit it’s a lie.
I frowned. “Admit what?”
The lights flickered. The curtains on one side of the room started blowing. I thought there was a presence, a shadow.
My breath caught. “Who’s there?”
"I protect what you believe," it said.
I stumbled back. “What are you?”
A few days had passed. The shadow, I could feel it roaming around the house, but it never hurt me.
“I am not afraid,” I said aloud once, hands shaking.
And my fear was gone. I looked toward the window, and it seemed something was looking back.
Later that night, someone broke into the house. I woke to footsteps, to drawers being opened. Panic surged until I remembered.
“I am safe,” I whispered.
The thing in the corner moved.
There was a scream. And then there was not.
