It all started the last time I stayed at my grandmother’s house for the weekend.
Graham Cracker (my nickname for my grandmother) had told me countless times not to ever go into the attic. No exceptions. Of course, being the curious person I was, I could not contain my curiosity anymore, so I wandered into the attic.
It was pitch black up there. Luckily, I had my phone in my pocket, which had a flashlight. I pointed the light toward the darkest corner of the attic. I noticed a big, older-than-Betty-White chest. I dusted it off, and I saw the name “Corleone” engraved on the top. Our family’s last name.
I wonder what’s inside, I thought. The chest was securely locked. Just kidding; I broke the lock by licking it… Weird.
I opened the chest. The lid flew open and a bright light shone from inside of the chest, enveloping everything in the attic with warm, white light.
I walked over to the chest. As I approached it, the chest said in a weak, mumbling voice, “What have I ever done to make you treat me so disrespectfully?”
“I—I’m sorry...” I replied.
“Revenge is a dish best served cold,” the voice said. The chest suddenly began to blow harsh, freezing wind and snow. Everything in the attic was covered in snow and ice.
“Please!” I yelled, frantically. “Make it stop! Please!”
“You spend time with your family?” the voice asked.
“S-sure I d-do,” I replied, covering my face from the snow blowing around me.
“Good,” the voice said. “'Cause a man who doesn't spend time with his family can never be a real man.”
My mother, my father, my grandfather, and my sister all appeared on the other side of the attic. They all started screaming.
“Please! I beg of you!” I yelled.” “Stop it!” I ran towards the chest, but it magically picked me up and threw me against the wall of the attic. I laid there on the floor, freezing in the now six inches of snow.
“I understand,” the voice said. “You found paradise in America, you had a good trade, you made a good living. The police protected you and there were courts of law. You didn't need a friend like me. But, now you come to me, and you say: 'Don Corleone, give me justice.' But you don't ask with respect. You don't offer friendship. You don't even think to call me Godfather. Instead, you come into my house on the day my daughter is to be married, and you ask me to do murder for money.”
My grandfather, Anthony, started to run over to the chest.
“Grandpa Anthony!” I yelled.
“Anthony,” the voice said. The chest started to run around and chase Grandpa Anthony around the attic. Grandpa Anthony seemed to be having a good time; he was laughing and running around. “Anthony,’ the voice said again. The voice from the chest began to cough. The coughing turned into hacking and wheezing. The chest began to slow down its running and tipped onto its side, hacking, wheezing, and choking. The chest suddenly stopped making noises. My family disappeared, along with all of the snow and ice.
I walked over to the chest. Inside of it was nothing.
Nothing, except for a horse head.