I have a son and a daughter, and I’m a single dad. This is because my wife, Emily, went missing three years ago. During these years, I’ve been desperately looking for her. Finding her is my only wish.
 
I open Emily’s bedroom door. The memories are so sweet. I reach under the bed and open a box filled with pictures and notes. I’ve been to all the places except one. Now, I must find out what kind of hell exists in that Place.
 
As I drive toward the Place, I wonder if this was just a normal investigation because Emily is a journalist. Hopelessness comes over me; it seems like a lost cause, but I must keep trying.
 
Arriving at the Place, my heart races. I open the cracked door and walk into the silent cold. Suddenly, I heard someone walking toward me, so I hid behind a wall.
 
I see an old man, skinny and dirty. His ribs stick out and I can see the blood pumping under his skin. He holds a knife dripping with blood, and I watch the ground turn red. I feel my heart pounding, the panic rising as the old man comes nearer. I grab the window beside me and jump through it into the house. Petrifying thoughts of that strange old man finding me, seeking me all day, take over my mind - just like in the horror movies.
 
It was an old house, covered in dust. On a wooden desk was a picture. Wiping it off, I saw a family, happily smiling. Why would such an old, scary man have such a picture? Was he one of the family? Or maybe he killed them!
 
I entered a lobby area and suddenly the elevator arrived. Fearing that old man and his knife, I ran to another door and fell into the basement. It smelled like death. The room was filled with hanging meat. Maybe this old man was a butcher!  Walking forward, I see that the “meat” was attached to a human hand! Hearing the door, I picked up a knife from the floor and hid.   
 
The old man entered slowly. I was frozen with fear, but my legs burned from crouching. I thought of escaping, like in my video games. However, in the real world, you only have one chance, only one. I struck the old man with my knife, but, shockingly, he didn’t fight back. He just cried. The blood poured from him, and he just looked at me and said, “Sorry, Jack. It’s a family curse.”
 
Now, I see he is my father who went missing 20 years ago! The blood flowing from him was also on my hands. Too late. He was gone. Now it was my turn. I took out my family photo, and I cried.
 
10 years later.
 
A young man walked into his father’s bedroom and read his notebook. He looked at his sister, and they began the search.