The next step was to reach out to any remaining McAllister family members. I managed to track down a distant relative, a woman named Margaret who lived a few towns over. She was in her seventies, and according to the records, the last living link to the McAllisters who first built the house.
I called her one evening, explaining my interest in the family history and the discovery of the locket. To my surprise, she was eager to talk, inviting me over for tea the following afternoon.
Margaret’s home was a charming old farmhouse, filled with antiques and family portraits. As we sat in her cozy kitchen, she recounted the McAllister family history with a warmth that made me feel at ease.
« Emily was my great-aunt, » she said, passing me a faded photograph. « She was a spirited young woman, always full of life. Her disappearance was a terrible blow to the family. »
I showed her the locket, watching as her eyes widened in recognition. « This was hers, » she said, her voice tinged with emotion. « I remember my grandmother speaking of it. Emily wore it everywhere. »
The confirmation sent a thrill through me. The locket had indeed belonged to Emily, and now it had found its way back to her family.
Margaret thanked me for bringing it to her, and we spent the afternoon discussing ways to honor Emily’s memory. It felt like the beginning of a new chapter, not just for the McAllisters but for my own understanding of the house I called home.
As I drove back, the sun setting on the horizon, I felt a sense of closure. The attic might hold other secrets, but for now, I was content with having uncovered this one.
Note: This story is a work of fiction inspired by real events. Names, characters, and details have been altered.
