The Mysterious Noise in the Attic

It started as a faint rustling, barely noticeable over the hum of the house settling.

Maybe a loose shingle, or the wind slipping through a crack.

But then, it changed.

The noise became rhythmic—scratching, tapping, almost like footsteps.

Every night, it grew louder.

Was it an animal?

A raccoon, maybe?

But something about it felt...

wrong.

The sound wasn’t random.

It had a pattern, a purpose.

And that’s when the fear set in.

Determined to solve the mystery, I grabbed a flashlight and climbed the creaky attic ladder.

The air was thick with dust, the scent of old wood and forgotten memories.

I swept the light across the space—nothing but insulation and storage boxes.

Then, a sound.

A whisper?

No, it was breathing.

Slow, deliberate.

My heart pounded.

The beam of my flashlight trembled as I turned toward the source.

Something was there, just beyond the light’s reach.

The breathing stopped.

Silence.

I held my breath, listening.

Then—movement.

A slow, deliberate shuffle.

My flashlight flickered, and for a split second, I saw it.

A figure, crouched in the shadows, its eyes reflecting the light like an animal’s.

But it wasn’t an animal.

It was human.

Or at least, it had been.

The skin was pale, stretched too tight over its bones.

And then, it smiled.

A grin too wide, too unnatural.

I stumbled back, heart racing.

I turned to run, but the attic ladder was gone.

Vanished.

My breath came in short gasps as I spun around, searching for an escape.

The figure moved closer, its limbs jerking unnaturally.

A whisper slithered through the air, my name spoken in a voice that wasn’t mine.

I pressed against the wall, my flashlight flickering again.

The figure loomed over me now, its grin stretching wider.

Then, the light went out.

And in the darkness, it laughed.

I don’t remember what happened next.

When I woke up, I was in my bed, the attic door shut tight.

Had it been a dream?

My body ached, my hands were covered in dust.

I checked the attic the next day—nothing was out of place.

But at night, when the house is quiet, I still hear it.

The whispering.

The laughter.

And sometimes, when I close my eyes, I see that grin, waiting for me in the dark.