A couple of days ago I found myself reading a discussion thread on a Discord server devoted to the paranormal and supernatural. The thread delved into subjects such as unexplainable and creepy sounds. According to people commenting their experiences were true. Out of all the posts, there was especially one that piqued my interest. The person in question claimed that they had heard strange knocks coming from their attic. This went on for a couple of nights before they started hearing disembodied voices and whispers. Due to the nature of the server, the explanations were of a paranormal nature. The most popular theories regarded ghosts and spirits, while there were those that meant that it could very well be demons. I guess what I’m about to share also could be chalked up to something similar, but I’m not sure. In fact, I believe that it could be something even worse. But before I get ahead of myself, allow me to explain what actually happened to me, back when I was 10 years old.
It was the 90’s. At the time I was still living in my childhood home. It was a large, two-story, semi-detached house, quite modern for the time. We had a pretty sizeable backyard where I would spend time outside of school with my friends. There was also a garden that my mother attended whenever she could and where she not only grew flowers and plants, but also vegetables. All in all, it was a great place to grow up in. Looking back, I would say that I spent some of the best years of my life in that very house. There was nothing to fear. Never would I have thought that feeling could change, but it did. Something happened; something that would sully my idyllic youth, forever. To be honest, relief washed over me once we moved, several years later.
My older sister hade recently moved out to live with her boyfriend. Left in the household was me, mom, dad and my older brother, Shaun. As per usual, dad was away on one of his business trips. That evening, mom and Shaun were at the community centre taking jitterbug classes. For the last couple of weeks I’d been allowed to stay home alone. While it might only have been for a few hours here and there, it was a huge step towards independence for me. Since this was the age before cellphones (at least the readily avaliable variety) and the Internet, I had to go over to the neighbors if I needed something.
I was seated on our couch in the living room upstairs, watching TV, with a full glass of soda and big bowl of snacks. As this was at least 30 years ago, I can’t recall what movie was on, but I believe it was some sort of cheesy 80’s action flick. My mother was very overprotective and had she known I was watching something like that, she would’ve lost it. I suppose that’s what made it more exciting. After all, I was breaking a sacred rule, but there was no one around to stop me. It was when I was about to head downstairs to refill my glass that I came to halt. My ears pricked up, as if they had caught something.
Outside, the autumn rain poured without restraint. Something, probably a tarp of sorts, was flapping violently in the howling wind. Explosions, gunfire and cheesy oneliners poured out from the TV soundsystem. I could hear my own breaths and the beating of my heart, both filling my eardrums. But although my senses were picking up an onslaught of sounds, none of them stood out as strange or unsettling. I figured that, as it was dark outside and I’ve only had the house to myself during daytime, that I was on edge. On a stormy evening like this, your mind had no issue playing tricks with you. The subtle feeling of tension soon faded and I procceded to head down to the kitchen for a refill.
A few minutes later, I gently sunk down in the couch again, as to not spill the contents of my glass. However, it wouldn’t take long before I thought I heard something again. It sounded like creaking. Must be due to the weather, I thought to myself. That said, something didn’t feel right. Our house wasn’t particularly old and therefore (at least according to my underdeveloped reasoning) it shouldn’t be possible. It brought to mind the sounds I would hear at my grandma’s place, but the house she lived in was old, probably built in the 1930’s. I took a sip and resumed to watching TV, but no more than 5 minutes later, I heard the creaking again. This time it felt like the entire building groaned, but instead of the sound dying down, it somehow remained – almost as if it was moving around.
Somehow, the creaking felt ”sentient”; like a blind person fumbling around in the dark. I might’ve been imagining things, but the floor had suddenly started to feel much colder. Growing up, I was never a particularly couragious kid. Shaun made sure to remind me of that whenever he could. So instead of investigating the noises, I grabbed a blanket from the backrest of the couch, pulled it up to my chin and turned up the volume. My eyes were fixed on the screen as I tried to block out everything else, but my attempts were fruitless. The creaking just kept going and going. Eventually, I decided to turn down the volume, ever so slightly, and try to determine what I was actually hearing. Through the downpour and the gale, I could hear things more clearly. Right next to us, seperated only by a wall, lived our neighbors: a family of five of which three of them were kids either younger or much older than me. My parents were on good terms with the parents. For the most part at least. Their kids were a whole other story.
Every time they would get into an argument it wouldn’t take long before it all escalated into something reminiscent of a small-scale war. In fact, one of the kids rooms (the teenager daughter’s I think) was situated right next to the room I was in. I relaxed a little, convinced that I had solved the mystery. But just to be on the safe side, I put my ear to the wall and listened, certain that I would hear footsteps or at least someone blasting music, but I was met by dead silence. If it had been a normal day like any other, that would’ve been a relief, but this realization only raised more questions. I did, however, know of a way that would dispel my confusion and set the record straight, once and for all.
My brother’s bedroom window happened to face our frontyard as well as the neighbor’s. The plan was to simply go and have a look, just to see whether or not the neighbors car was parked on the driveway. I just needed to make sure not to disturb anything in Shaun’s room. Besides, he was a jock-type of guy and I was a nerd – polar opposites, and hence I had no interest going through his stuff. I opened his door and looked in. The lights were out and I could make out the window on the opposite end. Without looking around I snuck straight ahead and once I had closed the distance, I peak outside. Across our street I could see the trees moving violently in the wind. The rain was pouring down, so much so that a nearby gutter inlet had started to flood. For all the years I lived in that town I had never seen anything like that. In fact, I was so mesmerized by what I was seeing that I almost forgot why I even entered Shaun’s room. But eventually, I focused my gaze on our neighbors’ driveway.
I furrowed my brow – no cars whatsoever. That’s when I recalled something my mother had said earlier that day. Apparently, the neighbors were out of state to visit some relatives. In fact, they had asked my mother if she couldn’t take in their mail, water plants etc. while they were gone. Somehow, I had completely forgotten about that. Then again, I barely knew them, so who can blame me? Something else also become apparent to me; the noises I had heard earlier, had now ceased.
I wasn’t sure what to believe anymore, but the more I looked out that window, the more I blamed the weather. Safe to say, it was really bad and even if our house was fairly new, it was not sturdy enough to withstand the power of the elements. And with that, I went back to the living room, but also making sure that I closed the door to Shaun’s room. Back in the comfort of the couch I pulled the blanket over me and tried to pay attention to the movie, but truth to be told, I was no longer up for it. My unease had made me sweat so much that my shirt was sticking to my skin. I also felt feverish. The air in the room felt stifling making it harder to breathe. I shot a glance at the wall clock. 8.15 PM.
Now that I’m an adult, it’s a bit embarassing to admit, but at that moment I really missed my mom. Hopefully they would be home soon. A childish thought came over me: if I kept staring intently at the clock’s hands, then maybe, just maybe, time would move faster? Keep in mind, I was a gullible 10-year old who had no real grasp on anything outside of videogames and movies. Said and done’ I focused my gaze – trying to make the hands of the clock move faster by sheer force of will. Not surprisingly, it didn’t have any effect. The more I strained my eyes, the more blurrier my vision became and before I knew it, I dosed off, if only for a few minutes.
With a violent, jerking motion, I all of a sudden sat up straight. At first I was unaware what had woken me from my slumber, but then I heard it; the ”footsteps” – they had returned. Something was different though. I can’t tell whether this minor detail had always been present or if I just now had taken note of it. The steps had this ”clicking” sound to it, as if someone was wearing shoes. Not only that, I was now made aware of exactly where the sounds were coming from. Cautiously, I slowly turned to face my parents bedroom. The door stood ajar. This came as no surprise as my parents had left it open after they got up. But with that said; the footsteps were definitely coming from that very room. From where I sat I couldn’t see anyone in there. I looked up and that is when I saw it; the small attic door in the ceiling, at the edge of my parents double bed. I froze; my eyes fixed on the unassuming hatch.
It is wildly known that most children fear confined spaces such as attics and basements, and even though it is possible to turn on the light, there are still nooks and crannies that the light can not reach. What if.. what if something lurked in those very shadows, withinin those unlit corners? Beings or things clad in a shroud of dust and mould. My attention shot back to those footsteps again. I listened intently and then it dawned on me. Whoever it was, they did more than merely walk. They were dancing slowly and intricate, yet incoherent and inconsistent – as they were getting used to a new pair of legs.
Throughout the entire evening, I had tried to use logic and reason to push away my juvenile imagination. In that regard, I was a product of my father, while my mother was more open-minded, even spiritual, in nature. I can recall the times they argued whenever my mother brought up subjects such as life after death and spirits, and how he always shut her down. ”It’s nothing but supersition.” Yet, no matter how hard I tried to apply his way of thinking, for every second that passed, that I could not make sense of it. Instead I cowered on the couch and wrapped the blanket around me, until I felt like a pupa encased in a protective cocoon.
It actually worked. Gradually, as the heat of the blanket crept into my skin, I started to calm down. My unwanted guest started to withdraw from my consciousness. My dad’s logical way of thinking returned. In my mind I started envisoning the attic. Something scurried and crawled in the dark. Mice. Rats. The sound of their claws scraping and clicking against the attic floor. Yes, of course. Why hadn’t I thought about that earlier? I could even recall the times my dad would go up there to put up traps. What a fool I had been! I felt invigorated, brave even, but what came next sent a chill up my back.
I had more or less convinced myself that the sounds were produced by rodents, when something else bled into my ears. At the age of 10, I had only heard maybe once or twice, but it was so distinct that I would never forget it. Someone.. was opening the attic door. The screaking of the unoiled hinges reminded me of nails on a chalk board, only much worse, as they sent shivers throughout my entire body. The once protective blanket cocoon now felt like a prison; a brazen bull in which I was being cooked alive. As soon as the screaking stopped it was followed up by the soft thump of the attic stairs hitting the carpeted floor. That very sound was the thing the reptilian part of my brain. I freed myself from the suffocating embrace of the blanket and vaulted over the backrest. As soon as my feet touched ground, I bolted down the stairs without even so much as throw a glance towards my parents bedroom. The stairs were steep, and it was a miracle that I didn’t trip and break something.
As soon as I reached my room I locked the door and hid under my bed. I dared not to move while paying attention to every little disturbance. It was silent for a while, but then I heard what could’ve been the sound of someone climbing down the attic stairs – one step at the time. I dreaded the worst; that as soon as they, whoever they were, would make their way downstairs, all the way to my door. What would I do then? I was cornered. This was it, I thought. This was the night that I was going to die. So, I closed my eyes, bracing myself for the end. However, no one came. Instead, I heard the front door being unlocked and shortly after, the voice of my mother cutting through the atmosphere of terror that had conquered our home.
”Chris! We’re home!”
Even now that my mother – my shining beacon of comfort and hope, was present, I didn’t dare to leave my hidingspot. A couple of minutes passed before someone started yanking the door handle. I peaked out from beneath the bed. Eventually I heard my mother’s irate voice behind the door.
”Chris? What have I told you about locking the door? You better open this instant!”
Without a word I crawled out from beneath the bed and then proceeded to unlock the door. My mother cracked it open and glared at me, but her facial expression softened as soon as she saw me.
”What’s wrong? Did something happen?”
The moment her words left her lips, my eyes started to well up with tears. Mom pulled me in and hugged me tightly. I started sobbing uncontrollably while she caressed my back. Years later, I still feel the same every time we embrace; protected from all the evils of this world. As soon as I had calmed down we sat down in the kitchen. Luckily for me, Shaun had already retreated back to his room. His penchant for calling me a ”mama’s boy” was something I really didn’t need to hear right now. In hindsight, I probably could’ve explained what had happened, but I chose not to; mostly due to the uncomfortable knot of lingering fear in my gut. Instead I lied, stating that it was due to the weather, but also that I had watched a horror movie. My mom’s reaction was surprising. Instead of flying off the handle and start ranting, she smiled softly and squeezed my hand.
”Well.. guess we have to reconsider whether or not you can stay home alone after this… Also, I need to ask you something.”
Then her smile withered and turned into a straight line; her once warm expression suddenly turning serious. I started feeling nervous.
”Y-yes?”
”Why did you go up to the attic?”
”The attic?” I said, confused, a faint shiver coursed through my skin, making the hair in my neck stand up.
She then procceded to tell me that she had noticed that the attic door stood open and the ladder had been extended. I didn’t know how to respond, but then I quickly came up with a white lie.
”I… uh.. just wanted to check it out… see if I could find some.. cool stuff.”
My mother sighed and crossed her arms.
”You know that you’re not allowed to go up there on your own. Dad and I have told you it’s dangerous!”
I nodded, ready to try and change the subject, something that she was very aware of.
”One last thing, young man, why were you messing around with my shoes?”
I looked at her, dumbfounded. I said I had no idea what she was talking about.
”Oh, stop playing games. I saw them, bright as day, an old pair of high heels, sitting on the very last slat of the ladder.”
That was the first and last time we ever discussed the attic as well as that pair of high heels. My mother, as stated earlier, was more open when it came to the paranormal, which leads me to believe that she knew something was up. If so, then why didn’t she say anything? Could it be because she could tell how frightened I was and therefore she didn’t want to make it worse? Some of you might expect me to follow this up with more unexplainable occurences taking place in that house, but that’s the thing – I never experienced anything like that ever again. Not even after me and my family moved out when I was 18.
As far as I’m aware, the same family that bought our house still resides there. Regardless of the incident, I still found myself checking it out whenever I was in the neighborhood. For the first while the sight of it filled me with a melancholic longing for more innocent times, without responsibilities. But eventually, the memories of that dark, autumn evening, reared its ugly face. It’s been a while since I last went there. Honestly, I’m not sure when or if I’ll ever go there again. So, this brings me to today; some 30 years later. Before I started writing this; I called and asked my parents about the plot of land where they had built our house, specifically – if there had been any buildings there prior to ours.
I had mentally prepared myself, ready to be told the gruesome tale of a murder house that was burned down after the husband had butchered his entire family. Or maybe, it used to be an ancient burial site or a place of worship, where a blood cult performed human sacrifices to some dark, unspeakable deity. Yeah, those last two were a bit of a stretch, but the first one at least felt somewhat plausible. The truth, however, was that there had been no signs or traces from any previous structures or the like, just a patch of uncultivated soil, whose only thrilling features had been a small cluster of trees. To some extent, I rejoiced in the fact that my childhood home was not haunted by a ghost or some other, vengeful spirit. But later that night, I came to a startling conclusion, that I find far more horrifying.
It all came to me the moment I unlocked the door to my storage room, which is located in the basement of my apartment building. I will admit it, the claustrophobic feeling that those naked halls gave off, would’ve made anyone feel unease, especially when you were down there all alone. After opening the door, I picked up the boxes I had brought with me and was about to step over the threshold, when I suddenly stopped. Before you ask – no, I did not see something, nor was it a sound that had made me freeze in my tracks. The dim glow of the fluorescent lights was only able to reach a couple of inches beyond the threshold and beyond that, impenetrable darkness.
At that point I had lived in that building for well over 3 years and never before had I had an issue with the basement. I couldn’t even tell the last time I had been scared of the dark. However, at that very moment, a child-like fear, took control of me, as the memories of that faithful night, when I was 10 years old, resurfaced. As an adult, more in tune with real life, you would think that I would be better equipped to dissect and analyze the unknown, to see things for what they are. But I disagree. If anything, the more I scratch the surface of this world’s inner workings, the more horrifying the possibilities become.
You recall what I said about the nooks and crannies that the light could not illuminate? Ok. Now, I want you to think of what purposes our attics, basements, storage rooms etc. serve. That’s right. You store things there. Things that you sooner or later will forget about. Dead things that you once imbued with meaning and purpose; in some way, you gave those inanimate objects ”life”. Sooner or later, however, they are piled up and left dormant. Obscured. I know how it may sound, but does it not remind you of a tomb? A catacomb of forgotten memories in which lifeless matter becomes hosts for something else; like when insects lay eggs in decaying, dead flesh? Only this time, it’s not maggots or some other squirming, slithering thing. It’s something else. Something that comes to life in the shadows, in those very nooks and crannies and that feeds on the things we wish to forget, no matter how mundane, big or small.
One thing is for certain though, tomorrow morning I’ll empty the storage, throw out everything I don’t intend on keeping and only keep the essentials close by, because just as I started speed-walking back to my apartment, I swear I heard the soft pitter-patter of old gymshoes.. inside the unlit storage… moving towards me…