Lately I’ve been hearing strange noises coming from up in my attic. Don’t think I’ve immediately jumped to conclusions, I’m writing this in my journal hoping it is found if I don’t make it out of here alive after weeks of assuming it’s just simply raccoons or bats flying amuck my dirty, cobweb ridden attic. Hell, I haven’t been up there in years, and I’ve been too scared of whatever the hell it is up there to check.
It started with just little padders, the noises it would make would line up with a small animal running about. Honestly, the first time I heard it I didn’t think much of it at all. I live in a pretty old house and if you’ve ever lived in one, you know about all the creaks and whatnot that the ancient homes can produce. It really wasn’t all that shocking to me. I’ve lived alone since my husband peacefully passed in his sleep 5 years ago, and as I’ve gotten older I have to admit I’ve let both myself and the house, my once prized possession, go. With my husband’s passing my daughter, who has never quite been all there, worsened even herself and I haven’t heard from her in years. His passing took a huge toll on the family, he was the true thick glue to hold everyone together whether it be from planning Thanksgiving gatherings, reunions, or just a simple stop by family members houses.
I can’t say I haven’t been concerned its my husbands ghost returning to try giving me a wake up call. He always was the big cleaner, lecturing me every now and again to help him tidy up. I’ve never been messy, don’t get me wrong, he just had a strong touch of OCD, specifically about cleaning. If he were to spot a single dirt speck on the kitchen table you could only pray to God he’d still eat that day. Sadly, I feel now it’s something more malicious than just my husbands ghost telling me to get off my ass and clean. Over the span of the last few weeks the padders turned into thumps, which turned into bangs, and eventually I called the police.
I just wanted to check, you know? I’ve heard the horror stories of homeless people living in homes amongst the unknowing owners. Me being an old woman I figured I’m one of the top targets to these crimes. Honestly, I’m unsure if I could even walk up the stairs to my attic without breaking a hip these days. But, to my demise, when the police officers arrived they didn’t seem to really take me seriously. They made me feel as if I was just an old bat starting to hear things, and I believed them. They checked my attic, came down and shrugged. “Nothing up there. No trace of any animals nor scary homeless people waiting to drink your blood.” The officers laughed with each-other, teasing the old lady who’s gone a little cuckoo.
That was three days ago. I’ve tried my best to ignore any noises since then, I’ve even figured myself I’m just getting too old to be living alone. No one visits me anymore, especially after Harold, my husbands, passing. But, now, as I write this with my shaky hands, I’m here to tell you I am going to my attic. I need to prove to myself that it isn’t real, that it’s all in my head. The noises are simply too much to bear anymore without proof there’s nothing up there. And a few minutes ago, I swore I heard the sounds of a woman whimpering with the most melancholic noises I’ve ever heard in my seventy four years of living.
Fuck. It was fucking her, god how could the police have missed her? My daughter, the one I had raised her entire life, HAROLD raised his entire life, I found in a metal stand up cabinet sitting, smushed into the sides of the interior. I screamed when I first saw her, horrified at what I had found, what I had saw. Seeing my daughter gnawing on Harold’s bones, her teeth surrounding her as she continued to chew with a full bloody mouth, blood dripping out as she tried to eat bone like a rabid animal. There were dead squirrels, raccoons, hell even a cat I found half eaten sitting in her lap, dark blood splattered all over the inside of the cabinet, even on the ceiling of it. I’m so sorry mommy…” she kept mumbling over and over again as I had just kept screaming in true damn horror.
I passed out eventually. She looked me in my eyes after saying she was sorry over and over again for what seemed like hours. I’ve never been more terrified than when I looked into her eyes, they were empty, cold even. It was similar to the look of a rabid animal, or a hungry Gorilla. Have you ever seen a look of such just pure hunger? But not in the, “Oh, I could go for a burger.” way. Bloodthirsty. I was preparing myself to be attacked, to use any of my energy to fight her back, but the last thing I remember is feeling something similar to possibly a hard rock hit my head. I know now it was none other than my beloved Harold’s bone, my guess being his femur.
When I woke up I was greeted by laying in my own pool of blood, touching my head to feel a large open wound. Truthfully, the reason I’m writing this is because I don’t want to seek medical attention. I think I’ll be lucky to die. I feel as if my daughter gave me a warning message, looking into my eyes with such negative emotions, a negative soul.
So, i’m warning you now. If you hear those noises in your attic, leave and try far the hell away. Don’t worry about your bags, it’s better to lose everything than to have this outcome. Because when I woke up, and finally was able to see and recognize my surroundings, the words “I’m going to get you.” and “It’s your fault” were written all across my attic wall in a mixture of likely animal shit, animal blood, and maybe even some of my own. The worst part? I can hear loud thumping and movement coming from below me, and all I can do is pray for you to find this and for me to die quickly, before she comes back up for me.