When I first moved in, I made a little hangout space for myself in the attic with cushions, blankets, string lights, and an old tv. Every time I felt overwhelmed, I’d retreat to my hideout in the attic. At first, the figure appeared as a shadowy ripple in my peripheral vision. I’d whip my head around only to find myself staring down an empty room. I assumed my mind was playing tricks on me.
On the day things started to escalate, my husband, Gabe, and I were watching tv. I wanted some alone time to destress, so I tried to excuse myself. He grabbed my arm. “Come on, you never spend time with me anymore . . .” I pulled away: “I promise I just need some space, you know how work’s been recently.” He pouted and let go. I turned around and started to walk away.
“Wait . . .”
I looked back. “What is it?”
“Ah, nothing.”
Gabe looked like he had more to say, but I was already out of the room at that point. I love my husband, but he could be very clingy.
I pulled the attic stairs down and had almost made my way up when I saw the figure. It was in the corner of my eye, but it was no longer a small ripple. It looked like a person made out of swirling, black smoke. I turned to look at it and it disappeared, but lingered just enough that I knew I wasn’t seeing things. It was there. I felt so uneasy and weak I had to wrap my arms around the ladder so I wouldn’t fall off. After I’d taken a second to calm down, I raced back to the living room where Gabe was. He seemed concerned, but didn’t pry. I spent the rest of the night with him, trying to get my mind off of what I’d seen.
I didn’t go back to the attic for a couple of weeks after that. Gabe seemed happy about this, he insisted on spending every moment with me. Eventually, I was able to convince myself that the figure had just been a mix of stress and exhaustion getting to my head. It was stupid, sure, but I wanted my space back. I excused myself after dinner to go to the attic. Gabe protested, trying to fight me on it, but I wouldn’t have it.
I didn’t see anything when I entered. I sat down in my little hide out and couldn’t keep my eyes open for long. It was when I woke up an hour later that I saw the figure standing a couple feet in front of where I was lying. I wanted to run, but I could barely move. All I could do was stare at it. It wasn’t as terrifying up close: the figure was my height, roughly in the shape of a person, and had deep gashes in its torso where the black smoke wouldn’t enter. The only difference was what it was holding. In its right hand was a long, serrated knife. Seeing this, I regained control over my body, sprinted across the attic, and threw myself down the stairs. Gabe came racing into the hallway.
“What the hell happened?!” He was angry.
I started sobbing, “I’m sorry, I don’t know, the attic . . .”
“You know what? Fuck this.” He stormed off.
It took awhile for me to calm down, but, when I did, I grabbed dinner from the fridge and went straight to bed. Gabe didn’t speak to me for the rest of the night.
The next day, I woke up and went to work as normal. Well, “normal.” I couldn’t focus all day– my mind kept going back to the attic. At first, I was afraid. However, as the day went on, I only became more curious. I wanted to confront what was up there. I wanted to find the truth. When I got home, I walked past Gabe. I tried to ignore him but he caught me first.
“I’m making steak for dinner.”
“Thanks. I’ll be upstairs.” I wasn’t trying to be curt, but I could tell that’s how it sounded.
“Of course.” He huffed and turned away from me. I continued on my way.
I went up the attic stairs and the figure was waiting for me. I pulled the stairs up so we wouldn’t be interrupted. It was still holding the knife, but I didn’t feel threatened by it. I don’t know how to explain it, but, for whatever reason, I knew it wasn’t going to hurt me. Swirls of the black smoke started pooling from its eyes and dissipating as they hit the ground. It was . . . crying? It put its head down. Seeing this, I began to feel an overwhelming sense of sadness. I sat down, put my head in my hands, and also started to cry.
We stayed like that for a little while longer, sharing in each other’s grief. Eventually, I stood up and slowly approached it. I lifted its chin with my hand and found my own face staring back at me. The other me leaned in and whispered: “don’t let it happen to you too.” It collapsed, disappearing into a cloud of smoke along with the knife it was holding. I heard my husband yelling for me downstairs.
“DINNER’S READY!”
My heart skipped a beat.
“DIN-NER IS READ-Y.”
I began pushing the heaving box I could find overtop the attic entrance.
“I CAN HEAR YOU MOVING AROUND UP THERE.”
I froze.
“STOP IGNORING ME.”
I heard something slam as footsteps grew louder.
“GET DOWN HERE.”
I held my hand over my mouth, barely able to breathe. I felt pounding underneath my feet– he was using something to hit the ceiling.
I’ve been sitting here for what feels like forever. I’m trapped.