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The Attic Door

Stories You Don’t Want to Hear in the Dark

By Mycheille NorvellPublished 3 years ago Updated 3 years ago 4 min read
3
Edited on PhotoLeap by Mycheille Norvell

I feel the cool breath on my cheek, but I keep reminding myself it’s nothing. It’s just a cold night… don’t open your eyes. Don’t open your eyes…

There’s an odd mildew smell filling the air, just as it does most nights. I’m just hoping this is all it is tonight— just the smell, just the breath on my cheeks. I can handle that… I can.

Slow creaking footsteps pad through the hallway in an uneven way… like it’s skipping a step. Breath catches in my chest. Grandma could’ve gotten up… I should check on her. She’s not supposed to walk on her own since the accident. I tell myself, trying to bolster my nerves, but there’s something sinister in the air, and it warns me not to move.

The sound continues, and it gets closer, accompanied by a low, soft moan of sorts. It’s nothing… just the wind. But then the steps stop just beside my door, at the foot of the attic—the door to my son’s room. Motherly panic and protectiveness takes over, and my eyes pop open.

I hear the handle start to jiggle as if someone’s trying to turn it to open, even though it’s broken and only needs to be pulled. The room suddenly gets so cold… the mildew smell fiercer now. My daughter whimpers beside me, pulling the blanket tighter to her neck. I glance at her, my brows knitted together in concern, but she’s still fast asleep, and I’m grateful. This has been happening for months, but I try to let the kids think it’s nothing when they ask about the strange noises, or the shadows that pass in the hallway… much like I try to convince myself.

My daughter’s nightlight casts an unnatural ethereal green light towards the door… but it’s the shadow that meets the glowing light that sends a shiver of fear through me. I’m a grown woman, but right now I feel like a little girl who is afraid of the monster under the bed… the problem is, though, I know this beast isn’t just imagined. I’ve witnessed it’s strange carnage in the kitchen when it opens every cupboard, knocking food onto the counters. It is not just my imagination…

The strange spirit is focused back on the attic door, turning the handle more… and then it’s as if it became frustrated, banging on the door once. I jump when I hear the door handle clang as it starts to spin. My eyes go wide, and I’m paralyzed with fear. I don’t know what to do… wait for it to leave? Get up and hope my presence scares it away? I haven’t had to face it yet, and I’ll admit I’m not looking forward to the possibility.

The door suddenly goes quiet, the breath stuck in my throat as I wait to hear anything. Did it somehow get into the attic? Oh God… Alec! What if it went up to him? I suddenly think, and that protectiveness finally defeats the fear. I flip my feet off the bed, and instantly my naked toes feel frozen as if touched by ice. I see the air move from my lips as I let out a breath, but I can’t let terror guide me now. As I turn though, my eyes seem pulled towards the mirror hanging on the wall, right across from my open door.

My body is shaking when I see the reflection of a tired-looking, sallow old man… he looked like an old farmer in his baggy overalls and button-up shirt. But it was his dark eyes looking back at me, and his lips set into a sneer, that shocked me to my core. My fingers suddenly pull into fists, frustration moving through me.

I turned to the door then, ready to meet this monster’s eyes directly, ready to yell at it, to tell it to go to Hell… but nothing was there. I gaped at the empty doorway, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach as I search in the green-glowing darkened hallway.

Nothing… I was alone. But as I looked back at the mirror, even as the room began to warm up again, the smell fading as quickly as it had come, I knew I had just gotten a glimpse into the eyes of the beast haunting my family. He’d be back… but next time? I’m not going to be silent. Next time he’s going to face me.

fiction
3

About the Creator

Mycheille Norvell

Mycheille has a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree in Creative Writing for Entertainment, as well as a Master of Science degree in Instructional Design & Technology, from Full Sail University. She has been writing since she was a child.

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