Shadows in the Attic

Shadows in the Attic

Elena did not mean that people spoke about them, and she never believed in ghosts. Certainly, she had heard stories, doors, flickering lights, cold spots that people claimed were caused by spirits. But she knew well. The world was full of science, logic and reasons. Despite this, she attended something about the old house.

When she and her husband Mark moved into a Victorian style home, it was a dream that became true. It was spacious with high ceilings and original wooden flooring. The only catch was a sealed attic, with wooden doors nailed. Previous owners did not mention it, and real estate agents did not. The house was on the market for several months, and Elena had assumed it was just an accident.

They had spent the first few weeks trying to calm down. The house was calm and too quiet, but nothing extraordinary. It was only one night when Mark was too late in the office, but Elena noticed a strange noise.

It started with a weak wound, like a wooden claw that came from the attic. She tried to ignore it first. Caro's old house, don't you have it? However, as the night continued, the scratching stopped, and it grew bigger. Then there was a step - worse and intentionally, like those who went back and forth in a small attic. Elena's heart raced. She had a lively imagination, she knew, but she felt that was true.

The next morning, she brought it to Mark. He pulled it into a settled house with a repellent. But when he was at home, the noise began again - tattered, attacked, then silenced. Elena was frozen at the foot of the stairs, staring flat at the attic door and her breath. It was like what was waiting there just behind a thin wooden door.

"I'm going there," she explained one night as Mark left again.The house felt choking as if she was breathing, and she had to know the cause of the disorder.

Elena grabbed a flashlight and grabbed a hammer from the garage. The claws on the wooden doors on the roof were old and rusty, but they made little effort. When the door opened, it was hit by dust and a musty scent of age. The attic was small and full of old furniture covered in boxes and white leaves. There is nothing extraordinary. She stepped into it, the planks moaning under her weight, glowing light into the room.

Then she saw it. He stands right behind the range of a flashlight jet, at the back corner of the attic. Her breath was caught around her neck, and for a moment her heart stopped. He looked big, incredibly large, with long spindle-shaped arms. There was no face - a dark, hollow emptiness that should have had its properties. The edges of its shape seemed as smoky as blurred in the weak light.

"Elena..." The whisper echoed from the corner, but the mouth didn't move. "Elena..."

She tripped backwards and stumbled over the box. Her heart hit her chest, and she felt the overwhelming urge to escape. But her legs were frozen, as if the house itself had captured it. The whispers became bigger and more permanent, bringing them closer to its appearance, but all the fibers screamed to run.

Suddenly, there was a sharp sound behind her - loud, how something fell. She swirled around, a flashlight jet shaking in her hands. The room was empty again. There are no illustrations. There are no whispers. Only the melancholy silence of the attic.

raced your thoughts. Did she imagine that? But as she began to go, the door slammed into the door, almost attacking her. Panic began. She tried to put it on, but it wasn't upset. The air in the attic felt thick and choking.

"Elena..."