The Last Message in the Rain – Part 2: Shadows in the Attic

The rain came back two nights later, pounding against Anna’s windows as if it had a message of its own to deliver. Each drop was like a warning, a steady drumbeat of doom that rattled the dishes in her kitchen. Thunder cracked so loudly it felt as though the sky itself was splitting apart.

Living alone in a town where storms were as much a part of life as the creaking of old houses had made Anna somewhat accustomed to them. But ever since the letters started showing up, every storm felt different—more than just a force of nature. It felt like a countdown, like the universe was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

Anna sat on the edge of her couch, staring at the coffee table where the latest letter lay, a chill creeping over her. Her fingers traced the edges of the envelope, almost afraid to open it. This one felt different from the others. More unsettling.

“Tonight, you’ll hear footsteps in the attic. Don’t go up. He’s watching.”

She read the words again, and again, trying to make sense of them. The letter hadn’t come through the mail. It had been slipped under her door, the paper slightly damp from the storm outside. She didn’t want to believe it. She couldn’t believe it. She hadn’t stepped foot in the attic in over a year, and there was no reason to. No one had a key.

But the strange thing was, all the other letters had come true—things she never could have predicted, things that seemed too specific to be random.

The first letter had warned her she’d spill coffee on an important report right before a big meeting. She did. The second had said she’d find a silver bracelet under her car seat—a bracelet she thought was lost for good. It was there, just as the letter had said. The third had predicted a stranger would knock on her door, asking for someone named “Isabel.” She’d answered, confused, and the man had simply walked away after hearing she had no idea who Isabel was.

And now this—footsteps in the attic.

She glanced up at the ceiling. The attic door was down the hall, sealed shut, unused for as long as she could remember. But now… the thought of something—someone—lurking up there made her skin crawl.

The lights flickered. The wind howled louder, rattling the windows. Then, she heard it.

A sound.

Not the house settling. Not the wind.

Footsteps.

Slow, deliberate.

One… two… three...

Her heart began to race as the footsteps moved directly above her bedroom. They paused for a moment, then continued, each step deliberate, echoing in the silence. Anna froze, barely breathing. She grabbed her phone, her fingers shaking as she opened the flashlight app, the beam of light cutting through the darkness ahead.

She crept down the hallway, each creak of the floor beneath her feet matching the rhythm of the footsteps above. The attic door loomed at the end of the hall, like an ominous eye watching her every move.

Another step.

Anna held her breath.

Then, the knock. Three soft taps.

Her pulse raced. Every instinct in her screamed to run—to hide, to lock the door and forget she ever heard those footsteps. But instead, she stood there, paralyzed. Slowly, she backed away, her hand fumbling for her phone. She needed to hear someone’s voice—someone who could tell her she wasn’t losing her mind.

She called her sister.

No answer.

She dialed again. Still nothing.

Just as she lowered the phone, it vibrated. A voicemail.

Her stomach dropped. She tapped the screen, her fingers trembling as she held the phone to her ear.

“Anna… you need to remember. The attic isn’t just a place. It’s where it started. Don’t open it. Please. He’s still up there.”

Her voice. But distorted. Muffled by static. It sent a chill down her spine. The room seemed to close in on her, her thoughts spinning out of control.

How could it be her voice? What did she mean by “where it started”?

She turned toward the window, the flash of lightning illuminating the night sky. For just a split second, she caught her reflection in the glass. But there was something wrong—something out of place. A figure. Barely visible in the dark, standing just behind her.

She whipped around.

The room was empty.

Her breath caught in her throat. She stood still, frozen, her mind racing, her heart pounding. Time stretched in the silence. Her eyes darted around the room, waiting for another knock, another sound, another sign. But nothing came.

Then, something slid under the door.

Anna jumped. She rushed to the door, almost knocking it off its hinges, her heart in her throat. She pulled open the door and picked up the fresh envelope.

It was bone dry. Untouched by the rain outside.

She tore it open, the paper crisp, the handwriting bold and familiar.

“You’ve forgotten too much, Anna. But he hasn’t. When the clock strikes 2:17, it begins again.”

She stared at the clock.

2:11 AM.

Her pulse quickened.

Upstairs, the footsteps started moving again.

To be continued...