Whispers in the Attic

When Daniel inherited his grandfather's old countryside house, he was more annoyed than grateful. The property, isolated on the edge of a forgotten village, was a creaking relic of the past. Still, he decided to visit for a weekend, thinking he might sell it after a few repairs.

The house stood like a lonely sentinel at the end of a narrow, winding road. The walls had cracks from time, and the paint was peeling like skin. A rusted gate groaned as he pushed it open. With each step up the porch, the wood moaned beneath his feet, almost warning him not to enter.

Inside, the house was musty. Daniel's presence stirred the air, causing dust to linger. Sunlight leaked through torn curtains, casting long shadows across the furniture still covered in white sheets. Since the death of his grandfather two years ago, nothing appeared to have changed. Daniel walked through the rooms, memories faintly surfacing of childhood visits. His grandfather had always been quiet, stern, and oddly protective of the house, especially the attic. Daniel remembered trying to sneak up there once, only to be scolded harshly. He had never been allowed in.

Now, curiosity pulled him towards it.

The attic door was at the end of the hallway on the second floor. Its handle was old, stained with age, and cold to the touch. When he turned it, the door creaked open slowly. A steep staircase led upward into darkness.

He climbed carefully, each step echoing. At the top, he found a low-ceilinged room, cluttered with old furniture, boxes, and cobwebs. Dust lay thick on everything. A small round window let in a sliver of fading light.

But something felt wrong.

Daniel shivered, though the air was not cold. It felt like someone was watching him. Brushing the feeling off, he started opening boxes. Most contained junk – yellowed books, broken tools, old clothes. But then he came across an odd journal bound in leather. Its cover was cracked, its pages filled with spidery handwriting.

As he flipped through it, he realized it was his grandfather’s journal. The entries were mostly mundane, notes on weather and gardening. Then, toward the back, the tone changed.

August 3rd. Last night, the voice came back to me. Soft whispers from the attic. I know what I saw, but the doctor says it was a dream. I am not mad. It was her.

August 12th. She will not leave me alone. Every night, I hear her call my name. Sometimes I see her shadow move across the floor, though the door is locked.

August 20th. I buried her beneath the attic. I had to. She would not stop screaming. I thought it would end. But it has only just begun.

Daniel’s breath caught in his throat.

Beneath the attic?

He looked around. The floorboards creaked underfoot. A section in the far corner seemed newer, as if it had been replaced. He walked over and knelt, brushing away dust. The boards there were slightly different, misaligned with the rest.

His heart pounded as he fetched a screwdriver from his bag. Carefully, he pried up one of the boards.

A foul smell rose up immediately, thick and putrid. Daniel gagged and covered his nose. Below the boards was a shallow cavity. Inside lay a decaying bundle wrapped in what looked like a bedsheet.

His hands were shaking. It was a body.

Staggering back, Daniel slipped and fell, dropping the board with a loud bang. The attic seemed to darken. The air grew heavy.

Then he heard it.

A soft whisper.

It approached him from behind. He turned slowly, his eyes wide.

Nothing.

But then, a figure stepped out of the shadow near the window.

It was a woman. Pale. Dressed in a faded nightgown. Her hair hung in damp, tangled strands. Her eyes were hollow, her face twisted in sorrow.

She pointed at him.

"You found me," she whispered.

Daniel froze. His legs refused to move.

She took a step closer. The floor did not creak beneath her.

"My name was Evelyn," she said, voice like wind through dead leaves. "He killed me. Locked me away. I begged, but he would not listen."

Daniel could not speak. The air was thick, like trying to breathe underwater.

"Now I can be free," she said. "However, you must aid me." The lights flickered. The house groaned.

Daniel finally managed to stammer, "What do you want?"

"Give me peace," she said. "Speak the truth to them." With that, she faded like smoke in sunlight.

Daniel sat there in silence for a long time. When he finally came to his senses, he called the local police.

The body was identified as a young woman reported missing decades ago. Evelyn Marlow. She had worked as a maid for Daniel’s grandfather. Rumors had surrounded her disappearance, but no one had ever been charged.

With the discovery, the case reopened. Old stories surfaced. Some neighbors remembered hearing screaming from the house. Others spoke of his grandfather’s strange behavior, his isolation, his obsession with the attic.

The police thanked Daniel. They closed the case as a long overdue justice finally served.

Daniel did not stay in the house again.

Before he left, he returned to the attic one last time. It was quiet. Still.

But just as he stepped down the last stair, he thought he heard a soft voice whisper,

"Thank you."