The Man in the Attic
Mike and his mother Sarah lived in a sharply white two-story house about eight miles from the city and half a mile away from a red diner which worked throughout the week and the weekend. The house was adjacent to naught else but the road and the forest. Mike was homeschooled and sixteen years of age and his mother worked as a teacher in the city. She would wake up at about six o’clock in the morning and start up the blue jeep which was parked by the house at around seven o’clock in the morning and go to the city. She would usually come back home at around half past seven in the evening. It was winter and Mike was feeling insecure staying alone at home. The house had a tall big attic which neither Mike nor his mom ever visited because the way it was built gave off a frightening vibe; something within the position of the bricks and the whiteness continuing on upward and upward could frighten anybody. Was it the sway of shadows the attic cast upon the staircase? Was it the oldness and barrenness its walls gave out? Well, it was perhaps the combination of many things; but they never went into the attic themselves. When he would sleep Mike would get nightmares. When he was awake throughout the day learning or watching TV or playing video games, he would feel watched. Sometimes food would disappear from the fridge and the drapes in the upper rooms would move on their own. Sometimes when he was alone, he would feel the whiteness of the walls and almost hear whispers coming out of them. It was frightening. So frightening being alone hour upon hour in the winter and knowing you could not leave the house and go anywhere. One day Mike was on the lower floor watching TV when he heard the opening of a door. A chill ran through his spine and he felt coldness. He quickly picked up his mobile phone and stared at its screen. Then he heard a footstep and looking backward could see a shadow peering in through the upper sections of the staircase. He quickly shot up and walked to the front door. It was cold and his hands were trembling. He put on a jacket summarily and exited out the house. Just as he did so he glanced at the window and saw a figure walking along the staircase from inside the house. He ran away in a swift manner and because he hadn’t the keys to the gate he climbed on top of the fence and jumped – falling on the opposite side and leaving the perimeter of the house and the garden. He looked toward the window of the house again and saw nobody on the staircase; however, just at that moment he saw that the curtains moved on their own up in the attic. Fear gripped him like never before. He was frightened to his core. The slow movement of the curtains felt like the dingiest scene of a blackened nightmare; he was so alone… He quickly dialed his mother’s phone number, but she wouldn’t pick up. He didn’t know what to do. He knew one thing. He couldn’t go back to the house. So, he started walking through the snowy road toward the diner. It took about fifteen minutes. He entered in shivering and frightened. A deep scowl was upon his face and his eyelids were moving swiftly. He felt cold and alone and frightened. ‘There’s a man in my house.’ – he told the lady behind the counter. ‘A man in your house?’ – she answered aptly. ‘He… he… He moved on the stairway and then tugged at the curtains in the attic.’ – Mike said. ‘Well, we better call the police then. It’s good you came here. It’s good you ran away.’ Mike thought for a moment and indeed decided to call the police. He dialed 911 and waited and then told the dispatcher everything. A single police car took more than an hour to arrive. Two policemen exited swiftly and entered the property. They entered the door of the house, guns drawn. Then they went up the staircase. One opened the door to the attic. Immediately a pale man wearing a gray shirt jumped out with a blade. He slashed at the officer’s neck and before the other policeman was able to shoot, he stabbed him in the chest. Then he ran quickly down the staircase and exited the house. The second policeman survived and was able to call for backup. The officers that came found nobody on the property. However, up in the attic they found different types of blades and food stored in a drawer and disheveled clothes upon a makeshift bed. They also found a notebook. An excerpt of what was written in it proves as follows: ‘I will kill them. I will make them fear me. The boy would be seeing shadows; he would be alone at home all day. And the shadows would frighten him. Frighten him good. He would be afraid to come up here in the attic. And when his mother comes back, he would feel better. And they would all go to sleep. Go to sleep. That’s when I would come in. I would come in. With the somberness of shadows and the movement of drapes and little sounds; I would enter each of their bedrooms and they would find out their worst nightmare in the dead of night; almost soundless; almost invisible; yet palpable and forever there.’ So it went… continuously with page after page. When Mike and his mother Sarah found out about everything that evening, they decided they would stay no longer in the house, but rent a small apartment in the city. Everything was good for about a month and a half. Mike felt comfortable staying alone in the apartment and his mother felt comfortable knowing he was alright. She would come in the evening and they would eat spaghetti or pizza for dinner and afterward go to sleep. However, starting a few days ago, in the middle of the night light knocks could be heard on the outside door. It was a heavy metal door, but it was frightening to hear the thuds nevertheless. Mike heard them a few nights while he was dazed and going to the bathroom. He thought nothing of them in his sleepy state. But he and his mother shortly began having nightmares. And once, in the dead of night, as Mike heard the light knocks on the door and made his way to it and peered through the peephole, he could see shadows moving and an eerie silhouette standing there, coated in darkness, knocking almost silently on the door. Credit: Victor Grant Official Site Facebook Poetry Instagram Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance.