Whispers of the unseen

The attic door groaned as it swung open, revealing a space wholly unoccupied, given up to dust and cobwebs. Something stirred faintly in the shadows, but my eyes, straining in the dim light, could discern nothing but the amorphous outlines of trunks and old suitcases stacked haphazardly. The air was heavy with dampness, the scent mingling with the stale aroma of time long passed.

I heaved myself into the attic, propping the door open to let light spill into the oppressive gloom. The beams beneath me felt precarious, each step a calculated risk. I knew that a single misstep onto the fragile plaster could send me crashing into the room below. An invisible cobweb swung its lazy woof in my face, clinging stubbornly to my skin. A shudder ran through me as though I had encountered a phantom, my breath catching in my throat.

 

Pressing on, the darkness seemed to grow thicker, the cold more biting, as I obstructed the feeble light from the doorway. Around me lay the detritus of another era—brown bags tied with string, ancient cardboard boxes, and rugs riddled with moth holes. The powdery residue of thick dust coated every surface, and I felt as though I were groping among the tombs, invading the privacy of the dead.

 

A superstitious dread crept over me for the first time, gnawing at my resolve. I paused before a disordered pile of camping equipment, a jumble of frayed ropes, torn canvas, wooden pegs, and a mallet tarnished with age. It was there, amidst the forlorn remnants, that I saw it: a hand, still and white as marble. For a moment, it lay motionless, a relic of the lifeless solitude that surrounded me. Then, it moved.

 

Beaded drops of sweat poured down my forehead, and I was gripped by a paralyzing fear. I whispered to myself, “John! Keep calm. Is this real? Is the visitant tormenting you again? No, no, it’s not.” I drew a deep breath, summoning the courage that had always seen me through before.

 

The fire had burned low, casting faint, flickering shadows around me. A sense of loneliness crept over me, chilling me more than the icy air. I arose cautiously, moving on tiptoe as if surrounded by unseen foes whose slumber it would be fatal to disturb. Each step seemed to echo louder than it should.

 

As I edged toward the door, the floor beams groaned under my weight. The rain lashed at the windows, and the wind howled like a mournful specter. I paused, gripping the doorframe for support. Suddenly, a whisper broke through the cacophony, faint but unmistakable. I spun around, searching the shadows cast by the pale moonlight, but there was nothing there.

 

All at once, a suffocating dread overwhelmed me. I found myself crawling clumsily toward the open door, my limbs heavy with fear. The blankets of courage I had wrapped myself in began to slip away, much like the bedclothes in a nightmarish memory.

 

As I lay there, paralyzed, the sense of expectancy grew unbearable. I could feel every breath, every beat of my heart pounding against my chest. Then, the floor beneath me seemed to shudder. A sound—heavy, deliberate footsteps—approached. They were too weighty to belong to any human. The boards beneath strained and creaked, the sound amplifying the oppressive silence.

 

The steps paused near the door. For an agonizing moment, I waited, unable to stir, my breath caught in my throat. Finally, they receded into the blackened corridors, leaving behind an eerie silence. Weak with terror, I could do nothing but cling to the fragments of light and hope that still lingered. Silence reigned once more, but my heart refused to be still.

 

Panicked I clutched my phone. My fingers trembled, and I pressed the screen, desperate for a signal. No signal. All was still—all but my own heart—I could hear it beat, loud and frantic. My legs felt heavy as I stumbled toward the terrace’s door, stepping out onto the terrace. The cold night air hit me like a slap. The door behind me slammed shut. Rain began to pour, soaking me as thunder rolled in the distance.

 

Then I saw it. A figure emerged, its white form glowing faintly. It reached for me, its voice soft yet commanding. “You need to rest. Take the pills.” The world blurred and darkness followed. I awoke in a sterile room, with white walls glowing faintly in the artificial light. A nurse leaned over me, her expression was a mixture of pity and professionalism. «You’ve had another episode,» she whispered quietly.

 

@Yolanda Muriel Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported (CC BY-NC-ND 3.0)