The Whisper in the Attic

The Whisper in the Attic
The rain tapped against the window like impatient fingers as Emily sat alone in her creaky old house. The power had gone out an hour ago, leaving her with only the flickering glow of a single candle. She’d been reading a book to pass the time, but the silence felt heavier now, pressing in from all sides.

Then came the sound—a faint scratch, like nails dragging across wood. It was coming from the attic. She froze, her breath catching. The house was old, sure, but she’d never heard that before. She told herself it was just the storm, a branch scraping the roof. Still, her eyes darted to the ceiling.

The scratching stopped. Silence again. She exhaled, shaky but relieved. Then, a thud. Something heavy had fallen up there—or moved. Her heart pounded as she grabbed the candle and crept toward the attic stairs. She didn’t want to go up, but the not-knowing was worse.

The wooden steps groaned under her weight. The air grew colder as she climbed, the candle’s flame trembling in her grip. At the top, the attic stretched out in shadows, cluttered with dusty boxes and forgotten junk. She held the light higher, scanning the room.

Nothing. Just stillness. She turned to leave, chastising herself for being paranoid, when she heard it—a whisper. Low, raspy, like dry leaves skittering across pavement. It came from behind her. She spun around, the candle casting wild shadows, but the attic was empty.

“Emily…” The whisper came again, clearer this time, and her blood turned to ice. No one else was in the house. She lived alone. Her voice cracked as she called out, “Who’s there?”

Silence answered her. Then, slowly, the shadows in the far corner began to shift. They peeled away from the wall, forming a shape—tall, thin, with long, spindly arms that didn’t bend right. Its face was a blur, like smudged charcoal, but she felt its eyes on her, unblinking.

She stumbled back, the candle slipping from her hand. It hit the floor, snuffing out, plunging her into darkness. The whispering turned into a low, guttural laugh, and she felt cold fingers brush her arm. She screamed, bolting for the stairs, but the steps seemed endless, twisting beneath her feet.

When the power finally flickered back on hours later, the house was quiet again. Emily was gone. The attic was empty, save for a single candle, upright on the floor, burning steadily as if it had never been dropped.