About a month ago I was over my aunt’s house. I’ve been to my aunt’s house many times in the past, and yet I still felt as though I didn’t “know” it very well. I’m pretty sure each and every one of you “knows” your house or apartment. I’m not talking about knowing it in the sense that you know where everything is and how to get around, but in the sense that you feel comfortable in it—that you realize that nothing seems, for lack of a better phrase, out-of-place. But there’s always been one seemingly ordinary feature in my aunt’s house that’s always intrigued me. It’s a standard subdivision of almost every home: the attic. Look, I’ve been inside many attics before and my curiosity about them has sort of declined within the years. I used to think that attics are where secrets are kept hidden, and mysteries left undone, or what have you. We’ve all seen the movies supporting such childhood notions, but I’ve realized that there really isn’t anything out-of-the-ordinary about attics as compared to, say, basements, or anything else for that matter. But my aunt’s attic is a different story: it doesn’t look very special—I mean it’s the classic portrayal of an attic: a short staircase leading upwards toward a single door. But my aunt has never allowed me to venture into it—ever. I’ve asked and asked so much, and I’ve always had my request declined, that I’ve stopped asking all together for almost a year now. But when you’re not allowed to “see” something, or “know” about it, it just increases the desire to acquire such knowledge. And with that, I decided that I couldn’t take it anymore, and proceeded to take matters into my own hands and search through it.
I was sleeping over my aunt’s house for a few days—her house is located in Pennsylvania (the Pocono Mountains). Needless to say, her home is quite a distance from her nearest neighbors’ home. Now, my parents surprised her one of the nights that we were staying over by inviting her to join them in visiting a nearby relative whom she knows. I asked if I could stay over to study, and thankfully I was granted permission to reside inside and watch over the house while going about my business. When they left, I sat about watching TV for a short while—maybe fifteen minutes. But then I decided that I had nothing to lose—in a few days I would head back to campus, and if somehow my aunt found out about my misdeeds, I couldn’t get into too much trouble. What, she would drive all the way to my dorm and ridicule me? Yeah right. So with that, I lowered the TV’s volume, and made my way up to the second floor. It was approximately 9:45 PM right now, and the entire house was lit. I walked down the corridor on the second hallway to a darker section of the house where the attic staircase resided. I ventured cautiously, but curiously to it, and proceeded to try and open the door. It wouldn’t budge. But I could tell that with a little more maneuvering it would prop open. So with that, I went downstairs to the kitchen.
After finding a couple of paperclips, I made my way back up to the attic door and slid one into the keyhole of the door. I maneuvered it around a bit until I heard a slight “click.” I turned the doorknob, and thankfully, this time it opened. The attic, at first glance, was rather dark (some of the light from the second floor hallway made its way into the attic, so it wasn’t completely dark). However, I could see a single light bulb hanging down from the ceiling by its electrical wire, so I looked around to find the light switch. I found it, and now there was light in the room—granted, it wasn’t very powerful, but there was light. This particular attic looked relatively clean compared to others I’ve seen. I moved myself to a corner of the attic where I had to bend down to avoid bumping my head on the ceiling, and I searched through a box. Inside it I found a bunch of unrelated materials—pens, glue, gloves, toys—which, at first, didn’t seem to mean much, at least to me. Then I looked over, and there was a cracked mirror. I gazed at it for a second, and lifted it up. After looking at it briefly for minute details, I lowered it, but when I did, I noticed the attic door was closed. What’s weird about it is the fact that I had left it open earlier, and I didn’t even hear it close, which was the part that made me worrisome. Then I looked down at the cracked mirror once more, and when I did, I saw my face in it for a brief second like I could before, but this time I had cuts featured randomly throughout my face. I dropped the mirror in shock, and made my way toward the door as quickly as I could while trying to keep calm. As I reached the door, I tried opening it but couldn’t get it to budge. All the meanwhile I began hearing footsteps coming from beyond the door. I thought it could be my aunt, but then concluded that it couldn’t be—my parents and aunt couldn’t have come back so early from their trip. I kneeled down, plopped up against the door, and waited as the footsteps became heavier and heavier. When I felt as though they were right behind the door, I could hear the door’s lock mechanism click, and, well, that’s it. That’s all I heard. I waited several more minutes in complete silence, when I decided to slowly open the door. I opened it enough for me to peak out, and there was no one in sight.
At this point, I decided it was time to leave, so I made my out of the attic as quickly as I could. Heck, I even forgot to shut off the light in the attic. I ran downstairs, and pondered whether or not I should call up my parents and tell them what happened. But how could I? My aunt told me time and time again to not venture into that attic, so it was my fault. After a moment or two, I decided to go back to the living room and begin doing my schoolwork, like I originally had planned. All was well, and then my parents and aunt finally returned from their trip. The second I heard them pull into the driveway I made my way out the front door as quickly as I could. When I saw them, my father was still getting the car settled into the driveway, when I saw my aunt in the front seat looking over at me with the most haunting expression of disapproval and concern that I’ve ever seen in my entire life.
I was sleeping over my aunt’s house for a few days—her house is located in Pennsylvania (the Pocono Mountains). Needless to say, her home is quite a distance from her nearest neighbors’ home. Now, my parents surprised her one of the nights that we were staying over by inviting her to join them in visiting a nearby relative whom she knows. I asked if I could stay over to study, and thankfully I was granted permission to reside inside and watch over the house while going about my business. When they left, I sat about watching TV for a short while—maybe fifteen minutes. But then I decided that I had nothing to lose—in a few days I would head back to campus, and if somehow my aunt found out about my misdeeds, I couldn’t get into too much trouble. What, she would drive all the way to my dorm and ridicule me? Yeah right. So with that, I lowered the TV’s volume, and made my way up to the second floor. It was approximately 9:45 PM right now, and the entire house was lit. I walked down the corridor on the second hallway to a darker section of the house where the attic staircase resided. I ventured cautiously, but curiously to it, and proceeded to try and open the door. It wouldn’t budge. But I could tell that with a little more maneuvering it would prop open. So with that, I went downstairs to the kitchen.
After finding a couple of paperclips, I made my way back up to the attic door and slid one into the keyhole of the door. I maneuvered it around a bit until I heard a slight “click.” I turned the doorknob, and thankfully, this time it opened. The attic, at first glance, was rather dark (some of the light from the second floor hallway made its way into the attic, so it wasn’t completely dark). However, I could see a single light bulb hanging down from the ceiling by its electrical wire, so I looked around to find the light switch. I found it, and now there was light in the room—granted, it wasn’t very powerful, but there was light. This particular attic looked relatively clean compared to others I’ve seen. I moved myself to a corner of the attic where I had to bend down to avoid bumping my head on the ceiling, and I searched through a box. Inside it I found a bunch of unrelated materials—pens, glue, gloves, toys—which, at first, didn’t seem to mean much, at least to me. Then I looked over, and there was a cracked mirror. I gazed at it for a second, and lifted it up. After looking at it briefly for minute details, I lowered it, but when I did, I noticed the attic door was closed. What’s weird about it is the fact that I had left it open earlier, and I didn’t even hear it close, which was the part that made me worrisome. Then I looked down at the cracked mirror once more, and when I did, I saw my face in it for a brief second like I could before, but this time I had cuts featured randomly throughout my face. I dropped the mirror in shock, and made my way toward the door as quickly as I could while trying to keep calm. As I reached the door, I tried opening it but couldn’t get it to budge. All the meanwhile I began hearing footsteps coming from beyond the door. I thought it could be my aunt, but then concluded that it couldn’t be—my parents and aunt couldn’t have come back so early from their trip. I kneeled down, plopped up against the door, and waited as the footsteps became heavier and heavier. When I felt as though they were right behind the door, I could hear the door’s lock mechanism click, and, well, that’s it. That’s all I heard. I waited several more minutes in complete silence, when I decided to slowly open the door. I opened it enough for me to peak out, and there was no one in sight.
At this point, I decided it was time to leave, so I made my out of the attic as quickly as I could. Heck, I even forgot to shut off the light in the attic. I ran downstairs, and pondered whether or not I should call up my parents and tell them what happened. But how could I? My aunt told me time and time again to not venture into that attic, so it was my fault. After a moment or two, I decided to go back to the living room and begin doing my schoolwork, like I originally had planned. All was well, and then my parents and aunt finally returned from their trip. The second I heard them pull into the driveway I made my way out the front door as quickly as I could. When I saw them, my father was still getting the car settled into the driveway, when I saw my aunt in the front seat looking over at me with the most haunting expression of disapproval and concern that I’ve ever seen in my entire life.
