Creepy Attic Novels & Stories

Still, it was worth the heat for a little adventure. There was a pull-string directly above me and when I yanked it, a bare bulb lent dirty light to the attic space. There wasn’t much to see anyway. The pitch of the roof left little walkable space. The floor itself was just a few scattered sheets of plywood. It smelled dry and somehow gamey and I wondered if there were squirrels or raccoons finding their way in. There were a couple of old chairs, a dresser with the drawers missing, and a bunch of cardboard boxes splitting at the seams. I squinted at the boxes. Are those comic books? I shuffled over, careful to keep my head low.

I repeated, trying to sound surprised, not shaken. ‎ ‎She nodded. “There are old things still in the attic. We never touched them. Maybe you’d like to see?” ‎ ‎“Yes,” I breathed. “Please.” ‎ ‎The stairs creaked as we climbed, the air turning colder with every step. The attic smelled of mothballs and forgotten years. Dust floated in the dim light as the woman pulled open an old trunk in the corner. ‎ ‎“This is all that was left,” she said softly. ‎

I wore only shorts and a vest top, Gen assuring me the attic was far too warm to need anything else. The attic room was musty and dark. It didn’t have a nice warm fire or cosy sofas to lounge in. The warmth came from the huge stone brick chimney that rose up the centre of the space. A stack of books and a huge comfortable bed were the only positives about having swapped my room. I began to curse my good nature in agreeing to this madness of Gen’s.

We made sure that no one saw us heading towards the Eastern part of the manor. I hoped for booby traps or maybe we would meet some guards. Instead, you would have an impression that someone robbed this place, and it was impossible for you to not cough the moment you step your foot on the dusty acetate carpet. This place screamed how obsolete it was. Finally, I reached the attic. I knocked thrice, hoping that she would immediately open the door for me, yet I didn’t get a response. Was she asleep? There was no way she could sleep in this kind of pigsty jail.

“I’d like to look in on her, if I may.” The third and fourth steps of the stairwell sag beneath years of damp. The wood swells and separates from the risers in places. My skirt catches on a splinter at the landing, and I pull it free without pausing. The stair ends abruptly beneath a low beam that forces me to stoop. The attic room itself is long and narrow, with two small glassless window openings, a straw-filled pallet laid against the far wall, and overhead, the thick, cloying smell of dust and old thatch.

There was death above us as well. I took few deep breaths and nodded to Max that I was fine. I wanted to assure him that it wasn’t necessary to coddle me every time I had a shock or a fright, but I knew that he was just seizing the opportunity to hold me, so I said nothing. We finished our search of the attic and then headed down to the main floor. Although not nearly as closed and stuffy as the attic had been, the creepy vibe was everywhere we went as we checked out all of the rooms in the main floor of the living quarters.

“Kira moves things there all the time. Stuff she doesn’t use often.” Anton nodded. “I’ll check.” The attic was dim and cluttered, the air thick with dust and the faint smell of old cardboard. Anton climbed the steps carefully, his footsteps echoing softly as he scanned the space. Boxes were stacked haphazardly, some labeled, others not. He crouched and began opening them one by one, rifling through old books, clothes, random household items. Minutes passed. His patience thinned. “Come on,” he muttered to himself, rubbing at his temples. “Just scissors.”

An unusual cold night with dark clouds appearing in the sky. It's hard not to judge when I saw a bunch of vandals, disturbing one, at the entrance. The door is almost as freaky as this place, it is made out of old shreds of wood, with an intricate design which based on my knowledge has something to do with satan. Great. A satanic place with blasting sounds of party music.

I nearly shouted, snatching it from her hands. She clicked her tongue. “Hmm... it’s interesting.” “Damn you,” I snapped. My journal was private—sacred. “Go clean the attic. It's filthy,” she said flippantly, tossing her hair as she walked out of the house. I looked up toward the attic. Dust streamed down from the half-open hatch. Had she been up there? I grabbed the long broom behind the door and made my way up. The attic was a mess—dust so thick I had to cover my nose with my sleeve. I stumbled around, searching for the light switch, and finally flicked it on.

‘Whoever build this place must have not trusted whomever they build it for,’ Jessica thought as she felt another plank. Jessica carefully moved the planks aside and pulled herself up into the ceiling. Once in the attic, she positioned the planks carefully back. Jessica looked around in the dark but didn’t have to use her wolf sight because the attic had two windows, one that was open that caused the draft. The half-cut moon gave enough light to the attic. ‘Is the vampire around?’ She wondered if he was out feeding somewhere since she did hear him leave before she fell asleep. ‘What if I didn’t hear him come back?’