Emily’s attempts at distraction only partially worked. The scraping sound persisted, subtle but unmistakable, like a quiet warning she couldn’t ignore. Her mind, trained to analyze history and patterns, now raced to piece together what could be causing it. Was it the old attic floorboards settling? A loose window shutter in the wind? Or something far more unsettling?
Tension coiled in her chest as she lay rigid, straining to hear each movement. Her imagination began to conjure images of shadowy figures gliding along the walls, unseen eyes watching from the corners of the room. Each creak or scrape seemed amplified, echoing through the otherwise silent house.
Finally, Emily mustered the courage to sit up. Her bare feet touched the cold floor as she crept toward the hallway, each step deliberate, careful not to make a sound. The scraping had stopped for a moment, replaced by a hollow silence that made her heartbeat thunder in her ears.
She reached the edge of the hallway, peering toward the source. A faint glow from the streetlamp outside fell across the floor, revealing… nothing. Her breath caught in her throat, and she leaned closer, listening intently. The scraping began again, slow, deliberate—coming from the attic above.
Emily’s pulse quickened. The attic was the one place she rarely visited. Cobwebs, forgotten trunks, and layers of dust made it feel like another world entirely. Summoning every ounce of courage, she grabbed a flashlight from the nearby table and began her ascent up the narrow staircase, the beam of light cutting through the darkness.
Step by step, the attic grew closer, the scraping sound growing louder, almost as if whatever was up there was aware of her approach. Emily’s mind raced with both dread and curiosity. What could possibly be hiding in the attic of her childhood home? And why now, on this quiet night, had it chosen to reveal itself?