User:Echo's of a Nightmare

This is sort of a CreepyPasta.... Title: Screech in the Attic Fiction or Non-Fiction: Fiction - I make all these stories up on my own. I get inspirations for theses by stuff I've read or just random inspiration throughout the day. This is entirely made up from my own imagination.

My life was fairly relaxed. I grew up on a farm, had a great family, and anything I could want for the most part. I was happy. I lived in a fairly old dark red farm house with my two younger sisters and my mom and dad. My grandmother lived down the road and my grandpa had passed away. It started out as a rainy day, with thunderheads rolled out across the skies of Georgia. The dark clouds casted shadows across the fields and almost seemed to put out a trance of gloom into the household. There was an odd silence in the air though. Usually the wind blows fiercely when it's raining or is about to, but oddly enough the wheat fields were completely still. My parents seemed tense, as if they knew what was coming. So did my younger siblings, but I for one was excited about the much needed rain. We had been in a severe drought for quiet sometime, and I figured that my dad would at least be excited that the crops were getting watered. But no. He was rather stiff, upset, and frightened in a matter. He walked around the house most of the day, pacing back and forth in front of a window in the back of our living area. He would occasionally bite his fingernails and he chewed on his lip in a somewhat shaken way. Then he would sit on the couch for a minute or two, and then get back up and begin pacing again. I was tapping at the back window, wondering when the rain would finally pour down onto the dry land. When a screeching like sound reached my ears. It was like that of a train, but more high pitched. It didn't hurt my ears though. It stopped, and I continued to tap on the glass. Then it sounded again, just louder, but still only that of a whisper. I continued tapping. Then time though, it screeched rather loudly and thus caught my attention. I turned around to look at my dad, but he was still pacing. Almost like he didn't hear it. I waited and the sound came back. My dad was either ignoring it or he couldn't hear it, but it was unbearably loud....how could he not? By this time I was ready to investigate the noise. So I promptly moved to several spots in the house to see where it sounded louder at. During that time, it proved true that my whole family was ignoring or couldn't hear the sound. As I walked upstairs, the sound got louder. So it must be up coming from up here. I walked room to room, but the sound didn't come again. Until I was standing in front of the staircase that led to the attic, it resounded. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, and my whole body tensed. It was unbearably high pitched now, although it was a very short screech. I looked up to the attic door and chills went up my spine. I stood there for a few minutes, waiting and listening, but the sound didn't come again. I stood for a good twenty minutes and still, no sound was heard. So I decided I wouldn't try to open the attic or even go up the stairs. I would just return down to the window. So I did. It was raining, and the air was thick downstairs. My whole family was seated around the living room, and I walked in the middle of all of them, but it was like I wasn't even there. So instead on dwelling on my family's weird actions, I just went back to the window to watch the rain pelt against the glass. And low and behold the screeching started up again. And my family didn't seem to hear it. I immediately walked back up the stairs and towards the attic staircase. And as soon as I had put my foot on the first step, the sound stopped. I stood there for a moment before continuing up the dark staircase. My hand held onto the old wooden rail, and the stairs creeked beneath my weight. I finally got to the top, and reached for the door handle, even though I knew it would be locked. The door had been locked since I was young child and I had finally stopped attempting to open it by the time I was about eight. But surprisingly I turned it with ease. It was no longer locked. I opened the musty wooden door to an empty attic for the most part. The only things in there was a box in each side if the door. One had candles and flashlights and the other had....human body parts. My face must have been a sight at the bloody, iron smelling limbs in the cardboard box by the door, because the screeching started again, but it sounded a little like cackling. By now I had grabbed one of the flashlights from the box by the door. The screech got more high pitched. I clicked the flashlight on, only to see a figure in front of me. It was dripping black liquid onto the floor, but looked completely human. It's skin was a blinding white and black hair hung in front of its face. It had on a musty, blood covered light blue dress, and blood was splattered across its fingers that had ingrown finger nails. I screamed as loud as I possibly could, and just as the thing reached out for me, I dashed out the door and ran down the stairs. I looked back up the attic stair case, but the door was shut...and I hadn't shut it. So instead of standing there, I just rushed down onto the first floor. From that day on I never went near the attic staircase. The screeching never came back, I never saw a trace of the black haired humanoid thing, but occasionally I thought I would see the black liquid dribbling down the walls. Almost like it came from the attic, but as soon as I saw it, it would disappear. Eventually I forgot about it and list my fear, after all I was 10 when it happened. Now being 19 and ready to move out. One Saturday evening my mother asked me to bring a box up to the attic to place it in storage. Of course I didn't think anything about the ghastly experience of my younger years and tramped up the attic staircase. I placed my hand on the door handle, and that was when I heard that terrible, high pitched, humanoid screech. I dropped the box in hand and you could hear the glass shatter inside it. The handle started bugging out like someone was trying to open it from the inside and I tripped down the stairs, not looking back. Still to this day, about six years after I've moved out, I can't forget either experience. It's permanently etched into my brain. I don't know what was in the attic, but what ever it was, I hope I never see it again. -- I hope you enjoyed and if you didn't then I'm really sorry...This is one of the first CreepyPastas I've ever written. I'm sorry for any spelling mistakes, after all I am writing all this on my phone. ~K.