Written statement by Kayla Lee, Age 16
We have always abided by the strongest rule in the house: don't go into the attic.
The attic is only accessible by a pull down ladder. My brother and sister and I have never gone into it. Sometimes I hear things scratching above my room. Dad says it's a tree branch or an animal on the roof, or the house "settling." I pretend to believe it. It's not like there is anything Dad can do about it. He cannot enter the attic either. No one can.
I mean this physically, and maybe psychically, if that's a word. Someone will stand at the bottom of the ladder and gear themselves to climb up, but they never manage to overcome this massive wave of dread that overcomes them. Everyone who has tried has felt it: my family, repairmen, friends who have taken it upon themselves to brave the dare. Turns out if you tell someone that you have never gone up to the attic, they want to try it for themselves. They're so sure they can overcome what we could not. The theory has some soundness: the friend would not have the same emotional attachment to the forbidden room as we do. It doesn't seem to matter, though, because none of them had succeeded.
Even if I could succeed at climbing up to the attic, I'm not sure I would want to.
My parents will tell you that it started when Olivia left. I was thirteen then. Olivia had this big screaming fight with my parents one night. It was so loud that Melissa, who was eight at the time, sought to sleep in my room that night. The next day Olivia was gone. She didn't have a car so she must have hitchhiked or gotten one of her friends to pick her up. I don't remember hearing a car arrive at our house, though.
After that, the scratching came more frequently — always over my room when I was alone. I had asked Peter and Melissa if they had heard any, but they say no while giving me this concerned look, like they're worried my imagination is getting out of hand.
One night I stepped out of my room and saw the ladder to the attic was down. Here's another odd thing about the attic: I've never seen my parents pull down the ladder, but sometimes one of us would find the attic entrance open. I could hardly see anything from the bottom of the ladder. Just darkness blanketing the attic floor like a fog.
"Is someone up there?" I asked, feeling ridiculous to speak into an empty room, but I did not want to trap anyone up there when I closed the door. "I'm shutting the door, so you'd better show yourself if you don't want to be trapped up there."
A thud answered me. It wasn't so loud, but it surprised me. I immediately regretted saying what I said. I thought of stories I read about how vampires aren't allowed to enter someone's home unless someone invites them in. What if I invited someone in? Someone evil who was contained in the attic so they could not harm anyone? Like a ghost or a vampire?
I reached for the ladder and lifted it up by the bottom step. Just as I thrust the door shut, I saw something, like a flicker of light, but the door clapped shut. That may have been for the best. I backed away from the door, like I expected the something to push the door back down and descend. The floorboards creaked under me at each step, but I was sure I had heard the creaks echo above me.
I didn't tell my family of this. My family can be funny with their memories. They remember that something odd is going on, but when I bring up particular incidents, they act like this is the first time they have ever heard of it happening. They aren't doing it on purpose: there's nothing contemptuous or undermining about them when they question me about them. They just don't remember.
My parents have loosened up a little on the other house rules. Peter got a car, though he had to pay for half of it from the money he made at the cineplex. Mom doesn't complain about the music I listen to as much as she had with Olivia. I can see they're scared that the same thing that happened with Olivia will happen with one of us. Sometimes I feel guilty that Olivia had not been allowed these small freedoms, so I try not to abuse it.
The presence in the attic never went away. Instead it receded into the background like the noisy hum of an air conditioner unit does once you get used to it.
I tell myself over and over that it doesn't matter what is up there. As long as I don't go into the attic, it can't hurt me. It's held true so far.
I'll be so glad, though, when I can leave for college and I won't have to hear the scratching anymore.