The image stirred some long dormant memories. That hat. That coat. It was all familiar but unfamiliar at the same time, like the memory of a dream I couldn’t hold on to. Was this my imaginary friend?
Absent-mindedly, my gaze shifted across the page. There was something familiar about those vertical stripes, too. Were they bars? No, they were too thick for that. They looked solid, though. Solid; brown; evenly spaced. I’d seen them somewhere recently, but where?
The realisation hit me like an electric shock. I spun to face the attic wall. The lines in the picture weren’t bars. They were beams. Wooden roof beams, like the kind I was standing next to. The picture was of right here in the attic!
A movement off to my left broke my concentration and I gasped with fright. Dropping the page I staggered back, knocking the box with my leg. My stomach lurched as the beam of the torch swung down. I grabbed for it too late. As the torch bulb smashed the attic was plunged into absolute darkness.
‘Wh-who’s there?’ I stammered. With the light gone I couldn’t even see the clouds of breath in front of my face any more. I held my breath and listened, but the only reply was the hissing and bubbling of the hot water boiler.
I tried to tell myself I’d imagined it, but if truth be told I don’t have that good an imagination. Something had moved. Something was there in the attic with me, and unless mice were growing up to be a lot bigger these days, it was definitely no rodent.
A stack of boxes toppled over as I stumbled blindly through the dark, my hands flailing wildly in front of me. Unsure of which direction I should be heading, I blundered towards where I guessed the hatch should be. My foot caught on some scattered junk and I felt the floor rise up to meet me.
Moving on their own and fuelled by panic, my legs kicked wildly against the debris from the boxes, struggling to find a foothold. My hands thrust forwards, fingers scrabbling on the floorboards as I desperately tried to pull myself towards the dim glow of the hatch.
A splinter stabbed into my palm and I cried out in shock. My eyes were growing more accustomed to the dark now, and I saw something on the floor by my hand which chilled me to the bone. A series of claw marks had scored deep grooves in the wood.
An elastic band of fear tightened around my stomach. I wasn’t sure what could make marks like that in solid timber, but one thing was for sure, no mousetrap on Earth would hold it.
Hot tears streaked my face as I scrambled to the hatch. Kicking, crawling, dragging myself on, I finally made it to the ladder. Without hesitating, I hauled myself over the edge, tumbled head first through the hole, and landed hard on the floor.
Ignoring the sharp pain in my shoulder I leapt back to my feet and shoved the ladder up into the loft. With the steps down there was no way of closing the hatch, and with the hatch open there was nothing to stop whatever was up there following me out.
The ceiling shook when I slammed the hatch closed. My fingers refused to behave as I struggled to fasten the latch, and it took me a full thirty seconds to secure it. I stood there for what felt like forever, my hands pressed against the gloss-painted wood, listening for…something. Anything.
Slowly, my heart rate took its foot off the accelerator and began to return to normal. My breathing – though still heavy was becoming less and less panicked, too. I plucked up the courage to take my hands off the hatch. Nothing happened. No wild animals came crashing through. No monsters smashed the wood and yanked me back up. Nothing.
To be on the safe side I went into my bedroom and rummaged under the bed until I found what I was looking for. The baseball bat wasn’t full-sized, but it would still be big and heavy enough to do serious damage if swung right. Even as I clutched it to me, though, I was beginning to feel like an idiot.
I flopped down on to my bed and ran back over the last few minutes. What had I actually seen? A vague movement out of the corner of my eye, that was all. A shadow, maybe; probably even my own, projected by the beam of the torch. I had been standing right in front of the light, after all.
The more I thought about it the more stupid I felt. Those scratches could have been there for decades. A heavy wooden box or piece of furniture being dragged across the floor could have made them. I closed my eyes and sighed. What a fool.
I forced out a chuckle, trying to laugh the last traces of my fear away. It had seemed easy when Mum was there, but lying on my bed on my own it was a lot harder to do. Instead I kept my eyes closed, rested my hands behind my head, and focused my attention on the breathing of the wind outside.
I don’t know how long I slept for, but I know what woke me. I froze, too scared to sit up, as the ripping and rending of wood scratched at me through the ceiling.
The sound was far more frenzied and frantic than before, and each scrape seemed to bring whatever was up there that bit closer to breaking through. I tried not to picture the hands which could tear solid wood with such ease. I tried, but failed, and a detailed image of my own gory death leapt uninvited into my head.
I swung my legs down off the bed. As my feet hit the floor the sound stopped. I sat there, unmoving, wishing I’d gone with Mum. Wishing I was anywhere but in that room.
Seconds flowed into minutes as I perched there on the bed, barely daring to breathe until I was sure the scratching was over. Part of me wanted to run, but another part decided that would only draw the attention of the thing in the attic, which would be a very bad idea.
In the end I settled for a compromise, and slowly inched my way up off the bed, being careful not to let the mattress creak. When I was back on my feet I stood and listened. There was not a sound in the house. Carefully, I crept my way over to the bedroom door, the baseball bat held firmly in both hands.
Suddenly a noise from behind sent me spiralling into whole new depths of terror. I let out a shrill scream and lunged for the door, not daring to look back.
Someone was knocking on my bedroom window.
The stairs flew by beneath me in groups of three. By the time I was halfway to the bottom, whoever – or whatever – was outside had stopped hammering on my window. As I leapt the last few steps an eerie silence fell over the house.
For a moment I hesitated, both hands tightly gripping the baseball bat. I stood there, balanced on the balls of my feet, listening for any unexpected sound. A strong wind wailed against the stone-clad walls and whistled anxiously through invisible gaps. The front gate clack-clacked as it swung on its hinges, the steady beat of a solemn death march. Probably mine.
Nan had been right. The storm was building again. Maybe going outside would be the wrong thing to do, I figured. The sensible thing would be to stay where I was and pray to anyone who’d listen for the ordeal to be over. I could barricade myself in and wait for help to arrive. It’d be —
A fork of lightning split the night sky, filling the room with its electric glow. As the flash faded the house was once more cast into near total darkness, with only the street lights outside to ease the gloom. The electricity had gone off again. All of a sudden sticking around didn’t seem like a very tempting option.
I ran for the front door, not sure where I was going, but certain I had to get out. Outside I could make it to the safety of a neighbour’s house. Inside I was a sitting duck in the dark. Not even stopping to snatch up my coat, I reached for the door handle.
Just as my fingers wrapped round the cool metal a shape stepped up to the door, as if it had been standing out there just waiting to make a move. Its shadow passed across the frosted glass, blurred and impossible to make out clearly.
My shoulder slammed hard against the wood, sending a jolt of pain along my spine and making me drop the baseball bat. Gripped by panic, I pushed my weight