The Attic

FEATURE | ISSUE THIRTEEN | SPOOKY

Written by Jake Harvey | Contributing Writer

I had been appointed the sole caretaker of Broadland Manor, a beautiful Jacobean estate, whose isolation suited me exceedingly well. I had long since grown weary of society and found the company of others increasingly tiresome. The promise of solitude, and of a life spent largely undisturbed, was therefore enough to persuade me to accept the position without hesitation. That I possessed no experience suited to such a role, and had been offered it with so little enquiry, seemed at the time a matter of little consequence. Indeed, I could scarcely believe my good fortune.

I had always taken a peculiar comfort in the sound of rain against the windows, particularly when accompanied by a fierce wind. That evening, having spent the better part of the day tending to the vast lawns and attending to the household chores, I retired to my room, weary but satisfied with my labours.

Compared with the rest of the estate, my chambers were rather impoverished, though I could not have been happier with them. They were private, peaceful, and entirely my own. The room was small, furnished only with an old single bed, a battered roll-top desk, and a wooden chair. The paint upon the walls had long since begun to peel, but such imperfections were of little concern to me.

I settled at my desk with a generous glass of brandy and a copy of Milton’s Paradise Lost, borrowed from the manor’s library. I had been reading for some time when a dull thud disturbed the silence. It seemed to have come from somewhere above me, though I could not determine precisely where. I listened for a moment, but when the sound did not repeat itself, I rose and opened my door.

Beyond lay the entrance hall and the great staircase. The contrast with my own modest quarters was striking. The white walls were bordered with oak and gilt mouldings, and hung with oil paintings depicting ancient battles, stern-faced aristocrats, and lonely cabins half-buried in snow.

I looked first towards the front door, then towards the kitchen, but could see nothing out of the ordinary. I was about to return to my room when the sound came again. Two heavy knocks, louder this time, and almost impatient. For a moment, I found myself reluctant to move. No doubt some bird had found its way inside, or perhaps a rat had taken up residence between the floors. I recalled that I might have left a window open upstairs. Satisfied, for the moment, with this explanation, I made my way towards the staircase.

I looked up through the stairwell, past the wrought-iron balustrades, their floral patterns crowned with dark elm handrails. A solitary lamp hung from the white ceiling, perfectly still upon its slender chain. I ascended towards the first floor, the wooden steps creaking beneath my weight.

Everything appeared just as I had left it. The four doors remained shut, and the house was silent once more. There was little reason to suspect anything amiss. Even so, I thought it prudent to examine each room, if only to satisfy myself.

I first tried the bathroom door, directly opposite the staircase, but found it locked, as were the remaining three doors upon the landing. Finding nothing to warrant further investigation, I returned to the staircase.

I had scarcely set foot upon the next flight when the knocking began again. Thump. Thump. The blows seemed heavier now, and considerably nearer. I stood listening, troubled less by the noise itself than by how close it appeared to be.

To return to my room without first discovering the source of the disturbance would have been a dereliction of my duties. After all, the care of the estate had been entrusted to me. I therefore continued my ascent, though somewhat more cautiously than before. Upon reaching the second floor, I found the four doors there closed, just as I had left them.

Above the landing was the hatch leading to the attic, its ladder folded out of sight. I had never ventured into the attic, having been expressly forbidden to do so by my employer. As I had little interest in its contents, I had never thought to question the instruction.

I tried the door opposite the staircase, but found it locked. I turned left and proceeded towards the far end of the hall, where another door stood beside a window overlooking the grounds. Beyond the glass, the rain continued to fall heavily upon the estate. Ordinarily, I might have paused to enjoy the sight.

Nevertheless, I found my attention drawn repeatedly to the door beside me. I could not have said why, but I had become quite certain that the disturbance originated somewhere beyond it. I reached for the handle.

The attic hatch swung down with a violent crash.

For several moments, I remained perfectly still, as though the slightest movement might betray my presence. When no further sound came, I ventured beneath the opening. From where I stood, little of the attic was visible. Heavy wooden beams crossed beneath the roof, disappearing into the darkness beyond. The ladder hung down before me, presenting an invitation I was reluctant to accept.

At the foot of the ladder, I hesitated. Yet I could hardly abandon my investigation now. It was, after all, my duty. Having satisfied myself on this point, I began to climb.

There was something curiously familiar about the attic, though I could not have said what. A solitary lamp cast a dim light from the rafters. Against the far wall lay a filthy, threadbare mattress, beside which sat a small bucket. Wretched as the mattress appeared, I supposed it might have afforded some comfort to whoever had slept upon it. A foul odour hung about that end of the room, but whether it arose from the mattress or the bucket, I could not determine. Reluctantly, I approached and peered inside. Within lay the remains of several raw fish, some picked almost clean to the bone, their heads still attached.

My attention returned to the mattress. Several large, rust-coloured stains marked its surface, dark red at their centres and fading to orange at the edges. I crouched to examine them more closely.

Could someone have been living here? The thought was absurd. I was the sole resident of the manor and would surely have noticed another occupant. Yet I could think of no other explanation for the mattress and the remains of the fish. I was still considering this unpleasant possibility when a sound from below interrupted my thoughts.

From somewhere downstairs, perhaps the kitchen, came a sound unlike anything I had heard before. There was something unnatural in its pitch, as though two distinct cries had been forced into one. What began as a furious shriek gradually diminished into a low, mournful wail.

Still crouched beside the mattress, I listened, scarcely able to draw breath.

Then the knocking began again, more violent than before.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

The dreadful cry came once more. Heavy footsteps followed, rushing towards the staircase. I scrambled to the hatch and seized the ladder. The footsteps were already ascending. With all my strength, I hauled the hatch shut. But not before I caught a glimpse of what pursued me: a great, dark shape, with what appeared to be two heads, two impossibly long arms and two equally unnatural legs.

I could scarcely comprehend what I had seen. I remained beside the hatch, struggling to steady my breathing and listening for movement below. The noise of its closing must surely have betrayed my presence, yet I had succeeded in placing a barrier between myself and that dreadful figure. For the moment, it would have to suffice.

I don't know how much time has passed. Whatever is down there continues to claw and beat against the hatch. Thump. Thump. The sound never seems to cease. It wants me to open the hatch. I can’t. I won’t. My hands will not stop trembling.

Sometimes the beating stops. I hear it moving beneath the hatch, and then that dreadful cry begins again. It must be furious that it cannot reach me. I will not give it the opportunity.

I cannot face whatever is down there. I have seen enough. I remain beside the hatch, listening. Sometimes I weep. Sometimes I can do nothing at all.

Whatever waits below has shown no sign of leaving. There are no windows in the attic. The hatch is the only way out, and I will not open it.

I have taken my place beside the mattress.

– The end