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I thought there was a raccoon in my attic. The claw marks on my bedroom door say otherwise.
First food started disappearing, and then my dirty clothes. Now there are claw marks on my bedroom door.
I live outside of town, in a bit more of a rural setting. We’re surrounded by thick forest. So I know what you’re thinking. It has to be a raccoon, or maybe a possum. Something devious with a talent for getting into places it shouldn’t. Trust me, I thought the same thing. But it's not.
The food started disappearing about three weeks ago. At first it was easy to explain. The last few chips in the bag. A granola bar left on the counter. Some fruit ripening on the table.
I live with my wife, so it was easy to have someone to blame. I assumed she was eating it, she assumed I was eating it.
Then things started to disappear from the fridge. Some leftover pizza. The last four eggs in the carton. When the slices of cake my wife had brought home from a fancy bakery downtown turned up missing, she got upset.
“Really? You ate both slices? We were going to have those after dinner tonight,” she complained.
“I didn’t touch them,” I fought back. It was hard to believe. I was famous for eating the last of, well, everything.
“Michael!” Only my mom called me Michael. “If you didn’t eat them, find the ghost that did.”
We always blamed “the ghost” whenever we didn’t want to admit to something. It was our way of saying it’s okay, just don’t do it again.
“I’ll be gone for a few days,” she added. “Try not to eat everything.” She patted my stomach.
The conversation was our marriage, or any marriage really, in a nutshell.
The next day she left for a weeklong work trip.
The food kept disappearing.
It was harder to blame her now, although in my mind I tried.
I started to make mental notes. A couple of granola bars from the pantry. Leftover Chinese food from the fridge. An entire bag of beef jerky. I was alone in the house. No one had a key, and there was no sign of a break in. Plus, nothing of real value was missing. Just random bits of food.
Then my dirty clothes started disappearing.
Not clean clothes from my closet. Dirty clothes from the floor and hamper. A pair of socks wadded up in the corner. A t-shirt hanging from the hamper. My favorite old sweatshirt.
This bothered me. The food was one thing, it could be explained. The clothes were different. More personal. And only mine. Nothing of my wife's was missing.
Then the noises in the attic started.
At first it sounded like something moving around. Not pacing around, it was sporadic. A step here and there. Something sliding around. A scrape. Then silence. A few moments later more noise.
It sounded too heavy for rats, I figured it was a raccoon. I’ve seen some enormous raccoons in the neighborhood. Guys that could push start your car.
The attic access is in the hallway just outside of my bedroom. It’s nothing fancy. No fold down ladder. No dramatic staircase like in the horror movies. It’s just a simple square panel painted white to match the color of the ceiling. You push it upward and slide it to the side.
If I have to get up there, which I almost never do, I use my rickety old ladder and pull myself up through the opening. It’s a terrible and dangerous system. But it works.
One morning I walked into the hallway and stopped. The panel to the attic access was slid a few inches to the side. Did I leave it open?
Then I noticed the scratches. Four deep parallel grooves, carved into the wood panel. I stared trying to figure it all out.
I grabbed a chair, climbed up, and started to slide the panel back into place. Just as I reached up, a powerful rush of air blasted downward.
The panel slammed shut so hard it nearly knocked me off the chair. I caught myself against the wall. My heart was pounding. “Just a draft,” I thought out loud. Because saying something out loud made it true.
I immediately called an exterminator who came out later that afternoon.
He was a larger guy, a few years younger than me. I wasn’t sure he would fit through the attic access. He did have a really nice ladder. Less likely to kill someone compared to mine. He climbed up with ease, and I stayed below. No need for us both up there, I thought.
For the first few minutes I didn’t hear much. Just the occasional scrape of something moving across the floor. A box being shuffled. Then everything went silent. I looked at the attic door and listened.
There was a loud crash. Something heavy hit the floor. I jumped.
“Everything okay?” I shouted.
No response.
The silence extended. Then a scraping sound across the floor, followed by a sharp yell. It was the kind of yell someone makes when they see something they didn’t expect to see.
My stomach dropped. “Hey!” I shouted, a slight shake to my voice.
There was no response.
Then more noise, and another yell.
Without thinking I ran to the ladder and climbed. I was convinced I would find the exterminator being mauled by some rabid animal. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it.
Just as I reached the top of the ladder, a face popped into the opening. I nearly fell off the ladder.
The exterminator looked more excited than scared. His eyes wide, cheeks flush with excitement. I didn’t know what I was seeing.
Then he blurted out, “You have an Atari 2600 up here.”
I stared at him. “What?”
“An Atari 2600,” he pointed into the darkness. “An original woodgrain model.”
I didn’t move. “That’s why you screamed?”
“I didn’t scream.”
“You most definitely screamed”
“Okay, maybe a little. But do you know what that thing’s worth?”
A few seconds ago I thought I was going to have to fight a bear sized raccoon. Now I’m having a conversation about one of my childhood toys. After a few minutes talking about the ancient video game console, I asked if there were any animals. His excitement faded.
“No animals.”
“What do you mean no animals?”
“I mean no animals. No scat, no fur, no nests, no food remnants. No animals.”
“But I’ve been hearing something.”
“I believe you my friend.” He looked back into the darkness. “When I first climbed up and looked around, I thought I saw a figure in the corner, back by the old coat rack. But then I realized it was just some coats.”
I nodded in agreement. I didn’t actually know what he was talking about. What coat rack? But I didn’t exactly know everything in the attic either. It sounded plausible.
“Oh, and there is a pile of clothes up here too.”
My stomach dropped. “What kind of clothes?”
“I don’t know. Socks, shirts, an old ratty sweatshirt.”
I took offense to that last statement, but didn’t say anything. It was clearly all of my clothes that had been disappearing.
I asked if he saw any way that an animal could have gotten in or out of the attic.
He shook his head. “Nope.”
“No holes, or gaps, or…” I trailed off.
“Nothing.”
Then I pointed at the scratches on the attic panel. “Do these look like something got in?”
He lifted his hat and scratched his head. “Honestly? Yeah, they do. They look like something got in.”
I nodded again. I knew it.
“They also look like something got out,” he added.
After a few more minutes of talking about video game consoles the exterminator left. And I was left with no answer as to what was in the attic.
That night I closed my door before going to bed. It felt stupid. The small piece of fiberboard that made up the door didn’t really offer any protection. Still, it made me feel better.
But not safe enough. I hardly slept that night.
Every creak of the house sounded significant and intentional. Every little noise was a warning, causing my heart to race and senses to peak.
Sometime around three in the morning I heard it. The panel on the attic moved. It was the soft scraping sound of wood sliding on wood.
I sat up in bed. Frozen. It was silent. I waited. Nothing.
I started to lay back down when the scratching started. It was close. Too close. It sounded deliberate, not something searching. Something prying.
The bedroom door rattled slightly in its frame. I stopped breathing. Something was touching the other side of the door.
Then the handle started to move.
Adrenaline kicked in and forced me out of bed. I quickly and quietly went to the door and flipped the lock. The mechanism clicked into place. The handle snapped back.
I heard movement down the hallway. Then the attic panel slid closed.
Complete silence.
I went and sat on the edge of the bed, listening. I sat there until the sun came up.
I eventually made my way down to the kitchen to make some strong coffee. I needed it. When I came back I investigated the bedroom door. There were the same scratches as before. Four deep parallel grooves.
But they weren’t on the bottom of the door where I thought I might find them. Something reaching underneath the door. No, they were along the top. Almost seven feet off the ground. Clawing in to pry the door open. I sat there and stared at them for a long time. What could have done that?
That’s when I decided I was done guessing. I decided to go into the attic.
I slammed two more cups of coffee and went to the garage to get some armour.
I put on my bike helmet with a headlamp attached. Gardening gloves in case I needed to grab something. And an extra thick denim jacket. I felt like an idiot. I’m sure I looked like an idiot. But that’s what fear does, makes us idiots.
I grabbed my old ladder and headed to the hallway.
Once there I took a deep breath and started to climb up. I poked my head into the attic and turned on my headlamp.
The attic was pitch black with the exception of my headlamp cutting across old boxes and insulation. Nothing else. I was relieved.
Then I heard something. A shuffle. To my right. I looked over, my headlamp slashing through the dark attic. I saw movement. Something crossing through the darkness. Something big. Far too big to be a raccoon.
Then it stopped. I couldn’t see it, but I knew it was there.
Was it breathing? Could I hear it breathing?
Suddenly it sounded closer.
Panic took over.
I scrambled back down the attic door. My foot slipped on the ladder sending it crashing sideways into the hall below. I was left hanging out of the attic. Holding on with both arms.
I saw something move in the darkness above. I could hear it coming closer. Feel its warm breath on my fingers.
I let go.
I landed on the hardwood floors, crashing hard enough to knock the wind from my lungs. I scrambled backwards to avoid anything jumping onto me from the attic.
I looked up at the attic panel, and saw it sliding over. Slowly. Deliberately. Wood sliding on wood. Then it slammed shut. Sending a warning. Telling me not to come back.
#entertainment
source
First food started disappearing, and then my dirty clothes. Now there are claw marks on my bedroom door.
I live outside of town, in a bit more of a rural setting. We’re surrounded by thick forest. So I know what you’re thinking. It has to be a raccoon, or maybe a possum. Something devious with a talent for getting into places it shouldn’t. Trust me, I thought the same thing. But it's not.
The food started disappearing about three weeks ago. At first it was easy to explain. The last few chips in the bag. A granola bar left on the counter. Some fruit ripening on the table.
I live with my wife, so it was easy to have someone to blame. I assumed she was eating it, she assumed I was eating it.
Then things started to disappear from the fridge. Some leftover pizza. The last four eggs in the carton. When the slices of cake my wife had brought home from a fancy bakery downtown turned up missing, she got upset.
“Really? You ate both slices? We were going to have those after dinner tonight,” she complained.
“I didn’t touch them,” I fought back. It was hard to believe. I was famous for eating the last of, well, everything.
“Michael!” Only my mom called me Michael. “If you didn’t eat them, find the ghost that did.”
We always blamed “the ghost” whenever we didn’t want to admit to something. It was our way of saying it’s okay, just don’t do it again.
“I’ll be gone for a few days,” she added. “Try not to eat everything.” She patted my stomach.
The conversation was our marriage, or any marriage really, in a nutshell.
The next day she left for a weeklong work trip.
The food kept disappearing.
It was harder to blame her now, although in my mind I tried.
I started to make mental notes. A couple of granola bars from the pantry. Leftover Chinese food from the fridge. An entire bag of beef jerky. I was alone in the house. No one had a key, and there was no sign of a break in. Plus, nothing of real value was missing. Just random bits of food.
Then my dirty clothes started disappearing.
Not clean clothes from my closet. Dirty clothes from the floor and hamper. A pair of socks wadded up in the corner. A t-shirt hanging from the hamper. My favorite old sweatshirt.
This bothered me. The food was one thing, it could be explained. The clothes were different. More personal. And only mine. Nothing of my wife's was missing.
Then the noises in the attic started.
At first it sounded like something moving around. Not pacing around, it was sporadic. A step here and there. Something sliding around. A scrape. Then silence. A few moments later more noise.
It sounded too heavy for rats, I figured it was a raccoon. I’ve seen some enormous raccoons in the neighborhood. Guys that could push start your car.
The attic access is in the hallway just outside of my bedroom. It’s nothing fancy. No fold down ladder. No dramatic staircase like in the horror movies. It’s just a simple square panel painted white to match the color of the ceiling. You push it upward and slide it to the side.
If I have to get up there, which I almost never do, I use my rickety old ladder and pull myself up through the opening. It’s a terrible and dangerous system. But it works.
One morning I walked into the hallway and stopped. The panel to the attic access was slid a few inches to the side. Did I leave it open?
Then I noticed the scratches. Four deep parallel grooves, carved into the wood panel. I stared trying to figure it all out.
I grabbed a chair, climbed up, and started to slide the panel back into place. Just as I reached up, a powerful rush of air blasted downward.
The panel slammed shut so hard it nearly knocked me off the chair. I caught myself against the wall. My heart was pounding. “Just a draft,” I thought out loud. Because saying something out loud made it true.
I immediately called an exterminator who came out later that afternoon.
He was a larger guy, a few years younger than me. I wasn’t sure he would fit through the attic access. He did have a really nice ladder. Less likely to kill someone compared to mine. He climbed up with ease, and I stayed below. No need for us both up there, I thought.
For the first few minutes I didn’t hear much. Just the occasional scrape of something moving across the floor. A box being shuffled. Then everything went silent. I looked at the attic door and listened.
There was a loud crash. Something heavy hit the floor. I jumped.
“Everything okay?” I shouted.
No response.
The silence extended. Then a scraping sound across the floor, followed by a sharp yell. It was the kind of yell someone makes when they see something they didn’t expect to see.
My stomach dropped. “Hey!” I shouted, a slight shake to my voice.
There was no response.
Then more noise, and another yell.
Without thinking I ran to the ladder and climbed. I was convinced I would find the exterminator being mauled by some rabid animal. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it.
Just as I reached the top of the ladder, a face popped into the opening. I nearly fell off the ladder.
The exterminator looked more excited than scared. His eyes wide, cheeks flush with excitement. I didn’t know what I was seeing.
Then he blurted out, “You have an Atari 2600 up here.”
I stared at him. “What?”
“An Atari 2600,” he pointed into the darkness. “An original woodgrain model.”
I didn’t move. “That’s why you screamed?”
“I didn’t scream.”
“You most definitely screamed”
“Okay, maybe a little. But do you know what that thing’s worth?”
A few seconds ago I thought I was going to have to fight a bear sized raccoon. Now I’m having a conversation about one of my childhood toys. After a few minutes talking about the ancient video game console, I asked if there were any animals. His excitement faded.
“No animals.”
“What do you mean no animals?”
“I mean no animals. No scat, no fur, no nests, no food remnants. No animals.”
“But I’ve been hearing something.”
“I believe you my friend.” He looked back into the darkness. “When I first climbed up and looked around, I thought I saw a figure in the corner, back by the old coat rack. But then I realized it was just some coats.”
I nodded in agreement. I didn’t actually know what he was talking about. What coat rack? But I didn’t exactly know everything in the attic either. It sounded plausible.
“Oh, and there is a pile of clothes up here too.”
My stomach dropped. “What kind of clothes?”
“I don’t know. Socks, shirts, an old ratty sweatshirt.”
I took offense to that last statement, but didn’t say anything. It was clearly all of my clothes that had been disappearing.
I asked if he saw any way that an animal could have gotten in or out of the attic.
He shook his head. “Nope.”
“No holes, or gaps, or…” I trailed off.
“Nothing.”
Then I pointed at the scratches on the attic panel. “Do these look like something got in?”
He lifted his hat and scratched his head. “Honestly? Yeah, they do. They look like something got in.”
I nodded again. I knew it.
“They also look like something got out,” he added.
After a few more minutes of talking about video game consoles the exterminator left. And I was left with no answer as to what was in the attic.
That night I closed my door before going to bed. It felt stupid. The small piece of fiberboard that made up the door didn’t really offer any protection. Still, it made me feel better.
But not safe enough. I hardly slept that night.
Every creak of the house sounded significant and intentional. Every little noise was a warning, causing my heart to race and senses to peak.
Sometime around three in the morning I heard it. The panel on the attic moved. It was the soft scraping sound of wood sliding on wood.
I sat up in bed. Frozen. It was silent. I waited. Nothing.
I started to lay back down when the scratching started. It was close. Too close. It sounded deliberate, not something searching. Something prying.
The bedroom door rattled slightly in its frame. I stopped breathing. Something was touching the other side of the door.
Then the handle started to move.
Adrenaline kicked in and forced me out of bed. I quickly and quietly went to the door and flipped the lock. The mechanism clicked into place. The handle snapped back.
I heard movement down the hallway. Then the attic panel slid closed.
Complete silence.
I went and sat on the edge of the bed, listening. I sat there until the sun came up.
I eventually made my way down to the kitchen to make some strong coffee. I needed it. When I came back I investigated the bedroom door. There were the same scratches as before. Four deep parallel grooves.
But they weren’t on the bottom of the door where I thought I might find them. Something reaching underneath the door. No, they were along the top. Almost seven feet off the ground. Clawing in to pry the door open. I sat there and stared at them for a long time. What could have done that?
That’s when I decided I was done guessing. I decided to go into the attic.
I slammed two more cups of coffee and went to the garage to get some armour.
I put on my bike helmet with a headlamp attached. Gardening gloves in case I needed to grab something. And an extra thick denim jacket. I felt like an idiot. I’m sure I looked like an idiot. But that’s what fear does, makes us idiots.
I grabbed my old ladder and headed to the hallway.
Once there I took a deep breath and started to climb up. I poked my head into the attic and turned on my headlamp.
The attic was pitch black with the exception of my headlamp cutting across old boxes and insulation. Nothing else. I was relieved.
Then I heard something. A shuffle. To my right. I looked over, my headlamp slashing through the dark attic. I saw movement. Something crossing through the darkness. Something big. Far too big to be a raccoon.
Then it stopped. I couldn’t see it, but I knew it was there.
Was it breathing? Could I hear it breathing?
Suddenly it sounded closer.
Panic took over.
I scrambled back down the attic door. My foot slipped on the ladder sending it crashing sideways into the hall below. I was left hanging out of the attic. Holding on with both arms.
I saw something move in the darkness above. I could hear it coming closer. Feel its warm breath on my fingers.
I let go.
I landed on the hardwood floors, crashing hard enough to knock the wind from my lungs. I scrambled backwards to avoid anything jumping onto me from the attic.
I looked up at the attic panel, and saw it sliding over. Slowly. Deliberately. Wood sliding on wood. Then it slammed shut. Sending a warning. Telling me not to come back.
#entertainment
source
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