I tossed and turned. Sleep beckoned me, yet every time I drifted off, a strange sound from above my room woke me. It sounded like something rough being scraped back and forth on the other side of my ceiling, and as I listened closer, I observed it cease every few minutes for seconds at a time, then start again.

Trying to ignore it, I put a pillow over my head and fell asleep as it stopped, then I woke back up when it began again. Grunting in frustration, I threw my pillow on the floor and listened.

Scritch, scratch, scritch, scratch.

I groaned and sat up in bed, hoping that would somehow make it stop.

Scritch, scratch, scritch, scratch.

Mumbling curse words under my breath I got to my feet, swaying as my eyes attempted to adjust to the darkness and my brain tried to get into standing up mode. I rubbed my eyes and walked slowly towards my bedroom door, opening it with a loud creak.

Scritch, scratch, scritch, scratch.

The sound was a bit quieter, and I now knew that whatever was causing the sound was directly above my bedroom ceiling. I stepped out into the dark hallway, the moon spilling a spooky ray of light through the window at the end. The orchid plant on the table underneath the window casting a long, stretched shadow on the floor, and a tree branch outside brushed up against the glass pane.

Scritch, scratch, scritch, scratch.

I winced in irritation as the sound snapped me out of my sleepy daze. I walked down the hallway, my bare feet making hardly a sound as I stepped on the polished wood floor. I walked slowly to the end of the hall, and with a glance at the moon over my shoulder, I rounded the corner.

A door loomed in front of me; the narrow, dark form yielding a small, gold knob. I placed my hand on its cold surface, than perked up my ears.

Scritch, scratch, scritch, scratch.

Sure enough, the sound was coming from the attic. I carefully turned the doorknob, and with a rusty creak of its old hinges, I opened the door. I heard the sound stop, and assuming it ceased in one of its periodic breaks, I cautiously made my way up the steep, tall staircase. I paused right before reaching the top, waiting for the sound. But I heard nothing.

Biting my lip, I trudged the last few steps to the top, stopping to catch my breath. I lifted my head and looked around, seeing nothing but boxes of junk and old furniture. I tapped my chin, then calculated which part of the musty attic was above my bedroom. Drawing a mental picture of the upstairs of the house in my mind, I discovered that the south of the attic near the small semi-circle window was where I needed to investigate.

I began slowly picking my way through boxes and piles of old things, being careful not to trip in the darkness. I climbed over an ancient chaise, worked my way around a rotted out chest of drawers, knocked over an old mannequin and moved a broken table to get to the corner by the window. The attic smelled moldy and musty, and the air felt damp and sticky. All this mingled with the chill of the spring night was enough to send tingles down your spine.

A tree branch scratched against the pane as I got closer, and moonshine poured through the glass pane. The floor creaked as I finally stepped into the small open space above my bedroom ceiling. My eyes darted from the beams on above me to the unpainted walls covered in cobwebs. The whole atmosphere was eerie, as if it was mockingly daring me to find whatever was making the sound. Moving a large box to get a better view of the floor, I looked down. There, less than 5 feet away, was a body covered in blood.

Jayson's body.

Before a scream of horror could escape my mouth, I heard a noise behind me, then a pair of arms yank me back and push a cloth to my face. I struggled momentarily, a strong, overpowering smell filling my nostrils mingled with a strangely familiar scent. Before I could process another thought, I helplessly blacked out.

-     -     -

My head spun and my body felt like it was floating. I tried opening my eyes, but they felt as heavy as lead. I couldn’t move my hand, it was just too hard, and to wriggle a toe required extreme effort. My thoughts were groggy and my mind was hazy, until it hit me like a brick- Jayson had been murdered.

I sat bolt upright and screamed at the top of my lungs, my head spinning at the sudden movement and my dry throat burning from the sound that had escaped from it. I didn’t realize it, but I’d opened my eyes, and my aunt, uncle, and cousin all three rushed into my room.

"Whatever is the matter dear?!”

My aunt rushed to my bedside, a fearful expression on her face.

“JAYSON! JAYSON’S DEAD!”

My aunt jumped at my words, and my uncle hastily spoke up as I began crying.

“No no Cora Lynn, Jayson is perfectly all right. Why on earth would you think he was dead?”

"I SAW HIM! IN THE ATTIC! HE WAS JUST LAYING THERE ALL BLOODY, AND-“

Eric laughed and tried to sound comforting.

"Cora Cora, you were just dreaming!”

"NO! NO I WASN’T! I… I…”

I ceased crying, realizing I was in my own bed, covers neatly over me, just as I had gone to sleep. I opened my mouth, but no words would come. My uncle forced a laugh.

“See Cora? Just a nightmare. Jayson is fine I’m sure.”

"B-but… but I heard a noise… a-and I went up to the attic… a-and I saw him in the corner… t-then someone grabbed me and that’s… that’s all I remember…”

“Of course, exactly like a dream Cora Lynn. Now, come down to breakfast once you’ve calmed down.”

My aunt walked to the door, fidgeting with her hands, and my Uncle glanced at Eric who followed him out with his usual adittude. I stared at them all blankly leave, then shut the door behind them.

Convinced it couldn’t have been a dream, I bounded out of bed, disregarding my pounding headache. I threw open my door and ran down the hall, glancing to the left to see them all rounding the corner at the end of the stairs, hurrying towards the dining room. I raced around the corner of the hallway and opened the attic door, dashing dangerously fast up the staircase. I stumbled to a stop at the top, then rushed through the maze of boxes and furniture until I’d reached the corner above my bedroom.

Gasping for air, I looked at my feet. Nothing was there. I frantically searched the area around the open floor space for any sign of his body, but I came up empty handed.

“I KNOW I wasn’t dreaming!!!”

I gasped these words to myself as I tore through boxes, looking for anything, even the faintest indication a dead body had been in the attic. Still, nothing.

Tears running down my cheeks angrily hit a wood chest and ran back to my room, slamming the door behind me. Had I been dreaming? Now it seemed blurry, like a dream always does when you attempt to replay what happened once you wake up. Maybe it had been a dream. Maybe I was finally going crazy after being in this cursed house for so long. Maybe… maybe…           

I threw myself down on the bed, my head still pounding. I buried my face in my messed up blankets and laid there for a few minutes, thinking and speculating and just confusing myself more and more.

When I finally got up, I heard my aunt calling me from downstairs to come to breakfast, so I quickly threw on some clothes and ran down, still indecisive as to whether or not it had all been a crazy dream or an all-too real experience.