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The Attic Part 1(a creepypasta)
I was in my room when it happened, I heard a loud crash and some bangs. It startled me and I lept from my desk and abandoned my writing to see what was happening. My feet flew through the tiled kitchen and nearly slipped onto my side; I flew the garage door open and to my surprise saw my fathers foot dangling out of a fresh hole in the ceiling while dust and white drywall smoke swirl around the garage air accompanied with the sounds of falling debris and some choice cusses from my father.
"Dad, what on earth have you done?" I asked half smothering a laugh. His cusses turned to grunts as he tried to pull himself up and out of the hole, as he pulled himself up he began to tell me through his grunts and gasps,
"Your mother asked me to get her stupid Christmas stuff down from the attic and I stepped through the ceiling, uuugghhhh." The last of his sentence was him finally pulling free and walked two steps over to go down the ladder, and began dusting himself of the drywall and attic dust making me cough and gag as my unhealthy lungs couldn't filter them. I ran inside and got a towel for my father and a rag to cover my nose and mouth. My father dusted off, looked at the gaping hole next to the attic opening. "********, now I have to get something to fix that with." He muttered as he walked into the house and slammed the garage door behind himself. I watched him mutter inaudible things to himself from the sink while I washed away the dust on me. It was just then that my mother and my little sister came home from Publix. My mother noticed the disgruntled look plastered on my fathers face.
"What's wrong hunny?" My mother asked sweetly and calmly,
"Well Jody, I stuck my foot through our ceiling." He said frankly, my mother furrowed her eyebrows in anger and briskly walked to the garage throwing open the door and looking up to the attic, my sister; who listened to the conversation was fascinated by the bizarre incident and quickly followed my mother who's rage could be felt from the living room.
A few days passed and our days and nights went on and on without a hitch, the hole was forgotten or at least ignored by my family, including myself. We did laundry in the garage and sometimes had to get meat out of the deep-freeze. I continued to further my writing and art within the confines of my Tim Burton and anime encrusted room listening to loud music while I was left at home while my parents doted on my younger sister. Everything was normal. That is, until I actually paid attention. It was on one of the rare occasional times that I would come out of my room and watch TV, House of course the only TV show I bother to watch, when I heard a light knock on the door. It only happened once but it was distinct, a fist onto wood. At first I made my way to the door, thinking it was the old man my mother cared for for extra cash, when I stopped mid-step and began to shiver, our front door was made of metal.
It scared me and made me cringe when I realized that the only door that makes that noise was the garage door. I knew I was alone, the only rational explanation was if one of the stupid dogs got locked in there again. I armed myself with a kitchen knife, just in case, and opened the door to, nothing. I shut the door and locked it, as I always had and finished my episode of House and my parents returned home with my sister, who gave me a large hug and then scattered to her room, my parents went into the kitchen with the dogs, who jumped and whined to be pet and paid attention to. I greeted my parents and then dissipated back into my room to try and continue writing, but I couldn't. I was still unnerved and taped the gaps in my curtains closed with tape and thumbtacks to keep people and whatever from peering into my room, in the back of my mind I knew that no one could, but it still gave me some security from whatever was freaking me out. I sat watching my tv for a few moments watching Tron Legacy, and when I felt safe continued my writing and drawing. A few days passed and all seemed normal, except one night when the power went out.
It was raining heavily and the thunder was louder than usual, signaling that the storm was closer than usual, typical Florida for you. My sister and I were given the imminent task of 'light fetch' meaning that in the dark we had to stumble about our home and fumbling around for candles and other light sources. We gathered a good bit with me carrying the most. my sister and mom began lighting the candles and handed me and my fathers light as we were given the duty of making sure the house was completely locked and safe. This was our routine now, since my mom read a magazine of tabloids that told her people most often break into peoples houses during bad storms, my father told her its a load of s**t, and I think it is too, but we do whatever it takes to make her happy. I took the side of the house with my sister and I's bedroom and searched all over, turning up nothing. I closed our doors and locked them with a key and returned to my family in the living room, the first thing I saw, was my fathers unhappy face.
"What?" I asked frankly, he sneered at me.
"Don't use a tone with me for one, and for two, I know you hate small dogs, but why did you lock them in the garage?" He asked hardly and coldly, clearly angry; the only issue was, I had no clue what he was talking about. When I told him, he grabbed my arm and drug me across the kitchen to the garage door and taking the strongest light we had flew the door open and made me stare at the back of the door. Clear as day, were scratches alot like the ones that our dogs would have made; my heart began to beat angrily and worriedly in my chest, but not because of the scratches, but because I felt within my gut someone watching me and not a good kind of watching, the kind of stare that could burn holes through cast iron, a mean sinister and menacing gaze.
"Hey dad, let's shut the door. I'm creeped out." I said as I took the door from him and closed it, locking it upon impact. I walked to the living room with my dad following behind. furiously my dad stopped me and sat me down then proceeded to sit next to my mom and sister. the dogs ran to their side and laid down happily wagging their tails to be pet.
"you haven't answered me, why did you lock the dogs into the garage?" He angrily barked, I sat in stark silence, and dumbstruck of words or thoughts.
"The thing is dad, I honestly have no clue how those got there, I usually lock the dogs in your room." I said honestly as my mind continued processing the garage door. My dad sat unhappy about my answer, but he dropped the subject anyway and told me to go cook in the kitchen. My sister listened to her iPod and played temple run or whatever on her iPod, My father attended to his chiwawa/jack mix and talked to him, and my mother began talking on her cell to her friend, by the light of my cellphone I began cutting tomatoes with a knife for a stew. As I began dicing a tomato a loud abrupt bang hit the garage door with such force as to shake it and make me cut my hand open, there was no more banging, no more sounds, nothing. With my hand cut, I looked into the living room at my parents and my sister, who sat there, continuing their activities as if nothing had happened, That seemed ******** up to me. I know that there was a bang, I heard it, I felt it. It happened; but not even the dogs seemed phased, they seemed fine, happily laying and being pet and paid attention to. It was only me, only I heard that sound, that maniacal bang. I drew the knife as if ready for combat, holding it like my dad taught me, and went toward the door with my phone as my light, I opened the door, heart pounding and lungs pumping, and faced into... nothing. There was nothing, just that maniacal feeling again. That stare of pure hate. The only thing that snapped me back to 'me' was my father screaming at me. I slammed the door, and locked it walking away as quickly as possible.
That was over a month ago, after that night, for the last few nights I heard the knocking, just once a night, not loud like that night, but still there. A few nights, the dogs seemed to take notice and barked at the door a few times, only to be hushed and dismissed by my parents or sister, and myself.. I dismissed it too, and I regret it immidently. I never told anyone, and when it did happen, I wrote it off, and I let it continue, but I still, with fear in the back of my mind made me lock the door obsessively every day, and every night. When it was unlocked, I felt the fear rise into my throat and the fear stuck with me for hours into the nights, and made my mind hurriedly wander to 'what if something got in?' or 'what if something is waiting to kill me now?' eventually, I'd go to sleep unwillingly, and wake only moments later, with all my lights in my room on. I turned them on out of fear, childish thinking that whatever it was would be afraid of the light. This process continued for weeks and soon, my parents noticed my lack of sleep affecting my thoughts and activities, and eventually my sleep cycle, id be a living vampire, sleeping by day and staying awake at all costs at night. I bought a coffee pot for my room, and got some Starbucks coffee and amenities for it off my part time job, and continued this cycle, making myself prepared with fencing equipment from the school club, using my rights as captain for the first time. I got my hunting knife my grandfather gave me and sleep with it under my pillow, gripping it so tightly sometimes that I wake with my hand red and chaffed; but the funny thing is, the weird thing, the ******** up thing is. I don't even know, what is making me fear as much as I am. Every time I open the door, there's nothing there. Just darkness, but I still couldn't shake the feeling of that glare. That hatred.
Soon after, I shook it entirely and returned completely normal, but I still slept with that knife under my pillow. Though it fell behind the bed from neglect and it didn't occur to me fish it out, the knocks have stopped and life seemed to be normal. But In the back of my mind, I constantly thought about it, I know it happened, because I still have a scar on my hand...

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