I moved into this townhouse a couple weeks ago.

It’s been on the market for quite a

while and I finally decided to buy it. I wanted to move out of my apartment and
settle down in a decent place for once.

My offer went through almost immediately, and within days I started packing;
preparing to switch residences. I’ve never been the type to fill my home with
various amenities, so the job was done fairly easily.

Later, when I was transferring boxes from my moving van to the empty townhouse, I
noticed my new neighbor watering her plants. She was a middle-aged woman with a
garden hat, and she was smiling as she nurtured the several leafy pots on her front
lawn.

She suddenly noticed me, and set down her watering can. She hurriedly scuttled
towards me, her face illuminated with a wide, eager grin.

“You must be the new neighbor,” she said, reaching out a hand. I shook it promptly.
“The name’s Barb.”

“Finn,” I replied.

“I have something to give you, then.” She fished around in her overall pockets
until she took out a small, crumpled piece of paper. “Here,” she said, handing it
to me. “Instructions for feeding la criatura. Start tomorrow. Today’s deeds are
fulfilled.”

“Pardon?”

“Oh, were you not informed?” She sighed. “There’s a creature that lives in the top
of that house. Just follow the instructions, and you’ll be fine.” She pat me on the
shoulder, making her way back to the flower pots.

I froze for a moment, then slowly unfolded the piece of paper she’d handed me. In
neat, loopy handwriting, there was a list of three rules.

1. Do not look inside the attic, much less go inside it yourself. There are several
other places you can use for storage instead, such as the closet by the front door.

2. Two times a day, open the attic trapdoor a crack and leave a plate of food and a
glass of milk inside. It doesn’t matter what the food is as long as it’s something
you would feed yourself.

3. When you hear scratching, tapping, whispering, or other noises during the night,
ignore them. There is nothing else you can do.

I scoffed, putting the piece of paper in my shirt pocket, continuing to unload the
remaining boxes from the moving van.

I figured I had better set up my bedroom, so I lugged an inflatable mattress and a

few basic amenities onto the second floor.

As I was hanging up clothes in my closet, I noticed a small anomaly on the ceiling.

I took my phone out of my pocket and shone the flashlight above me.

It was a trapdoor, the same color as the ceiling, presumably the one leading to the
attic. It had a small knob on the side, as well as several phrases graffitied onto
the surface. “Don’t open me all the way.” “Proceed with caution.” “Something lives
up here.”
All of the phrases were in different handwriting, and all of a sudden I realized
Barb was being completely serious. I chuckled. Of course it had to be the first
house I moved into.

The next morning I barely recalled what Barb had told me, but as I felt the small
piece of paper still inside my pocket I was reminded of the bizarre task I needed
to complete.

I decided to throw together a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with some chips on
the side and hope for the best. Of course, I filled a nice tall glass with milk as
well.

I set the plate and cup down on the floor of my closet as I hesitantly attempted to
open the attic door. The knob twisted quite easily, and I made sure not to open it
all the way. It somehow stayed in the same position, so I was able to place the
dishes inside.

I noticed there was an existing bowl and mug next to the two things I had just set
down. Barb wasn’t kidding. I grabbed them both and quickly closed the door.

That night, I replaced the two now empty dishes with a fresh glass of milk and a
microwave burrito with tater tots. I tried not to think about it too much. Every
residence has its quirk. This would just have to become routine.

Only the night after that did the noises start.

I was nearly asleep when I heard several objects clatter above me. My eyes jolted
open, and I sat upright. Looking around the room, nothing had changed. I realized
it had come from the attic.

Then came the scratching. Precise, long periods of scratching. Scratch. Scratch.
Scrrrrratch. Of course, I couldn’t sleep. I knew I should’ve just brushed it off,
but my survival instincts kept me awake. It would be hard to get used to this.

Sometimes I would hear noises during the day; mostly when I was in my room. I’d be
unpacking, or writing, or reading, and I’d hear a clatter, or a thump, or a bang.
There was probably a large animal upstairs, and I don’t know why we were encouraged
to feed it, but I didn’t want to ask any questions.

The noises annoyed me when I was trying to fall asleep. There were times that I
would sleep on the couch because I couldn’t stand the incessant scratching. I would
still feed whatever was up there every day, but I wished it would just leave.

Eventually I just plugged in a pair of headphones, turned the volume up all the
way, and tried to ignore the noises that peeked through the calming music.

The thing about headphones is they make you more paranoid then being able to hear
what you’re blocking out. Whenever the noise went away completely I would get
confused and pause the music, then regret it when I could hear the scratching
again.

I didn’t think Barb was being serious in her note about the whispers until I heard
them myself.

It’s not like I could distinguish what they were saying, or if they were saying
anything, but they were definitely there and I could tell. It sounded like the
stereotypical effect in movies where someone leans close to another person and goes
“pspspsps”.
I didn’t sleep for two days. I could still hear the noises even when I was on the
couch. The added paranoia of something living in the attic didn’t help me, either.
When I did finally sleep it was because I was visiting a friend who was in town for
a bit.

Eventually I’d had enough. I needed to see what was living in the attic. I wasn’t
supposed to go in there myself, but nowhere in the instructions was it specified
that I couldn’t set up a camera.

I stopped by the store and picked up a crappy night vision camera that would
suffice. As I was about to walk into my house, I saw Barb again. She waved at me,
and I stopped long enough for her to start walking towards me.

“Hey, I have to tell you something important,” she said. She stopped about a foot
away from me. Her smile was gone, and her face was dead serious.

“Don’t call the fucking police. I’m not joking with you. Do not call the police.”

“W-what?”

She motioned her finger across her neck, sticking her tongue out. Don’t call the
police. Got it. I wasn’t exactly sure what she meant, but I figured I’d listen,
because the last thing she’d told me had been true.

I set the camera next to the usual plate and cup I left in the attic. Now I would
have to wait. I tried to sleep, and pretty much failed, as per usual. The noises
kept me awake.

I slept a few hours in the daytime, when the noises were less prominant. After that
it was time to replace the dishes in the attic and check out the camera footage. I
was still groggy, but I had enough energy to find out what the hell was living in
my house.

I opened the attic trapdoor and grabbed the dishes, setting them on the ground as I
reached for the camera next.

A pale hand took hold of my arm.

I let out the loudest, most bloodcurdling scream I could ever image myself to
create. I tried pulling away, but couldn’t. I stared at the hand as I struggled to
escape. As I collapsed onto the floor, it fell on top of me in all its glory.

Immediately I felt cold metal pressed against my neck. I could barely see anything
in the darkness, but I made out a pitch white, malnourished face in front of me. It
looked human. Just barely. A bare, bony humanoid was pinning me down with a knife
against my throat. I could feel blood starting to drip down my skin.

The camera was ripped out of my hands and thrown directly into the attic. I wasn’t
about to go back up and find it. I was scared to move in fear of the knife being
drawn across my throat.

“If you call the police, I’ll make sure to kill you as slowly as I can. After I
kill them, of course,” said a hushed, raspy whisper. “Just follow the instructions
and we’ll both be fine.” I could just barely make out a grin in the dim light.

The knife slid lightly across my neck, not enough to stab me but enough to leave a
slight sliver. The thing, the human—pulled itself back into the attic and shut the
door.
It’s been about two days since the incident happened and I’m too terrified to do
anything. I’ve stuck to the routine every day, and nothing else has happened yet,
but I have the lingering assumption that the thing is going to kill me. I don’t
know what to do.

I wish I could get more information from Barb, but she hasn’t been out of the house
since.