The Attic Horror

My parents always told me to never go up to the roof cellar.

They said it was just old, crumbling, and dangerous. But lately,

I started hearing things. Soft scratches in the dead of night,

coming from right above my room. Last night, the scratching was different.

It wasn't random. It was a rhythm. Almost a call. I reached for

the handle, my hand trembling. As the door creaked open, my flashlight flickered

and died. But in that last flash of light I saw it.

It was not just a shadow. It was smiling at me. And then darkness.