I wouldn’t call the farm house I’m stuck in with my parents an ideal home. It’s too hot in the summer, too cold in the winter, and the paint job leaves much to be desired.
Because we have no central heat or air I have two bedrooms. In the summer I stay upstairs in the attic and in the winter I’m downstairs in the sickly pink guest room. Right now it’s winter in Kentucky, so I spend my nights downstairs.
I’ve never been an easy sleeper, I tend to lay awake some night for hours and just daydream until sleep finally comes. It was on one of those nights that I first started to hear the scratching. It was a faint sound, right above my head where my attic bedroom would be. A soft scratching, like nails against wood.
I didn’t think anything of it, houses like mine are always home to some form of rodent menace. Eventually it stopped and I was left again in silence.
A few nights again the scratching started up again. It was just like before, the soft sound of something dragged lightly across wood. But the longer I listened the louder it seemed to get. At some it stopped, and I drifted off with visions of a monster rat in my head.
That morning when I got home from school I ventured upstairs to check out what was making all the night time racket. To my surprise nothing was there, nor was anything out of place.
Night came again, and so did the god forsaken scratching. It was louder than ever. It had gone from a soft scratch to the equivalent of someone trying to come through the ceiling. More fed up than scared I bolted from my bed and went upstairs, ignoring the freezing cold and my pounding heart.
It was silent. There was nothing there. I didn’t understand it. My curiosity got the better of me and I flicked on the light. As far as I could see everything was where it should be. Then I walked over to the corner above my bed downstairs. It looked like someone had taken both their hands and dug their nails in and dragged them across the floor. Ten perfect scratches across the floor.
Now I was starting to get scared. I went back to other room and just laid there, not sure what to make of everything. Again the noise started and I jumped. Too scared to move I stayed put, waiting for it to stop.
I got my mom to go upstairs and look it over the next morning. She was as confused as I was. Apparently she hadn’t heard anything at night, even though our rooms are right across from each other. Maybe it was imagination but the marks looked deeper.
Every night I hear the scratching. It’s always in the same place, right above my head. Sometimes it’s quiet, sometimes it sounds like someone desperately trying to claw their way through the wood and plaster. The marks never change either, they always stay in the same place. No more ever pop up. Though sometimes it seems like they’re a bit deeper.
Whatever, or whoever is trying to get through that floor hasn’t succeeded yet, and I hope it takes them forever. I think this summer I’ll stay downstairs….