The Watcher in the Attic

Jenna had always thought there was something off about her grandmother’s house. It wasn’t the old creaky floors or the thick dust that seemed to settle on every surface, but something deeper—something in the air, like an unspoken presence. Her grandmother, ever since Jenna was young, had warned her to avoid the attic. “It’s not a place for you,” she would say with a stern glance. “Don’t go up there, no matter what.”

But now that her grandmother had passed away, leaving her the house, Jenna couldn’t resist. The house was hers to do with as she pleased, and the attic—the one place she had never been allowed to explore—was calling to her.

One evening, after weeks of living in the house, Jenna stood in front of the attic door, her hand on the handle. Her heart thudded in her chest, and her breath quickened. She had always felt drawn to that door, but now, with her grandmother gone, the weight of the unspoken warning hung over her like a cloud.

Still, curiosity won.

She twisted the knob and pushed the door open.

The air inside the attic was thick with dust and the smell of old wood. Jenna flicked on the light, revealing rows of forgotten furniture, boxes covered in sheets, and cracked mirrors leaning against the walls. But in the far corner, behind a stack of old trunks, something caught her eye—a large, ornate mirror, its surface cracked but still reflecting faintly in the dim light. The frame was intricate, with strange carvings that seemed to pulse with an eerie energy.

Without thinking, Jenna walked toward it, drawn by an unknown force. As she reached out to touch the glass, the temperature in the room seemed to drop. The reflection of her hand on the mirror wasn’t hers—it was blurry, distorted, like a shadow of someone else’s hand.

She froze.

The reflection of herself in the mirror didn’t move with her. Instead, it stayed still, staring back at her with wide, unblinking eyes. Jenna’s breath hitched in her throat as she took a step back, but the figure in the mirror didn’t follow. It stood there, unmoving, its dark eyes fixed on her, its lips barely parted as if whispering something she couldn’t hear.

“Grandma…” she whispered, backing away from the mirror.

Then she noticed something even more chilling. From the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow moving in the reflection—a figure standing just behind her in the room.

Her heart stopped.

Jenna spun around, but the attic was empty. No one was there.

The reflection, however, remained unchanged. The shadowed figure in the mirror was still there, its face now emerging from the darkness. It was a man—tall, thin, with hollow eyes and a twisted smile. His lips parted, as if mouthing words Jenna couldn’t understand. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

“Who are you?” Jenna whispered, her voice trembling.

The figure in the mirror grinned wider, revealing a set of jagged teeth, its eyes widening with something like hunger.

Suddenly, the temperature dropped even further. The mirror began to ripple, distorting the reflection like water. Jenna stumbled back, terrified. The shadow in the mirror started to move—slowly at first, but then faster, as if it were reaching through the glass toward her.

“Jenna…”

The voice was a low whisper, coming from inside the mirror itself, but it wasn’t the figure’s voice. It was her grandmother’s.

“Don’t… open it.”

Jenna’s eyes widened, the words piercing through her fear.

With shaking hands, she grabbed the edge of the mirror and yanked it from the wall. She could feel the coldness of it as if it were alive, pulsating under her fingers.

She wanted to drop it, to run, but something kept her holding it, the whisper growing louder, more frantic. She heard the sound of feet moving behind her in the attic, the soft scuffle of shoes against the floor.

Turning slowly, Jenna saw nothing but empty space. But when she looked back at the mirror, the figure in the glass was gone. The reflection of her face remained, but now… now there was something behind her.

The shadow of a figure.

A figure that was moving closer.

Jenna screamed and tossed the mirror to the floor, shattering the glass into pieces.

The room fell silent.

She backed toward the door, still breathing hard, eyes darting across the attic, but everything was still. The shadow was gone. The whisper faded. The only sound was her own ragged breathing.

But she knew she wasn’t alone.

As Jenna turned to flee, she glanced at the broken pieces of glass scattered across the floor. In the jagged shards, her reflection was there—faint, but unmistakable.

And there, just behind her, was the man.

Staring. Waiting.

Forever watching.