Scary Stories

Chapter 6 - The Hidden Attic

I've been a professional cleaner for years, specializing in old, abandoned properties. It's not a glamorous job, but it pays well, and I've always enjoyed the solitude. However, my latest assignment has left me questioning everything I thought I knew about the world.

It started like any other job. I was hired by a wealthy client to clean out a mansion that had been in his family for generations. The place was massive, with dozens of rooms filled with dust and forgotten furniture. My client, Mr. Dawson, gave me strict instructions to leave the attic alone. He said it was full of old family memorabilia and he would handle it himself.

Curiosity has always been my weakness. After a week of cleaning, I couldn't resist the urge to take a peek. One afternoon, while Mr. Dawson was out, I climbed the narrow staircase to the attic. The door was locked, but a quick search through the house yielded an old key that fit perfectly.

The attic was unlike any other part of the house. It was dark and musty, with a single window covered in grime. As I moved my flashlight around, I noticed a strange, metallic smell in the air. The space was filled with old trunks and covered furniture, but one thing caught my eye immediately: a large, ornate mirror leaning against the far wall.

It was an antique, with an intricately carved frame that seemed out of place in the dusty attic. I approached it cautiously, my flashlight beam bouncing off the glass. As I got closer, I saw something move in the reflection. My heart skipped a beat, and I spun around, but there was nothing there.

I turned back to the mirror, and my blood ran cold. The reflection showed the attic as it was, but there was a figure standing behind me, a tall, shadowy man with glowing red eyes. I felt a chill run down my spine as the figure raised a hand and pointed directly at me.

I stumbled back, knocking over an old trunk. The figure in the mirror started to move, slowly stepping closer. My instincts screamed at me to run, but my legs felt like lead. Just as the figure was about to reach the surface of the mirror, I snapped out of my paralysis and bolted for the door.

I slammed the attic door shut behind me and locked it. My heart pounded in my chest as I leaned against the door, trying to catch my breath. I could hear faint whispers coming from the other side, but I couldn't make out any words. The metallic smell seemed to linger around me, clinging to my clothes.

I decided to leave the mansion that night. I packed my things and left a note for Mr. Dawson, explaining that I couldn't continue the job. As I drove away, I glanced back at the house and saw a figure standing in the attic window, watching me.

A few days later, I received a call from Mr. Dawson. He sounded frantic, asking me if I had gone into the attic. I admitted that I had, and he cursed under his breath. He told me that the mirror had been in his family for centuries and that it was cursed. Anyone who saw the figure in the mirror was doomed to be haunted by it for the rest of their lives.

I thought he was crazy, but the nightmares began almost immediately. Every night, I dream of the attic and the figure with the red eyes. I feel its cold presence watching me, waiting for the moment when I let my guard down.

I've moved twice since then, but the dreams follow me wherever I go. I've tried to destroy the mirror in my dreams, but it always reappears, untouched. I'm writing this as a warning: if you're ever cleaning out an old house and find a hidden attic, leave it alone. Some secrets are better left undisturbed.