The Other Side: A Short Story

2

12:10 A.M.

The space in front of me is cold and hard to see through until my eyes adjust to the lack of light. It's like walking into a movie theater. That nudging feeling creeps up my neck again. I'm more alert than ever. Pairs of ghostly eyes peep out from the shadows. Am I really alone?

I gaze at the white door on the left.

The attic.

"Come on..."

I shuffle forward until I'm face-to-face with the door. I want to open it, but I can't. I look back at the bar of light leaking out from my room. My hands clench into frustrated fists.

"Come on, Thomas!"

The edginess nags at me to forget all about this. Run and hide away. But, I can't. I'm more than a talker. I'm a doer. I just have to do.

Go...

The attic door creaks open. A strong scent of old timber and insulation seeps out through the crack. I see the hardwood steps ascending to the unknown above. My stomach flutters. I only walk up those stairs when my parents need help taking holiday decorations in and out of storage. The attic always feels odd to me. I've had access to it all my life, but I've never had a reason to make myself at home and look around.

Until now.

Go!

Using my phone's flash for light, I tread lightly up the snappy stairs on my tiptoes. Each step I climb is nippier and creakier than the last, but I push myself to the halfway point.

This is stupid.

It's not stupid, Thomas. It's why you want to major in filmmaking when you go to college next fall, right?

The thought of college is the last thing I want on my mind, but it takes me to the landing. I reach the summit of my own personal Mt. Everest. The air is thin, but it's an oven compared to a couple of steps backwards. I've only been up here maybe a minute, but I'm incredibly on edge, and roasting like mad, even in a tee and sleep pants.

"Damn..."

My phone shakes over toward the space. It sends the dark scattering. If only it weren't so late. C.J. would be here, and we'd be investigating. We wouldn't feel scared. We'd have each other to talk to, so we could keep our minds off the edginess.

"He'd provoke the heck out of you," I mumble.

Did they hear me say that?

I can't be afraid. I need to embrace this anxiety and use it against itself. What kind of future ghost-hunting documentarian doesn't even have the courage to explore his own attic? If I can't handle my house, then how am I going to handle other supposedly haunted locations?

Go...

I heave myself up and over the final step to the side and stare out at the world just beyond the old pane. I press my hand against its screen. It's dusty. Streetlights don't exist where I live. I can see a glow coming from between the trees. It's the neighbor. Their house is barely visible, along with my driveway, which is an endless black pit below.

It's so quiet. I feel those eyes again, this time from behind me like a curious welcome party. It takes everything in me to look back at the rest of the attic. I can make out the slanted beams stuffed with insulation, piled boxes and other things shrouded in dust and cobwebs.

I have a possible explanation for the eyes. That creepy plastic Santa to the left. I hate Santa. All he's good for is a cheap family photo op.

"Hello?"

I can hear my voice echoing. It's amplified and freaking me out.

"Who's that making all that noise?"

I look around, my phone light brightening the darkest of dusty corners. I take a step forward...

Eek!

It's just the old flooring.

Across from me is the other window. The path between feels endless, the pane reflecting off my light looking farther out the more I stare at it.

I...I can make it to the other side.

"If you're up here...well, why don't you show yourself?"

My eyes squint. I see a shadow move. But, I realize it's just my own as I keep walking. Debunked. I inch along, pushing deeper into the attic. The taps I hear. I know their location. Turns out that area is inaccessible because it's a cubbyhole blocked off by storage.

It's the spot above my room, and I can see parts of the little door.

"You got my attention for nights. So, show yourself!"

My shouting is cringeworthy. Is that how I sound? Deep and crackly? I think back to my friends and how they'd react if they were with me.

C.J. would say, "Relax, Tommy! Always Mr. Serious."

Well, Mr. Serious just reached the window.

I turn back the way I came. "I'm not staying long," I hear myself say out loud. "So, this is your last shot, because I'm not coming back."

No sounds come through the dusty, deafening silence.

"If you have anything to say, say it..."

Something? Anything?

"Really?"

How about nothing?

"If there's anything up here, then feel free to follow me downstairs and show yourself."

I pause to listen one last time, but there's nothing besides the internal screams over what I just said about them following me.

Idiot! What if it's evil?

I'm done.

Like that evil something suddenly makes chase after me, I hustle past the boxes and Santa, then down the stairs.

Tchk.

Of course, at the second-to-last step, when I'm ready to leave the attic behind, that's when I hear one last tap above. I think that was from me walking around, but I can't say for sure.

My mind is racing. Maybe it really is just wood settling, or mice.

Is it wrong that I don't want it to be?