Like any good ghost story, ours started on a dark and stormy night in my hometown, York. I was sitting on my bed reading, when I heard a loud crash coming from upstairs.
“Caroline? What was that?” I heard my sister Claire whisper from her room.
“I don’t know. Do you think Dad is up there?” I replied.
“Probably not,” she answered.
I stood up and grabbed a flashlight, just in case, and headed out of my room. Claire met me in the hallway, and we climbed up the stairs to the attic. When I flicked on the light, I saw nothing but boxes and a chair. Nothing seemed to have moved. Except… the chair seemed a bit out of place, but who knows? I hadn’t been up here in a while.
“There’s nothing here. Let’s go back downstairs,” I said.
“Agreed,” Claire responded.
As we were walking back down the stairs, I heard a creaking noise, like a door opening slowly. I looked around and saw nothing. We parted ways and went to bed quietly.
“Goodnight,” Claire said.
“Goodnight,” I replied.
The next morning, I woke up slowly. That morning was like every other morning. I took the bus to school with Claire and our older brother Andrew. Everything was going well until last period. I was sitting in English class, writing a short story, when I suddenly felt sick. I felt much worse when I got home. I must’ve looked confused when I got off the bus because Andrew asked, “Hey Caroline, is something the matter?”
“No. Well, sort of. I felt sick during English, and now I feel even worse,” I explained.
“Oh, almost like a cold prickle down your spine mixed with nausea?” he asked.
I looked at him suspiciously. “Yes, that’s exactly it. How did you know?”
“I also feel sick and Claire too. Do you have any idea why?” he asked.
“No, I don’t. Speaking of strange things, there was a loud crash in the attic last night,” I said.
“Oh really? I didn’t hear it. That’s strange,” he responded.
We walked into the house together, and I felt even sicker. I didn’t feel any better for the rest of the night, and everyone was feeling sick. Just the same as the night before, there was another loud crash coming from upstairs. This time Mum, Dad and Andrew heard it, and they bolted upstairs to see what had happened. Dad checked the attic, and he said that there was nothing suspicious.
This continued every night at about the same time, but it happened more than once. Three weeks after the original crash when we went downstairs for breakfast, we saw some cabinets open in the kitchen, and a chair was knocked over.
“Was anyone down here at the time of the crashing?” Mum asked.
“No,” Claire, Andrew, Dad and I said simultaneously. Mum didn’t seem convinced, but she didn’t question us any further. The crashing continued that night, but I also heard footsteps. I saw Dad walk past my room with a flashlight in hand on his way up to the attic. When he came back down a few minutes later, he said that he hadn’t seen anything once again. Sometime after that, I fell asleep. A short while later, I heard a little girl singing, “You can’t see me… You can’t touch me… and if you do, it will be too late…”
Then I heard deranged laughing. That was all I remembered, but after that I woke up in a cold sweat, breathing somewhat heavily. I got up and walked downstairs to the kitchen and saw that it was completely trashed. All of the cabinet doors were open, and one of them was hanging by one hinge. The chairs were all knocked over, and the dishes we strewn everywhere. A few glasses were broken, and the glass was all over the floor. Some food was also randomly thrown about.