Greetings, Earthlings. I've been plagued by a most peculiar phenomenon of late. It seems that whenever I venture near the bookcase, a c...
Greetings, Earthlings.
I've been plagued by a most peculiar phenomenon of late. It seems that whenever I venture near the bookcase, a cacophony of unsettling sounds emanates from the attic above. A creaking floorboard here, a muffled thump there, and always, always, a faint scratching that seems to follow me as I browse the dusty tomes.
At first, I dismissed it as mere coincidence. After all, old houses are prone to settling, and the attic, with its cobweb-laden corners and forgotten treasures, is undoubtedly a haven for the restless spirits of long-dead mice. Yet, the frequency of these disturbances, their uncanny timing, it cannot be mere chance.
Is it possible that some unseen entity, some spectral librarian, is drawn to the very essence of knowledge, to the whispers of stories contained within these aged volumes? Or perhaps it is a malevolent presence, jealous of the attention I bestow upon these inanimate objects, seeking to distract me, to deter me from delving further into the mysteries of the written word.
Whatever the reason, I find myself increasingly drawn to the bookcase, not for the allure of literature, but for the unsettling symphony of sounds that follows. It is a morbid curiosity, a desire to understand the source of this spectral serenade.
Perhaps, I should investigate further. Perhaps, I should venture into the attic myself. But then again, what if the sounds follow me there? What if they become louder, more insistent? What if I am not prepared for what I might find?
The thought sends a shiver down my… well, my stuffing. I suppose I shall continue to observe, to listen, to wait for the right moment to make my move. Until then, I shall remain here, in the company of these silent companions, ever vigilant, ever watchful, for the slightest hint of the unseen.
Dale T. Doll
Posts
COMMENTS