Echoes in the Attic
Part 1: It’s Always the Attic
You’ve been here before.
New siding. Fresh porch rails. A kid’s scooter where the old garden used to be. But it’s the same house. Last time it was an older couple who lived here. They kept hearing footsteps, whispers, and claimed the attic was breathing. You and your old team investigated and found a raccoon’s nest up there. Problem solved. Or so you thought.
The couple moved out not long after. Never really explained why.
Now a younger family has moved in, and the activity is worse. Electrical issues. Shadows. Constant arguments. They say something is in the house with them.
Peter is fidgeting with his gear beside you. “I think another team came here like a year ago,” he says. “Different family, though.”
You shoot him a look. “Yeah. I told you that.”
Peter has a habit of trying to claim discoveries like they were his. It’s annoying, but forgivable. He’s a decent investigator and good with tech. You’ve actually bonded over that.
The new team is working well so far, even with Lux.
She’s a medium. Or at least that’s what she says. You’ve seen her do some interesting things, but you’re not sure what you believe. Honestly, she’s a little strange. Always drifting around the edges of a space like she’s tuning into a different channel.
Right now, she’s pacing the yard, scanning the perimeter.
You say something under your breath about Peter’s comment. Lux stops mid-step.
She tilts her head, as if she’s just heard something distant. Her eyes sweep across the property, then land briefly on you.
Just a glance. But it lingers.
You feel it… like someone whispering your name from the next room.
Then she turns away.
The front door creaks open. A woman in her 30s steps out, arms crossed, eyes shadowed with exhaustion. “Thanks for coming,” she says quietly.
Her eyes move across the group.
Then pause on you.
A second too long.
Peter clears his throat. “We’ll start in the attic. Rule out animals.”
You feel the anxiety in your chest.
It’s always the attic.
***
Part 2: No Signs of Animals
(You chose to head up to the attic with Peter.)
Peter tugs the attic stairs down with a loud creak, then mutters something about needing WD-40. He flicks on his headlamp and starts climbing. You follow without saying much.
The air gets cooler with each step. Dry. Still. You duck your head as the ceiling slopes down.
Peter starts scanning the space with his flashlight. “No signs of animals,” he says under his breath. “No droppings. No nesting.”
He crouches and fiddles with one of his motion sensors he recently rigged together, angling it toward the rafters. “Might leave one up here overnight. Just to see if anything triggers while we set up.”
You stand off to the side, near a stack of old boxes, watching.
He pauses for a moment, then shifts a piece of insulation with a gloved hand. “Hmm.”
He doesn’t say what he’s thinking, just shakes his head and keeps working.
A floorboard creaks. Not from Peter. Somewhere behind you.
Peter doesn’t seem to notice.
After a few more minutes, he adjusts the sensor one last time and starts heading back down. “I’ll talk to the couple, see what else they’ve been experiencing.”
You stay where you are, eyes lingering on the spot where you thought you heard something.
“It’s probably nothing,” you mutter, then call out, “Be down in a minute!”
The attic feels different now. Not colder. Just… heavier.
***
Part 3: Did I Just Say “Jason” ?
(You chose to take out your digital recorder and ask a few questions.)
Peter heads downstairs to speak with the couple. You stay behind in the attic, the air heavy and still.
You pull out your recorder. You’ve had it for a while, and it’s never let you down. Sometimes you wonder if you’re just carrying spirits around in it from location to location like the thing has its own haunted history.
You decide to sit on the floor and take in the environment for a moment. You press record.
“Preliminary EVP session, July 28th, 11:13 PM. My name is Matt - Lux and Peter are also here. Is there someone here with us?”
Silence.
“Can you tell me what’s happening in this house?”
You wait.
“Where should we start our investigation tonight?”
Just as you’re about to stop the session, something creaks behind you. You turn. Empty space.
You rewind. Press play.
“Preliminary EVP session, July 28th, 11:13 PM. My name is…” [static] —son.”
You immediately hit stop. You feel your pulse quicken. That was your voice, but it almost sounded like you said Jason.
Your stomach tightens.
You glance over your shoulder again. Nothing.
Still, a flicker of movement streaks across the attic wall. A shadow, fast and deliberate. Gone in a blink.
You exhale hard.
“Maybe it’s a trickster spirit,” you mutter. “Playing games.”
You start toward the attic stairs to call the team up. But before you can shout, you hear Peter’s voice drifting up.
So yeah, we’ve been working together about five years now,” he says.
You frown. That’s not true. You just met Peter six months ago.
You move quietly toward the top of the attic stairs, listening.
Peter again: “I think another team was out here last year. Something about raccoons?”
The woman sounds confused.
“I think you’ve got the wrong house. This was my parents’ home. Been in the family for generations. There haven’t been raccoons up there since my mom was a kid. She used to tell us funny stories about it… funny now, but terrifying as a kid thinking there was something lurking in the attic.”
She pauses, then adds, “This is the house my mom grew up in.”
There was something in the pause that felt like there was more.
You grip the railing.
That doesn’t make sense.
You’ve been here before.
You’re sure of it.
From somewhere behind you, the floor creaks.
You turn.
No one’s there.
This time, it’s definitely not a raccoon.
And whatever’s here… it’s starting to mess with your head.
***
Part 4: Bleedthrough
(You chose to stay behind and set up more equipment.)
The attic feels heavier now.
You kneel by the far wall, placing a few EM sensors, motion detectors, and the GTS Box your friend Elizabeth made to monitor vibrations and atmospheric changes. The static from the recorder still buzzes in your ears. That voice. YOUR voice saying “Jason.”
You set the last sensor. The lights flicker. Once. Then again.
A scuffing sound behind you. You turn. Nothing.
You rest your hand on a beam. For a split second, it looks cracked and splintered. Then it’s fine.
You step back.
Your thoughts feel… disjointed. Like you’re lagging behind yourself.
Then a whisper:
“Did you see that shadow?”
You spin around. Nothing.
From the corner, something darts across the floor. You stumble, bumping the recorder. It clatters but keeps rolling.
You rewind. Hit play.
Thud.
Your voice, faint: “Are you okay?”
Then another voice, unfamiliar:
“Did you see that shadow?”
You freeze. You never said those words.
But it’s your voice.
You pocket the device and head down the stairs.
Peter looks over. “Hey. Everything okay up there?”
You glance at him. “Something is definitely up there. I heard it shuffling around. And the recorder played back a session I didn’t do. Same time stamp. Same questions. But I said my name was Jason.”
He doesn’t seem to acknowledge what you’re saying.
“So… we’ve been working together for five years?”
He laughs, like it’s a joke.
You don’t laugh back.
Peter blinks. “What?”
“You told her we’ve been working together five years.”
Peter gets serious. “I… I guess I just said it. Maybe I was trying to sound more experienced or something. I don’t know… You also said a team came here last year. But she said this place has been in her family since before she was born. That no one’s been in the attic for decades.”
Peter stares at you, unease flickering behind his eyes. “You told me a team came here about a year ago.”
“No,” you say. “I said I came here. With my old team. We were the ones who found the raccoon’s nest.”
Peter freezes.
Lux enters from the hallway, sensing the shift in tone. “What’s going on?”
Peter looks at her. “Can you talk to him?”
Peter getting upset. “Hold on. I thought you said another team found a raccoon? Now you’re saying you were on that team?”
You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out.
Then Lux steps in. Calm. Measured.
“What year do you think it is?”
You look at her, thrown. “What?”
She repeats, “What year is it right now?”
You squint, confused. “It’s 1971. What is your problem?”
Peter chuckles… until he sees your face. “Wait. You’re serious?”
Lux doesn’t look away from you. “It’s 2026. You’ve been part of this team for five years. Peter joined us a few months ago when Iris left. We’ve never investigated this house before.”
You shake your head slowly. “That’s not right. I was here. A year ago. Different owners. There was something in the attic then, too.”
Ms. Adams overhears and speaks up, her voice careful. “We’ve lived here for over 20 years. No one’s investigated this house. Not since my Mom was a kid… maybe 10-years-old”
The floor feels like it tilts beneath you.
Peter mutters, “Lux, what the hell is going on?”
She answers without hesitation. “He’s bleeding through. Don’t you remember the last time this happened to him?”
Peter stares. “No, bleeding what?”
“Ah, I forgot you missed that investigation at the farmhouse. Time,” Lux says. “Memories. Not his. Not from this life. The house… it remembers. And maybe so does he.”
You whisper, “Jason.”
Lux nods. “I know you’re Mr. Logic, but you need to stop denying the fact that sometimes you channel things during our investigations.”
Peter meets your eyes. “I have an idea, but we need to go back up to the attic where you experienced whatever it is you’re saying you experienced.”
***
Part 5: Don’t Lean on the Beam
(You chose to go back to the attic.)
You, Lux, and Peter make your way upstairs. The creaking steps sound louder than before. Ms. Adams watches from the hallway, her expression tight with worry.
Back in the attic, the air is dense. Still.
You pace slowly across the floorboards. You know this space. The placement of the beams. The slope of the ceiling. The faint crack in the windowpane that catches the moonlight just so.
Peter sets down your recorder on a metal folding chair and hooks it into the portable speaker rig. “We’re going to do something different,” he says. “Just speak. Say what you’re feeling. What you’re thinking. Don’t filter it.”
You hesitate, then hit record.
“My name is Matt. I think I’ve been here before. But not as me. I can’t explain it. The beam over there… it was broken somehow. I saw it. I felt it. I think I fell. I think I…”
Your voice trails off.
Lux glances at Peter, then back at you. “Try again. Ask the house what it wants to show you.”
You take a breath.
“Who are you? How can we help you?”
They all sit in silence for a moment.
The three of them immediately react to a black figure dart across the room.
“I think it’s here.”
Peter rewinds and hits play.
Your voice responds… clear, calm, through the static.
“My name is Jason… I used to help the family in this house… I fell. I wasn’t supposed to be alone. Thank you.”
Your eyes widen. That wasn’t what you just said.
You whisper, “That wasn’t me. Not this time. Why is it so clear?”
Lux presses her hand gently to your shoulder. “It is a little unsettling how clear that EVP is.”
Peter exhales. “This house… it’s not haunted by something trying to hurt anyone. It feels like it’s repeating a memory. Something traumatic.”
Lux nods. “It’s a playback. A place imprint. Jason might have died here. Probably fell through the attic beam years ago. You connected with it.”
You blink. “ I don’t understand… You said this happened before?”
“I’ve only seen it happen once before,” Lux says. “I didn’t think you’d forget. It’s almost like you’re some kind of conduit. And sometimes, when the imprint’s strong enough, it pulls you in so deep, you get lost in it.”
Peter clicks off the recorder. “This was never about raccoons!”
He slugs you on the shoulder with a weird grin.
You kind of do a half smile.
At the same time you’re not really sure if you accept any of it… let alone understand it.
Later, back downstairs, you sit with Ms. Adams.
Lux explains gently. “We believe what you’ve been experiencing is the residual energy of a man who had a fatal accident in the attic. It likely happened before you took over the property. Did your mother ever mention anything?”
Ms. Adams shakes her head.
Peter adds, “Sometimes places hold onto echoes… especially if there’s a story that was never finished. We think the house has just been trying to show someone what happened.”
Ms. Adams swallows, nodding slowly. “So it’s… not dangerous?”
“No,” you say with confidence. “Just a memory. One that needed someone to hear it. If you continue having issues, we will have a colleague of ours come cleanse the house for you. But I have a feeling after today you might be ok.”
That night, you sit in the van reviewing audio.
You rewind and hit play one more time.
It’s your voice, but not your words.
“Don’t lean on the beam.”
You freeze.
Rewind.
Play.
“Don’t lean on the beam.”
You sit there for a long moment. And then whisper to yourself.
“My name is Matt. The year is 2026.”
This time, you remember who you are – and you’re not sure how many times you’ve been able to say that before.
The house is quiet now.
But the echo lingers. Not in the attic…
In you.
End of Story 3.
