For the 13 years I lived in my house, never once have I had a problem with my attic. Not mice or raccoons, nothing. Last week, all that changed.

-Monday 03:56 AM-

I live in a normal house with my wife and son. My wife is an angel, she is the most perfect person I know, and my son means the world to me. Last week, my son came to my room somewhere around 4 in the morning, and told me, “it’s in the attic”. When I asked him what’s in the attic, he responded with, “her”. I put him back to sleep, when I heard it. A subtle scratching. I thought it was just my mind playing tricks on me because I was tired, so I went back to bed myself.

-Monday 09:23 AM-

In the morning, my wife was gone. She has work early in the morning so I thought nothing of it. I got to work on my chores for the day (yes, I’m a stay at home dad) but often found myself hearing the same noise from the attic, a distinct scratching noise followed by a subtle clicking.

-Monday 06:43 PM-

By the time I was done with my chores, there was no more scratching, no more clicking. Around 03:20, my son gets back from school, and my wife gets back from work, but I haven’t seen them in hours.

-Wednesday 05:35 AM-

The clicking. The Scratching. It won’t stop. It’s been three days of non-stop scratching and clicking. It. It calls me. I hear it crying. I, I w-want to go. No, I can’t go, I still need to, I need to wait. Wait for it to stop.

-Friday 02:42 PM-

It hasn’t stopped clicking. I’m still waiting. No, I’m going to check what’s clicking. What’s scratching, what’s scratching in the attic.

-Friday 03:25 PM-

As I walk to the door of the attic, I start to second guess the choices I’ve made. When I open that door, the attic door. I know what I’ll find, my wife, my son, and myself.