Scary Ghost Story Short
The Watcher in the Attic

In the creaking silence of abandoned places, something stirs. It's not the wind or the settling of old wood. It’s something darker, older, waiting for the next curious soul to stumble upon it. As you venture into this scary ghost story short, be warned. What lurks in the shadows of forgotten attics might just be waiting for you, too. Step lightly, and always be aware of what might be watching from the corner of your eye… because once it sees you, there’s no turning back.

Brenda
Weird as Ever



The old farmhouse had been empty for years, standing like a forgotten relic on the edge of town. Its paint was peeling, windows were broken, and the yard was overgrown with weeds. No one dared go near it, aside from the occasional group of teenagers looking for a thrill. Stories of the house being haunted were as old as the house itself, but most people in town just dismissed them as rumors, or tales to scare children.


The old farmhouse


But Emily knew better. She‘d grown up hearing about the farmhouse from Memaw, her grandmother with piercing blue eyes and silver hair. Memaw swore something evil lived there. When she was small, Memaw warned her never to go near the house, never to step inside. "Once it sees you, it never lets go," Memaw said one day in a serious voice that gave Emily the creeps. It wasn‘t the words she uttered that gave Emily fright. It was Memaw’s voice.  It was filled with a fear Emily could not get out of her head.

Now it was years later, and Emily was in her twenties. Her curiosity was getting the better of her. She‘d been drawn to the house for as long as she could remember, and now, with her grandmother gone, there was nothing to stop her from finally going inside. She convinced herself it was just an old, abandoned house and nothing more. But deep down, Emily couldn't shake the feeling that her grandmother's warnings had been more than just the ramblings of an old woman.

the staira

One evening, just as the sun was setting, Emily made her way to the farmhouse. The sky was a dull gray, the air thick with the promise of rain. She pushed open the creaking gate and walked up the cracked stone path to the front door. It swung open easily, as if it had been waiting for her.

The house was dark and cold inside, the air heavy with the smell of damp wood and mold. Dust covered everything, including the floor, the furniture, and the walls. But the house was silent, as if the very air had been sucked out of it. Emily moved from room to room, her footsteps muffled by the thick layer of dust beneath her shoes. Each room was the same: empty, forgotten, lifeless.

Then she found the door to the attic.


The attic door


It was a small door, barely noticeable at the top of the steps, down a narrow hallway. Emily hesitated for a moment, but then she reached out and grasped the rusty doorknob. The door groaned as it opened, revealing a set of steep wooden stairs leading up into darkness.

She climbed the stairs slowly, each step creaking under her weight. The air grew colder as she ascended, and the smell of decay grew stronger. When she reached the top, she found herself in a large, dimly lit attic. It was filled with old furniture, broken toys, and other forgotten things covered in cobwebs. But what caught her attention was a small window on the far side of the room. A faint light shone through it, casting long shadows across the floor.

And then she saw it.


The watcher in the attic


In the corner of the attic, near the window, stood a figure. It was tall, almost impossibly so, and completely still. At first, Emily thought it was a mannequin or some kind of old coat rack, but as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she realized with growing horror that it was neither. The figure was human, or at least it had once been. Its skin was pale and drawn tight over its bones, its clothes tattered and filthy. But what terrified Emily the most were its eyes—or rather, the empty sockets where its eyes should have been.

The figure turned its head slowly, as if sensing her presence. Even though it had no eyes, Emily could feel its gaze boring into her, cold and malevolent. Her breath caught in her throat, and she felt an overwhelming urge to run, but she couldn't move. The figure began to shuffle towards her, its movements slow and deliberate. With each step, the floorboards groaned under its weight, as if the house itself was straining to contain the horror within.

Emily's paralysis broke, and she turned to flee, but the attic door slammed shut, trapping her inside. Panic surged through her as she pounded on the door, but it wouldn't budge. The air grew colder still, and she could feel the figure getting closer, its presence almost suffocating.

She spun around, pressing her back against the door, her eyes searching the dim attic for any means of escape. The figure was closer now, its hand outstretched, bony fingers reaching for her. Emily screamed, her voice echoing in the confined space, but no one was there to hear her. The figure's hand brushed against her arm, and she felt a cold so intense it burned, searing through her skin and into her bones.

In that moment, Emily knew her grandmother had been right. The house, the thing inside it, had seen her, and it would never let go.

Suddenly, the attic was plunged into darkness, the faint light from the window snuffed out as if by some unseen force. The coldness enveloped Emily, and she felt the figure's hands close around her throat, squeezing the life out of her. She tried to fight, but her strength was no match for the relentless grip of the creature.

As her vision faded and the world around her grew distant, Emily realized with a final, terrible certainty that she was not the first to meet this fate. The house had claimed others before her, and it would claim more in the future. It was a place of endless hunger, a place where lost souls were trapped for eternity.

And now, she was one of them.

the watcher

When Emily's body was found days later, the townspeople shook their heads, blaming her death on an unfortunate accident. But those who knew the stories—the real stories—never spoke of it. They avoided the farmhouse as they always had, leaving it to its dark secrets and the restless spirit that now lingered within.

For in that old, forgotten house, on the edge of town, something still watched, something still waited, and it would never be satisfied.


Congratulations on making it through to the others side of this scary ghost story short! Before you leave, remember something. Some mysteries never die and some whispers are never forgotten. The Watcher may be quiet for now, but who knows what other secrets lie in wait?

Dare to explore more chilling tales, each with its own lurking shadows and unanswered questions. If you think you're brave enough, choose your next haunting story below and step into another dark corner of the unknown… but be careful. You never know what’s watching you from the dark! - Brenda

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