Twitch

He hadn't been up there in months, but as Kyle stared at the hatch to the foldaway ladder leading to the attic, he felt a little uneasy. He laughed to himself. Obviously Kim's insistence that something was up there had gotten to him.

They'd been dating for two months, and Kim had spent her first night with him last week. That night, she'd woken him around three in the morning and said she'd heard noises coming from the attic. "It sounded like someone was whispering my name, calling me," she'd said. He'd told her it was probably a squirrel or a pigeon scuffling around on the roof, if she wasn't just dreaming it. She'd reluctantly gone back to sleep unconvinced, and the next morning Kyle barely remembered her waking him up.

But Kim was positive something was up there.

She'd brought it up again this morning at breakfast, before she went to class. "You probably think I'm crazy," she added, after—according to her—he'd given her that look again, the one that said You're nuts.

"I don't think you're crazy. I think you're just not used to staying here," he said. "This is an old house; it makes all kinds of noises at night."

"Well, I wouldn't know about that, what with Mr. Snorasaurus sleeping next to me," she said, a touch of her normal playfulness creeping through.

"Oh, a dinosnore! How witty," he said, smiling. Gotcha! he'd wanted to say. Instead: "But how do you hear these whispers, then?"

Her face grew serious; she looked down, as if ashamed. "I don't know. I just—I hear it, but...it's like a feeling, too."

She apologized.

Kyle gently touched her cheek; she looked up at him, tiny tears peeking out from the corners of her eyes. She was truly scared, he realized, and just a little embarrassed.

He assured her there was nothing to be sorry about; and, more importantly, there was nothing up in the attic besides a bunch of boxes full of stuff he should probably give away to Goodwill. He promised her he'd take a look before he left for work.

It might be a good thing, anyway. Squirrels and pigeons were one thing; they were relatively harmless. But maybe bats—rabid bats—were roosting up there?

"Seal it with a kiss," she said, eyes closed, lips puckered over a smirk.

He did. Twice.

Then he kissed her again, stole a slice of her bacon, and went off to take a shower.

—
Kyle had moved in four months ago; a spacious second floor apartment in a two-family. He hadn't gone into the attic since he first put everything up there. But now he was about to go up there again, and he found that he was holding his breath.

Kyle stood under the hatch, wearing nothing but boxer-shorts and slippers, hair still damp from the shower.

Kyle.

He stood still as stone. Had he just heard his name being whispered? He stared up at the hatch, shaking off a chill that shuddered through his body.

"You sealed the deal." He sighed, reached up, and pulled down the foldaway ladder.

—
The attic was a big open room; it ran the length of the house. The air was stale and dusty. It reminded Kyle of what the inside of a crypt might be like. Large dirt-stained windows on both ends of the room let in a small amount of light; dust swirled in angled rays of sunlight trying to break through the grime. Cobwebs hung from rafter to rafter like ghoulish party streamers.

He worked his way through one end of the attic, the wooden floor creaking beneath his weight like a lakeside dock. He checked the corners and nooks for animal droppings or nests, and found none.

Spider webs littered with the hollowed-out carcasses of dead spiders—most likely having died for lack of food—crisscrossed the window on that end. It was clear the attic was sealed tight, at least for animals larger than your everyday household spider.

He walked around, glancing here and there, convinced there was nothing to see. But he still felt a little on edge, like he wasn't alone.

He came to the old boxes of stuff he'd amassed over the years. They were all full of personal items he couldn't convince himself to get rid of; knowing the day he throws something out, or gives it away to Goodwill, he'll find that he needs it.

He came to an opened box labeled WRITINGS/DRAWINGS, its flaps spread wide. That's odd, he thought. Inside were all his old notebooks of writings and sketches and random nonsense, some dating back to elementary school.

One notebook had been opened to a page in the middle, on it was a short poem written in scrawling, childlike cursive. He put his finger on the page and flipped over the front cover. The year 1985 was drawn on the front in big, bubbly cartoon letters. Ten years old. Kyle flipped back to the poem and read it aloud.

"The room was dark the room was cold
And the thing that lingered was dead and old
It wants my life it wants my soul
It's so hungry it will eat me hole"

Me hole? I hope I spelled 'whole' wrong and not 'my'! Kyle's booming laughter stirred long-settled dust covering the boxes. "An everyday Edgar Allan Poo," he said with a snort.

He closed the notebook, remembering why he'd kept them for so long—they were pure comedy; good for a hearty chuckle every once in a while. It was no wonder he was now working toward a sociology degree. Or, more accurately, why he wasn't going for one in journalism.

Oddly, another box lay open as well. This was a big box, labeled LINENS & PILLOWS.

Kyle moved to look inside, but stopped when he saw that behind the pile of boxes the blankets and pillows had been laid out on his old twin-size mattress.

He wasn't alone after all.

Kim was laying there, a blanket pulled halfway up her face, her beautiful green eyes watching him.

"Oh, no!" he said, feigning shock, his voice a few octaves higher than normal. "The boogeyman is...a woman! One with no respect for her education, I see—and, might I add, a totally twisted concept of romance."

She giggled.

Kyle slid off his boxers and slippers, and climbed beneath the blanket next to her warm, naked body. He spider-walked his fingers over her stomach and gently squeezed her right breast. Her stomach twitched in response.

"I should have warned you—a triple-kissed seal is irresistible." He cupped her face with his right hand and kissed her. But she didn't respond.

"Oh, I—"

She giggled again.

Her leg twitched.

"Kim?" He let go of her face and her head slumped at an awkward angle, drool slid from the side of her mouth like a glass snake.

"Kim?"

Nothing.

"Kim!" He shook her. The glass snake cracked apart as her head wobbled back and forth as if lifeless. "Are you trying to be fun—"

The question hung in the air, swaying like a pendulum, as he heard the attic ladder fold and the hatch slam shut.

Kim giggled again.

No, not Kim. It was never Kim. But it was someone—or something, he feared.

Kyle turned his gaze and stared wide-eyed—no longer feigning shock—as an enormous black mass detached itself from the deeper shadows in one corner. Before he could scream, all the light was snuffed from the room like his world had been sucked into a black hole.

Dark.

Cold.

He thought of his old poem.

THE END
Thoughts: "Twitch" is one of my earliest stories—from the serious days, anyway. I have plenty of tales from my teen years and earlier, which will remain hidden from the world. You're welcome.

"Twitch" is a little horror/suspense piece. Simple. Clichéd. When it was written, I had only been seriously focusing on fiction for about three months—after not focusing on it for about 10 years. So it's rough. I was going for flow over content, testing myself on techniques I had been reacquainting myself with at the time. So it's not very original, not even very good, really. It served its purpose, though, and it's got some cool lines—which I have since stolen for other stories.

So for what it's worth, here it is, a glimpse at the beginning...