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When I was 16 years old, our family moved into a very large house on the shores of Lake Washington. The house was finished in the basement and main floor, but the attic was a huge open area. This is where I slept. There were no lights up there, so I had to feel my way to a mattress on the floor. As time went on, my dad remodeled the attic, and I slept in an area with several rafters stretching overhead. One night, after months of sleeping up there, I woke up to hear raspy, panicked breathing. It was so "human" that I thought my brother had snuck up there to play a joke on me. I got out of bed and headed for the lights, expecting to catch him in the act. Instead, there was no one there. The next morning, I questioned my family, and they all seemed to think it was just my imagination. I began to believe that myself, until a few nights later when it happened again. To this day, I can only imagine what past horror lived in those rafters.Chuck Mirante, WA
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