Panic Attic

A short spooky horror based on a true story.

Dublin based screen printing studio ‘Damn Fine Print’ put together a halloween zine (or hallozine as they called it) and put a call out for submissions for writers and designers.

The competition was fierce and they received hundreds of stories, but thankfully a short story I wrote titled Panic Attic was selected.

Illustrations and layouts were done by my good friend and colleague Eamonn Finn.

It was a huge honour to be among Dublin’s up and coming designers, illustrators and writers. 

Full story below the photos.

Panic Attic

By Cillian Kenny

My brother Dave was living in the house with me, but after a huge row the month previous he moved in with his girlfriend in Rathmines.

As soon as he moved out I started hearing strange noises.

Most nights as I slept I had the ominous feeling someone was standing in the corner of the room watching from the darkness.

One night as I practiced the trumpet in the attic I could hear someone downstairs, but only when I was playing, and As soon as I stopped the house fell silent.

Again I would start playing, and gradually I  would hear the noise of someone slowly walking up the stairs.

Stop.

Hearing only my deep breathing.

“Relax” I told myself, “you’re freaking yourself out!” “There’s no one else in the house”

 I’d begin again, playing louder and louder, blocking out the surrounding environment until I’d eventually hear someone walking slowly on the landing.

 Stop.

Deathly silence.

Sitting behind the attic door I felt as if my breathing was synched to the old house and as my chest moved in and out so too did the entire house, expanding and contracting, expanding and contracting.

“I need to get this done” I shouted at myself internally and started blasting louder than before. I was defiant that I wouldn’t stop, besides my mind was playing tricks on me.

Louder and louder I played looking only at the music stand.

Then thump, thump, thump on the attic stairs moving closer to where I was sitting.

Stop.

My eyes were wide open. It got quiet. Very quiet. It felt like some insidious force was just behind the attic door inhaling in before breathing out some terrible circumstance.

Then suddenly.

Bang went the attic door. The handle almost fell into the room with the force. Bang again, then a quick successions of fists that sounded like a machine gun. Someone was trying to get in!

As I sat in my chair behind the door I felt this noise, almost Neanderthal and which originated from my stomach, bellowed out of me. I screamed.

I flung the trumpet across the room.

The door moved slowly open and I fell back into a trance. My whole life started flashing in reverse in front of my eyes, starting with the present and going right back to the beginning.

Faster and faster. There was a faint pattern in the memories growing increasingly vivid.

The door was still slowly opening. I was still screaming, but a sadness came over me too.

A voice that was my own but which felt foreign to me started;

“You should’ve made up with Dave”

“You should’ve made up when you had the chance”

“It’s all over now”

“You should’ve talked to Dave”

The door moved slowly open and stopped.

There was someone right behind it. Standing right behind the door in front of me.

I was convulsing in my chair now, having a full on panic attack and still screaming.

I could hear a ghostly voice behind the door. First whispering, then becoming more audible.

I could now slightly make it out.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry”

Repeating on and on like this. Getting louder and louder.

Then a figure appeared from around the door.

It was my brother Dave.

The absolute bollix.