The Dirt Field

There is something living in the attic above me. I heard it this morning, running rapidly with its sharp claws scratching away at my ceiling, and I can hear it pacing right now. It sounds unhappy and restless, and also disturbingly active. I called my roommate (who I will refer to from now on as The Landlord), and he indicated that he too had heard The Thing in the attic and that he was glad that it wasn’t just him going crazy. He declined my request to explore the attic on my own with a rifle and a flashlight, stating that he would call in a trained professional who would not be killed by a rabid animal flying out of the trap door.

As I sit here listening, two things keep running through my mind. One, The Exorcist. As in, the early part of the movie when Reagan’s mom heard creaking in the attic that signified the arrival of the devil. Maybe there’s not an animal up there and it’s actually Satan coming in through an air vent to visit in time for Halloween. Or, two, the fact that AT ANY MOMENT, I could be lying in bed when an enraged, fanged animal plunges through the ceiling and onto my floor. Next to me. In my room. Where I live.

It sounds like it’s playing rugby. I’m nervous.