The Attic

 

Today, I want to talk with you all about a childhood fear. A fear that I strangely still carry with me today, decades later. No, it’s not a fear of spiders; I love spiders now. Fear of heights, well yes, I am still afraid of heights, but this fear is different. It’s a fear of a space. The attic!

Yes, you read that correctly. I am afraid of attics. There is a story behind it, though, so hear me out.

In Germany, we lived in an apartment complex that housed 8 families; the building had an attic with storage units and a basement with storage units for each family. We lived right under the attic. In my room, you could hear people walking up the stairs to the attic; it had an incredibly heavy door that would grind the ground when you opened it. Again, this was all audible from my room.

Often at night we, I say we, because my brother and I shared a room, would hear the door grind open but never heard anyone go up the stairs.

We kept our Christmas decorations in the back of the storage unit and would find our baubles shattered in front of our unit. Mind you, these are locked units, with no way in. Perplexed is the word I would use here to describe how we felt.

We would often hear walking back and forth from the attic. Silly me would still play in the “drying room” but would always have the door closed because being up there, I always felt watched.

To this day, I have a fear of attics. I am terrified of finding someone or something staring back at me. Granted, the attics we have here in Florida are much different from my childhood attic, BUT nonetheless the fear persists.

Do you have a childhood fear that still haunts you today?