When Ella hears strange noises coming from her attic while her husband, Aaron, is out of the house, she fears the worst. But nothing could prepare her for the startling discovery of her mother-in-law, Diane, hiding upstairs… What’s going on?
It all started a month ago, right after my husband, Aaron, left for a week-long work trip. I had never minded being alone in our cozy suburban home until the noises started.
At first, it was just occasional soft knocking coming from upstairs. I ignored it, thinking the house was settling. And if I’m being honest, our attic wasn’t really an attic.
It was a third floor room with large windows that Aaron and I had boarded up when we moved in, and there was a narrow balcony with a staircase leading downstairs.
We assumed it was a sunroom or art studio before we moved in.
I had always planned to turn that space into something for myself, but the opportunity never presented itself.
I heard another noise and my breath caught. Old houses creak, don’t they? Maybe a squirrel or two had snuck into the attic. But then, the sounds became more frequent, and more…human.
Whispers, faint but unmistakable.
One night, lying in bed staring at my cell phone, I heard it.
It was a low, guttural moan. My stomach knotted and my breath caught in my throat.
It wasn’t a squirrel. It couldn’t be.
I grabbed my phone and texted Aaron immediately.
I think something, or someone, is in the attic!
His response was just as immediate:
Ella, it’s probably nothing. I’ll check when I get back.
His nonchalant response annoyed me. How could he be so dismissive?
I decided to ignore the noises, convincing myself that I was overreacting.
But a few days later, as I was getting ready for bed, I heard footsteps. Like real, heavy footsteps upstairs.
That was the breaking point. Suddenly, I couldn’t wait for Aaron to come home anymore. What was the point, there could have been someone sleeping under the same roof as me the whole time! I no longer felt safe.
Grabbing the baseball bat we kept in the garage for emergencies, I texted him again, letting him know I was going upstairs to investigate.
Her reply chilled me to the bone.
Ella, please, love. Wait for me to check the attic. It’s very important that I do.
Why wouldn’t she want me to go up there? What did she know? My mind was filled with questions. Was she hiding something? Was she in danger?
Was someone in our house?
Despite the knot in my stomach, I couldn’t stop myself. I needed to know for myself.
With each creaky step down the narrow staircase, my heart pounded harder. I grabbed the bat as if it were my lifeline and pushed open the attic door.
The sight before me chilled me to the bone.
There she was-my mother-in-law, Diane!
She was standing in the middle of the attic, dressed in a nightgown and robe, holding a paintbrush like a deer startled by headlights.
“What the hell are you doing here,” I shrieked, almost falling over my own feet. “Why are you moaning, are you okay, did you hurt yourself?”
What was going on? Seriously.
Diane’s face flushed with embarrassment as she dropped the brush and threw her hands in the air.
“Ella! Calm down! It’s not what you think!”
“It’s not what I think? I don’t even know what I think, Diane! Are you living in my attic?”
She sighed and rubbed her temples, muttering under her breath.
“I knew this was going to happen, but Aaron doesn’t listen. Sit down for a moment. I’ll explain everything.”
I didn’t move, still clutching the bat, as if for moral support.
My mother-in-law was an energetic woman who rarely seemed to flinch at anything. Seeing her so embarrassed made me uneasy. After a while, I slowly lowered myself onto a dusty box, never taking my eyes off her.
“Okay, look,” she began, her voice tinged with guilt. “Your husband is going to kill me for spoiling your surprise. But you deserve to know, Ella. Aaron’s been working on something special for you.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“What kind of special involves you squatting in my attic? Are you the new resident ghost?”
He grimaced.
“I’m not squatting. Aaron wanted to create a space for you. A space where you could finally turn your baking hobby into something more. He decided to renovate the attic into a studio.”
That took me by surprise. “What, a studio?” ‘For your dream, Ella,’ he said, pointing to the room. “Look, it’s an attic where we could cook or bake up here. There’s plenty of room. Aaron wanted to surprise you with a space where you could bake, experiment and maybe even start selling your creations. But he doesn’t know anything about design! So he asked me to come help him. Every day when you leave for work, I come in and supervise the contractors.” “Contractors?” I asked. I felt stupid. Diane was saying things, but my brain wasn’t processing them. “Yes, contractors. We’ve fixed the plumbing so you have a fully functional kitchen. The electricians are coming next week to fix the outlets. And I’ve come to decorate and paint and all that pretty stuff…”. Had Aaron and Diane been hiding it? Besides, how had I not noticed, was he really so distant? “But why are you staying here?”, I asked, still wary. “In the attic?” ‘In the studio, you mean?’ he said. “I didn’t really stay here full time. I was just going in and out through the balcony and the side staircase. I didn’t want to keep hanging out here and risk you noticing.” “What about the moaning?”, I asked. Diane bit her lip, looking genuinely mortified. “I completely underestimated how hard this would be on my back. The moaning was me…stretching, honey.” I stared at her, trying to reconcile the strange reality before me. Slowly, I became aware of the space. The penthouse, though still a construction site, was beautiful. The huge windows were clean, free of dust and dirt, and I could imagine the light coming in during the day. It would be perfect. I noticed the half-painted walls, which had whimsical murals of cupcakes and rolling pins. There were sketches tacked all over, showing shelves for ingredients, a center island for prep, and a cozy seating area by the windows. On a chalkboard was a floor plan with a handwritten title by Aaron: Ella’s Pastry Shop.
Sketches on a wall | Source: Midjourney
A lump rose in my throat.
“Is this really for me?”, I asked.
Diane nodded and her face softened.
“I wanted you to have a space where you could do what you love. You’ve been feeling guilty about how busy you’ve been with work. He thought it would show how much he appreciates everything you do.”
A smiling man | Source: Midjourney
I sat in stunned silence as tears welled up in my eyes.
Days of paranoia, thinking there was some dark secret lurking in our attic…only to find this?
A gift born of love and thoughtfulness?
Later that afternoon, Aaron called. I could hear the tension in his voice when he spoke.
A woman talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney
“Ella, please tell me you didn’t come upstairs. I’ll ask Kevin, the neighbor, to check.”
“Yes, I did,” I admitted. “Aaron… I don’t even know what to say.”
There was a moment of silence, followed by a soft chuckle.
“Well, there’s the surprise.”
A smiling man | Source: Midjourney
“I don’t deserve it,” I admitted.
“According to who?” he asked. “You’re the one who holds our family together, Ella. This is just my way of showing you how much I love you. And that you don’t have to stay in your job if you don’t want to. This can be your fresh start.”
When Aaron returned home a few days later, we all worked together to finish the study. Diane proved invaluable; her eye for decorating was something else.
A mural painted on a wall | Source: Midjourney
The space turned out better than I could have imagined. Every time I walk into that sun-drenched studio, surrounded by shelves filled with jars of baking delights, I remember the love that was put into it.
Diane and I have grown closer since that day, though I still tease her about the “attic residency” moment in our lives.
Sometimes, life’s twists and turns are not about scandalous betrayals or sinister secrets, but about discovering the quiet and unexpected ways in which the people around us show us their love.
A beautiful baking studio | Source: Midjourney
If you liked this story, here’s another.
Raised in foster care all his life, Steve spent his life searching for the mother he never knew. When he finally found her, his first words were not “I missed you.” Instead, he said “I BELIEVE YOU’RE HERE BECAUSE OF WHAT’S IN THE BASEMENT,” leading him downstairs, where a chilling truth awaited him.
This play is inspired by real events and real people, but has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher do not guarantee the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters, and are not responsible for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and the opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
