Whispers from the attic

October 31, 2025
1 min read

by Kay Gardner-Westcott

The house is gone now—buried beneath manicured lawns and silence. But there are things you cannot bury. Not completely.

You don’t have to be a household name like Beatrice Herford of Vokes Theatre, or the infamous Salem preacher Samuel Parris (who later lived in Wayland), or even humanitarian advocate Lydia Maria Child to leave a spectral mark on a home. Sometimes, the most unnerving stories arise from the quiet of ordinary lives. Stories forgotten in the corners of the collective memory—just waiting for receptive ears. Whispers, it seems, are harder to silence.

One anonymous tale, submitted to GhostsOfAmerica.com, recalls a house that once was located along Old Connecticut Path, now demolished and replaced. Nearly half a century ago, the writer lived in the home where whispers slipped through the ceiling boards like a puff of cold air. They came without reason, and refused to leave. The chilling whispers were coming from the attic, an otherwise mundane storage space for holiday decorations.

“We’d hear noises coming from the attic,” the submission reads. “My dad would always go up to check, but he never found anything.” This routine ended abruptly after one particular incident.

“The very last time he went up there, the door slammed shut and locked behind him! It did that on its own.” The attic became a dusty grave for tinsel and ornaments … and a place of dread.

After that unnerving episode, the attic with all its festive contents, was effectively abandoned. The family never retrieved their Christmas decorations, leaving them behind when they moved out. They left the attic untouched, as though disturbing its silence again might wake something waiting. The house may be gone, paved over and forgotten in physical form, but its story lingers—a gentle reminder that not all memories fade with demolition.

That house on Old Connecticut Path has now vanished beneath the weight of bulldozers and blueprints, but echoes don’t always obey demolition. They linger. Sometimes, the whispers continue long after the house falls silent.

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