Hidden in plain sight

I had always wondered what lay in the attic. When I had moved into my cosy house with my dog, my landlord, Mr Browne, told me in his gruff, hoarse voice, "Never look in there, right? ‘S got some of me most personal belongings."

I'd just accepted it: I was that kind of person.

However, now I was questioning it. What was really inside? If his belongings were so precious to him, why on earth would he just expect me to not look? And why did my dog spend at least an entire hour each day just barking at it?

After another night of tossing and turning and trying to put it out of my mind and wondering whether I should go up or not, I was 100% decided: I would go up and find out exactly what lay up there, whether it was just the landlord's belongings or something else.

I got a wooden stool and released the catch. A ladder fell out, covered with dust, and I began to climb. Although the ladder was short, it seemed to take forever to climb up. As I climbed up, I pulled on a frayed grey string and a musty yellow bulb came on overhead.

It looked relatively normal. Full of trunks and suitcases and such, and like the ladder, all covered in dust. I opened one and there was a framed picture of a little girl in it, posing prettily. Beside the picture were meticulously folded clothes and two pairs of dainty silver shoes with kitten heels. There were ballet dresses and even some faded plush toys: a rabbit, a bear, a penguin.

In another, there was another picture of a boy, around the same age as the girl. He was smiling, with the peace sign covering his mouth. In his box, there were countless cars and vehicles, covered by dusty clothes, mostly blue and green.

I opened the smallest suitcase, the black one with yellow ‘CAUTION’ signs written all over it. I opened it hesitantly, expecting to find something like corrosive acids, or maybe even a dead body. That would certainly spice things up- my steady, staid landlord, a murderer! However, it was nothing of the sort: it contained sheets upon sheets of newspaper and what seemed to be lawsuits. They were carefully sorted into plastic wallets, sticky to the touch. I opened one to take a newspaper clipping out, and read the first line: Woman and Two Children Killed in Fatal Car Accident, it screamed at me.

I took a step back, so shocked was I.

I sat there, reading. So this is what had happened! My landlord had always been so secretive, except when telling me where to look and where not to look. It turned out his wife and his two children had died in a car accident. The person driving the other car had been drunk, but by the time the police arrived, he had sobered up. Mr Browne had filed a lawsuit against him, but he couldn’t afford a good lawyer and so the other guy had won.

I was so absorbed in this that I had barely noticed the sky getting dark. In the time I had been up here, the sky had changed from a bright, forget-me-not blue to black, complete with a pale-blue, pregnant moon. I could hear my dog Bruno barking downstairs, probably wondering where his food provider was. I hurried downstairs, vowing to forget everything that I had discovered and yet having trouble not thinking about it.

I went to sleep with a troubled mind.

The next morning, I went again to the attic to find out more. However, when I got in, there was nothing left. Everything had disappeared. Every one of the suitcases and trunks. Shocked, I moved around the room: maybe the trunks had become invisible? Maybe my landlord had come in the middle of the night and removed them (Ok, so that one was quite unlikely)? But no. Nothing was left except for dust.

Disappointed and slightly freaked out, I climbed down the ladder- and gasped.

For I wasn’t in my house.

I was in a field of green. There were flowers: pink, blue, purple, yellow, and huge sunflowers and sweet roses. I ran a hand through the tall grass, gently swaying in the wind. It was soft to the touch, like velvet. The sky was blue and fluffy clouds hung proudly in the sky.

I wandered here and there, picking flowers and inhaling their sweet scents. It smelt like a perfume factory. I came across a pond, perfectly smooth like glass. I bent down and swished my fingers in the still water, creating ripples. It was paradise.

Only when it started to get dark did I start to wonder how I was going to get back. How had I even gotten here in the first place?

I got out the brown notebook I always carried on me, and wrote:

I know that I was disappointed because the cases were gone. So I climbed back down and ended up here. Wherever ‘here’ was.

What would happen to me now? I had nowhere to sleep, nothing to eat, nothing to drink. I suppose there was the pond but…wasn’t still water full of germs and bacteria and such?

“Hello? Anyone there?” I called out, then giggled, since it was such a clichéd thing to say. To my surprise, something did actually answer. It was a small sound, but definitely a ‘hello’.

Hurriedly, I got to my feet and scanned the field. “Hello? Please help me, I have no idea how I got here!” Suddenly, a sharp pain flashed through my foot and I looked down. There was a child there, stabbing my foot with a stick sharpened to a point.

“Hey! Stop that, it hurts!” I stepped away from it. Whatever it was, it was not a child: I could see it now. Its features were sharp- they looked like they could cut somebody, and its lips were a bright red. It made a sort of chirping noise, and looked up at me.

Its eyes were haunting. They were black and endless and could suck me in. And not in a good way.

I uttered a sort of half-scream, and backed away quickly. It cocked its head and with a loud crunch, disappeared. It was night.

I was all alone. Stars were twinkling joyfully above me, as if mocking my sadness. I was splayed out like a starfish on the soft green grass, wondering whether I would ever be able to see Bruno again. To put it in words, I was as depressed as a dark, stormy day.

I didn’t know how I had gotten here, I was hungry, thirsty and tired yet I didn’t dare sleep. The only explanation was a portal: I remember reading about it in a book. The abundance of emotions cooped up in a place that hadn’t been used in a long time would cause a portal that would transport you to a random place. It could be in a parallel universe, or another planet, or even into a story. To get out, you need another person to stroke the wall of the room three times and say, “Let go, let go, let go,” on each stroke.

But how on earth was I supposed to get somebody to go in my attic? The only person who knew I even had an attic was Mr Browne, and how was I supposed to tell him?

I consoled myself with the thought that someone would, in the end, notice that I was gone and come for me.

It had been two weeks. I’d survived by eating berries and - against my will - drank some of the still pond water. I had not strayed from my spot beside the pond, and that thing with the stick hadn’t come back yet. I’d accepted a while ago that nobody was going to come to rescue me.

However, there were no more berries left and the water had left me feeling sick and feverish. I had no more strength to search for food. I suppose, after I died, I would be food to others.

I calmly closed my eyes for what it seemed would be the last time.