The Attic

The attic. One would think nothing special about an attic. It is just a room, after all. But mine was different because of its contents. I don’t know when it started. Maybe with the Doll maker from the early 1900s or further back with the puppeteer who lived during the 1800s? All I know is I am now a part of the sinister collection on the third floor.

A strange energy wafts around the entire property. It doesn’t necessarily feel evil, but it still gives me chills. Between the basement and the attic, just being in the house is unbearable at times. Perhaps the energy was a metaphorical warning sign? One my family didn’t heed when we moved here.

Now I have no choice but to bear the strange relics in the attic. My father wants to sell them, but knowing him, he’ll never get around to it. I don’t like going up there with them, and most of time I avoided it at all costs.

One day the house creaked with a brewing storm. Strange noises and bumps in the night were nothing to be surprised at in our new home. So I ignored the occasional thumping sound coming from above. I looked outside and sighed, “Perfect setting for a horror story.” Too young to go out, but old enough to be home alone as usual on a Friday night, the show I watched glitched with static from the coming storm. With a disappointed huff, I lifted the remote and shut off the TV. With all the other racket, the static ending was a relief.

Now I couldn’t ignore it. Objects pounded and crashed from above. I rose from the couch, strode to the kitchen, and grabbed a flashlight from the junk drawer. After climbing two flights of stairs, I rested my hand on the attic doorknob, flicked the button on the flashlight, and stepped inside. Dumb thing to do honestly, should have just stayed downstairs instead of following in the footsteps of every other dead horror story character. The beam shone around. Everything seemed in its usual order. Static carried up the stairs from the TV.

Huh, that’s weird. I left the attic and started down the steps, careful not to cause even a squeak. A silhouette sat on the couch watching the grainy screen. God, please don’t be…

“What are you doing? You’re not gonna scare me, nerd.” My older brother turned to glare at me.

Shoulders sagging in relief, I moved to sit next to him. “It isn’t gonna work. I already tried. Storm must have knocked down a cable line.”

“I know. I’m not an idiot.” He flicked through more noisy black and white channels.

I sat fiddling my fingers for a moment. “Thought you were going out. Change your mind?” My voice rose in hope.

He scoffed. “I’m not here for long. Don’t get your little baby hopes up, dork. I’m just waiting for my ride.”

“Oh.” My shoulders slumped forward some more. Some company would have been nice for the weekend since I’m stuck in this creepy place.

A horn sounded from outside. He turned off the TV, stood, and swung a backpack over a shoulder. He paused by the door. “See ya Monday, bro.” The door slammed behind him, and I watched through the dark window as the headlights disappeared down the road.

With nothing else to do, I tiptoed to my room while feeling a strange need not to disturb the eerie silence. Before I could even make it to my bed, the sound of the TV blared up the stairs again. I froze in the doorway. Maybe he came back because of the storm? I flipped my bedroom light switch. Up. Down. Up. Down. Nothing. The power’s out? It couldn’t be with the TV still blasting. My heart raced and sweat dripped from my brow. I retraced my steps, following the noise and trying lights as I went. A flickering glow came from the living room. Peeking around the corner, I expelled a sigh of relief when I saw a figure on the couch watching the pixilated screen.

“Nelson?” I walked toward the couch. “I thought you were staying out.”

He didn’t answer.

“Nelson?” I fell back in horror. This wasn’t my brother. Pale skin, glassy eyes, and a date tattooed on the neck. My worst nightmare had come alive. Please be dreaming. I mumbled a prayer and pinched myself. I felt the pain… No! I don’t want to be awake.

The head turned with a squeak, twisting beyond natural boundaries. Glossy, unblinking eyes glared at me. I released a high-pitched scream and tore up the stairs to hide in my room. Footsteps staggered behind me. Squeak. Squeak. I locked my bedroom door. Squeak. Squeak. The labored steps got closer and closer. I jumped when the electricity crackled and flickered on. The footsteps and TV static stopped.

I held my breath, unlocked the door, and cracked it open an inch. I peered around the corner. Nothing. The brightly lit hall was empty. I shut the door then climbed into my bed with my heart galloping in my chest and fell back onto my pillows. There was no doubt about it. I could already see the headlines: 12-Year-Old Boy Dies of Heart Complications Alone in His Missouri Home!

If only that had been true, but all my adrenaline and unrest had drained me. And it became so quiet, I fell asleep. I was a fool to fall asleep, but more of a fool to have forgotten to lock the door.

In my dream, I watched a young girl wearing nothing but a corset bound around her chest with white knickers to the knees. She lay chained with arms above her head and each ankle strapped to the floor. Her chest rose and fell with heavy gasps. A woman in a thick ball gown with a tender expression strode into view. Pale heels on dainty feet clicked over the wooden slats as she neared the girl. She leaned over and blonde pin curls fell around her face. Her small painted lips stretched into a smile.

“My dear, we are going to have some fun. Mommy wants a new toy.”

The girl struggled against the restraints. “You’re not my mommy!”

The woman waggled a polished nail and sang, “Oh, but I will be. I will be the best mommy.”

The woman lifted her skirts a few inches and came down on her knees, pushing the material of her gown behind herself. “Mustn’t get too dirty.” She lurched forward, and the girl screamed as the blade dug vertically down her torso. Then the blade fell to the floor with a sudden clatter, and she grasped two shiny objects that clanked in her palm. Tears streamed down the girl’s face. The woman paused to draw two fingertips under the girl’s eyes and wiped away the tears.

“Shhh, darling, Mommy’s here. Mommy will make it all better.”

I was not at all prepared for what happened next. The woman dug into the wound with a knife and fork, cutting and chewing like she was at a fancy restaurant. She produced a white linen napkin and dabbed the corners of her mouth. Then she dove in again with the knife and fork. She yanked out a pink-colored organ with the fork and sucked it between her lips. It whipped around like a spaghetti noodle. The girl screamed, and I watched in horror as the life ebbed out of her eyes. Mother continued slurping, sucking, and chewing noisily. I gagged, my stomach rolling, there was no doubt that my corporal body was twisting under the covers.

Mother nodded her head and then dropped the silverware to wipe her bloodstained fingertips on the napkin. Then she rose and grabbed a bucket of liquid, which she dumped into the wound. The body deflated, becoming nothing but a skinsuit. I continued to gaze in horror as she dumped more liquid and prepared the shell for a coating of a resin from another bucket.

“GO NOW.” A girl’s voice startled me. I turned to see her wearing a white dress strapped over the shoulders with ribbons. Two braids hung down her back. A group of kids, each with a date stamped on their necks, stood behind her watching. “Go before Mother gets you too.” They all clamored at once.

“Wait!” I cried as the vision faded. “Who is Mother?”

“You know.” An ethereal voice whispered.

My lids crept open. Little by little, a scene unfolded as I tried to focus. Multiple smooth, icy hands gripped my arms and legs. This is when I realized I was no longer in my bed. They took me upstairs inside a blanket. I hung in the air, my body swinging as I fought against their grip. They carried me through the attic door as I continued to flail. “No! No! Noooo…” I continuously screamed until my voice became raspy. They dropped me, blanket and all, to the wooden slats.

Next, they dragged me toward shackles chained to hooks anchored on the floor. I fought hard, fearing the same hideous death as the others. “Please.” I whined. They finished and stepped back, their glossy eyes shining in the dim light of the attic.

“My wonderful children.” A voice praised my kidnappers. “Devon,” the voice called my name in singsong. Mother leaned over me. My eyes bulged, and I struggled against the restraints until my wrists bled. “No, please.” My voice broke into sobs. “Don’t do this.”

She ruffled my hair. “Don’t you worry your handsome little head about it. Mommy’s going to take good care of you from now on.”

“NO!” I screamed. “I don’t want you to. I don’t want you to.”

She fell back and pouted. “You don’t want to be my son? I’m a good mommy. I promise.” She turned away, humming along while a smile upturned her painted mouth. She produced a big white box and opened it.

Mother got down on her knees and poured them on me. Then she sat back, pulled in her knees, and wrapped her arms around them. She watched with morbid interest as they crawled up my face. I flinched and screamed when they wriggled into my ear. They invaded my nose and mouth. I waited for pain to come. None did. We stared at each other in brief silence.

She hummed. “Here Comes the Sun, dodo dodo.”

Then intense pain, like searing fire, engulfed me. I screamed. The beetles… the beetles ate at my insides. Blood dripped from my nose and ran down my cheek. She rose with a tsk and wiped it away with gentle fingers. She patted my cheek. “You’re being a good boy.”

That’s the last I remember. Then I woke in the corner, unable to move. A tear slid down my plastic cheek. We are stuck in our heads wondering what our families must think. Noise bustled downstairs. We had a new family in the house.

Mother smiled at us. “The bigger my family, the happier I am.”

The cable line must have been repaired because I could hear the newscaster on the TV say, “Mississippi Boy has been missing from his home since last year. Investigators wonder if other disappearances in the area are connected.”