what lies above the floor

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic

a boy hears something in the attic. he thought he was dreaming but maybe not. this time he decides to inspect, what lies above the floor...

Submitted: March 22, 2018

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Submitted: March 22, 2018



Something was in the attic. I could hear the boards above groaning and creaking as I lay in my bed. I thought I had dreamt it the first time, but this wasn't my imagination. 

My cold toes padded softly toward the spare room with the bunk bed and the door that lead to the attic. I stood there staring, feeling the the eyes from the people in the wallpaper and the way the wind didn’t blow so it was too quiet. Somehow I loathed the idea but couldn’t resist it so I opened the the door and stepped onto the stair. It smelled of old wood and grandmothers clothes. I could feel dirt sticking to my heels as I climbed up. At the top I peeked around the big wooden pillar; my arms were numb; breaths shallow. My eyes darted about the room. 

“Hello.” Came a voice like a shadow over the hum of silence. I didn’t jump only because I turned to see Her. Her; which was a young woman covered in soot, with a black cap, leaning on a chimney sweep. Something stirred in her eyes; iridescence; an aura of blue ocean light. 

“Who are you?” I asked timidly. 

“Why I am the keeper of the attic.” She said in a cheery glow. She had an accent. English I think. “I protect it from the things you wouldn’t like downstairs. Well I’d rather not have them anywhere if I’m honest.”

“Oh. I see… But. What sort of things?” I quarried. 

“Well you might not be able to sleep if I told you that.” She was suddenly beside me, though I’d no idea how. 

“How…” I said. Pausing. Rethinking. “Have you been here all the time I’ve been here?” 

“And long before that.” She said before disappearing completely. Then from somewhere behind a pile of shoe boxes: “There’s one of us in the basement as well. Good thing too. It’s far worse that comes out of there.” 

Downstairs now the moonlight tarnished the house in a soft silver glow. I approached the kitchen; twelve year old body tingling at the sight of the basement door. It creaked as I opened it despite my best efforts and the moonlight was gone. An abyss of shadows and corners waited in the cold dust. The only light was at the bottom of the stairs connected to a pull string. Something smelled wrong. I was at the bottom of the steps. The air felt heavy, like a storm were brewing in a ten foot space. I heard something then as well, while my fingers searched for string; a breathing, primal sound of lungs not fully developed yet. I found the string and dim yellow light flooded the space. 

A greenish black hole of dead matter seethed on the floor. Someone lay beside it, a thin man, with a collared black jacket, his top hat spun slowly beside him. His chest and side were gashed and torn leaving two large crimson scars across his frontside. Blood was pooling, soaking, into everything. He looked up into my face, I still held the pull string. 

“D-don..” He said before wincing, coughing red from his mouth and I stepped slowly toward him in the yellow glow beside the greenish black hole. 

“What happened, your.. Are you the guardi..”

“Listen.” He said in a strained whisper. 

“L-listen to me. Don’t l-let it get upstairs..”  

“What?” I said feeling hot ice in my spine, in everything around me. “Don’t let what?” I pressed, eyes drifting to the damp dark edges of the hole on the floor. Something resonated beneath, crawling up into my eardrums, something animal. Suddenly the man ripped my arm toward him. 

“DON’T LET IT ESCAPE.” He screamed, blood flecking my face, and he stopped moving. 

That’s when it got me. Something rough slid across my shoulder. Hot breath swam at the back of my neck. I folded and spun hitting my head. 

I looked up from the first bunk to see the second; where my skull had connected with the wooden frame. I was in the spare room. 

I grasped at my shoulder, finding nothing but bare skin. No hot breath on the back of my neck, no bloody man on the floor. I stared at the attic door. I thought I heard something moving just then, but it must have been. My imagination. 



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