The Girl in the Attic

The weather was the rain constantly hitting against the windows of the old Victorian house, the constant beating was sounding throughout the house insides that were empty. The house was a remnant of the bygone era, positioned at the boundary of a small town, the shabby and broken-looking outer part along with the shutters uh gave it the appearance of a relic that has long been forgotten. The insides of the house however were not entirely unoccupied. There lived a family, a mother, father, and daughter, who were all hiding a deep secret inside the house.

She was a ten-year-old girl who was deemed to be a prized possession of the family, Emily, who was overwhelmed by her blatantly innocent lovely eyes and hair that looked like the way of the leaves in autumn. The Andersons were part of her life adoption two years ago, the same way they picked her one of them to be done with a wonderful life, an even brighter future. But the truthful scenario was very far away from a magic fable that she had presented to herself.

The Andersons displayed during the times of the adoption process an air of being a loving family but in real terms, they were anything but that. The man in the Anderson family, Mr. Anderson was an unemotional fellow whose only words spoken to Emily were edge remarks and frowning stares. Mrs. Anderson was nothing good to Emily; a faint-hearted and twisted woman who was bitter about Emily's arrival and considered her an unwanted hindrance. Their child, Clara, at the age of two years older than Emily, being a spoiled kid, took a great pleasure in seeing her new sister suffer.

Emily had been very quick to adopt the principle of her family i.e. from the very beginning, she was more daughter they treated her like a slave the girl was only unceasingly service-driven in that household, she was the one who was responsible for: the cleanliness, servings, and pampering of Clara whatever she requested. Her The Bedroom of the attic became her sad little dormitory which was the dustiest small room that could accommodate a mere bed creaking away and one cracked window showing a very narrow portion of outside life. The complete area was full of air and dark, the only light source was the flickering bulb that was hanging down from the ceiling like the size of a lone star in a starless night sky.

The attic was where Emily stayed most of the time. The rest of the house is where she wanted to be, but they would not allow that. The door was often locked, and the only sounds that reached her were the muffled voices of the Andersons and the occasional footsteps that echoed through the house. With a deep sigh, her thoughts started to wander as she stared out the window at the strange world below, wondering what it was that she did to deserve such a fate.

One cold night, the rain was pouring down heavily. Outside, a terrible storm raged, a stark contrast to how Emily felt—the melange of feelings inside her. She was sitting on her bed with her knees drawn up to her chest. Standing outside the house, the Andersons laughed together, oblivious to the fact that they were with their family while a poor child was locked in a damp attic somewhere. A tear ran down her cheek as she held herself tighter. She was alone, no escape from sorrow, and no hope.

Then it happened, she heard a faint whisper, so soft, that she almost thought she had imagined it. Emily paused, her heart beating quickly as she focused on the sound, hoping to catch the slightest whisper. Then it came again, a faint whisper, the kind that you can hear if only you're really listening. It seemed to come from the corner of the attic where the shadows were the bowlers.

"Emily..." the voice whispered, the words chilling her to the core.

Slowly she got off the bed with no sound at all coming from her bare feet touching the wooden floor. The whispering continued to call her closer. Is this the moment when she should lean on her instincts? Emily could hardly press down the flighty feeling in her stomach. But she knew she must reach for the small flashlight she always had under her pillow. Then she turned it on, and slowly started walking towards the corner, the weak beam cutting through the darkness that surrounded her.

The whispering got louder and more poking, until it was all she could hear. It was as if the attic itself was alive, breathing, and calling out to her. Holding her breath, she reached the corner, and at the moment the flashlight shone its beam on the corner, she could only see dust and spider silk.

And then, she saw it—a small door, hidden behind a stack of old boxes. It was no more than a few feet tall, its wood dark and weathered, the paint peeling away in places. Emily had never noticed it before, and yet, it seemed as if it had always been there, waiting for her.

With trembling hands, she reached out and touched the door. It was cold, unnaturally so, as if it had been untouched by time. The whispering grew louder, more urgent, as she gripped the rusty handle and pulled. The door creaked open, revealing a narrow passageway that disappeared into darkness.

Emily hesitated, fear and curiosity warring within her. The whispering was louder now, filling her mind with a sense of dread and longing. She knew she should turn back, close the door, and return to her bed, but something compelled her to step forward, to see where the passage led.

The moment she stepped inside, the door slammed shut behind her, plunging her into darkness. Emily gasped, the flashlight flickering as she whirled around, only to find that the door was gone. The walls closed in around her, the air thick and suffocating. She was trapped.

The whispering continued, now surrounding her from all sides. Emily's breath came in ragged gasps as she stumbled forward, her footsteps echoing in the narrow passage. The darkness was oppressive, the walls seeming to close in with every step.

And then, the passageway opened up into a small room, barely larger than a closet. The flashlight's beam revealed old, faded wallpaper peeling off the walls and a single, small window that was completely boarded up. The room was empty, save for a small, dusty mirror that hung crookedly on one wall.

Emily's reflection in the dim light was barely visible as she walked towards the mirror. When she touched it, the whispers disappeared, and silence reigned in its place. The air in the room was so thick with expectation, it felt like one gesture could shatter it.

And at that moment, the mirror cracked.

Emily's scream tore apart the glass that exploded, sending pieces flying through the air as if they had been unguided by their pilot, who was not Emily. She crouched down, protecting her head, but surprisingly, all the pieces were completely unharmed. When she finally felt safe enough to raise her head, what was left of the mirror was a hole leading through the wall.

On the other side of the hole was an identical room, the only spooky thing being that it was loaded with dolls. Their gazes were unending as they glazed like a hundred mirrors in the same room on the wall. In some cases, they were of ancient origin; in others, they had been manufactured very recently with the most potent results that were actually the same as those obtained from nature.

At the center of the room was a single chair, and the biggest one was occupying it. The doll was dressed in a gown, white as a new fallen snow, her hair was scraped back from a dark-colored doll in the shop, while her eyes were not colorless but glossy black. A deep feeling of discomfort and powerlessness came upon me as I recognized that the doll was my own reflection.

Her steps backward were stiff with terror, and in that moment her heartbeats were audible. The whispers struck with even greater intensity, producing utter chaos around the vicinity, only this time the dolls were the source of the sounds. Their mouths opened up, and their heads were thrown backward. When the answers came, they were immediate in their modesty.

"Listen, Emily..." they whispered, their glassy eyes wide without blinking. "You must be with us eternally...."

With a sob, Emily shook her head furiously, tears galloping down her cheeks, as she leaned back towards the passageway. But the way was closed, the door tightly locked. She was caught.

The dolls were alive with movement, their fragile hands creeping on her. Emily screeched, throwing the flashlight away as she turned and bolted, but no point in doing so. The walls seemed to be narrowing around her, the dolls' yelling went on, louder, more clamorous to the point of duty.

"Emily, join us... it's gonna be forever and ever..." said those voices.

On the floor, she was sprawled, her palms were stuffed in her ears, trying to buffer out the voices as they became intolerable. As it was in the last days of her life, her sight was grasped by the doll seated in the chair, its black eyes shining ominously.

---

In the morning, the Andersons found a corpse, Emily's, who was lifeless and frozen, lying in the attic. She laid her eyes wide open, her face was a furtive mask of unspeakable horror. They told the cops that Emily must have fallen and banged her head—a heartbreaking accident.

The reality was way more feigned.

The door to the secret passage was never found by the police, nor the passage they were looking for. To them, the attic was just an attic, unused and dusty. The Andersons went on with their life and acted as they used to as if a disaster hadn't popped up.

But in the cleverly concealed room, the dolls remained, their eyes waitfully, glassily following the minutes.

And in the center of the room, sitting in the chair, was a new doll that had been planted- a beautiful doll with youthful, innocent eyes and hair with the autumn leaves' color blended.

There was one doll that looked exactly like Emily.

Notes::

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