Shadow in the Attic

Rose pressed her ear against the bedroom ceiling,

Listening to sounds that set her heart reeling—

Three short scratches, two long, then pause,

Not random noise without any cause.

"It's just mice," her mother had said,

"Old houses creak above your bed."

But Rose knew better than that lie—

Mice don't scratch in patterns, or stop when you cry.

From the windowsill came a voice so clear,

"You know what it is, Rose, my dear."

Nadia sat there, silver hair bright,

Catching impossible moonbeam light.

"Someone's trapped," Rose whispered low,

"In the attic, with nowhere to go."

Adults won't listen, they never do,

When children speak of what might be true.

"We must help them ourselves tonight,"

Said Nadia, sliding down from her height.

"Bring water and crackers, don't make a sound,

Before whoever's up there can't be found."

Through the house like shadows they crept,

While Rose's sleeping parents slept.

In the closet, she pulled the cord down,

Wooden steps without a sound.

"I can't see," Rose breathed in fear,

"I can," said Nadia, crystal clear.

Up in the darkness, a light switch clicked,

And there in the corner, a scene so sick—

David, their neighbor so small,

Who'd been missing since Monday's call.

Three days lost through a broken wall,

Too weak now to cry out at all.

Rose knelt down with water to share,

While Nadia watched from the dusty air.

"How will I explain what I've found?

When grown-ups ask how he was tracked down?"

"Tell them you heard scratching," Nadia said,

"Tell them you were brave instead

Of scared. That's all the truth they need—

Sometimes courage plants the seed."

Paramedics came, the family wept,

Rose's parents their questions kept:

"How did you know to look up there?"

But Rose just smiled and smoothed her hair.

Later, lying in her bed,

Rose turned to where Nadia's voice had said:

"You saved a life tonight, my friend,

Some stories don't need to make sense in the end."

Tomorrow the adults will explain away

How a seven-year-old knew where he lay.

They'll make it logical, neat, and clean—

No mention of friends that can't be seen.

But Rose knows truth comes dressed in many ways,

Some hidden from adults' practical gaze.

The boundary between real and not

Matters less than the courage she's got.

"Thank you," she whispered to silver moonlight,

"Thank you too," came back through the night.

For when someone needs help, it's not who can see

That matters—it's who's brave enough to be free.