Post by TBP on Aug 19, 2009 14:36:52 GMT -5
The Attic
Every day, little Janice pleaded with her mother to let her go into their house's attic. Janice's mother always thought her daughter went up to play with the old dolls and prams, as Janice once said:”They are lonely up there. They need company.” Her mother would agree, with a nod, and let her up. She would come out, either filthy to the bone or sparkling clean. “Silly little Janice!” Her mother would say.
As she went up, Janice noticed that the attic door creaked when it was opened, and a draft came from inside, blowing at her feet. The floorboards moved when she walked across them. In the furthest corner, lay the dolls huddled together in shadow. Without hesitation, she went over to them, and sat on her knees in front of them. All she did, for a while, was stare at the dolls. It seemed as though the dolls stared back at her. She heard a call from her mother, that dinner was on the table, and immediately broke from the trance, scrabbling out of the attic. She greeted her mother in the kitchen, who asked, “Did you have fun then?”
The next day arrived. Once again, Janice was granted the opportunity to head off into the attic. The same things happened as yesterday; Janice just watching the dolls, intently. But this time, after a while of staring, she raised her arm, and picked up a doll. It was held in the air for a long while – and then, as soon as Janice heard her mother's voice, the doll clattered to the floor, making the undisturbed dust on the ground fly about in the air. She turned around, got up and ran out of the attic, eager for dinner. The attic door slammed shut, plunging the room into darkness. The doll lay there, with a newly cracked porcelain head, the sharp pieces scattered around. Janice could be very careless at times... and very unaware of what she would cause...
The same evening, and it was time for Janice to rest her eyes. She became extremely tired after playing in the attic everyday – despite that she was doing nothing very active. Her mother turned off the lights, and shut the bedroom door, whispering “Goodnight” To her sweet little child. Janice cuddled up into her sheets, and shut her eyes tight. But as soon as she had fallen asleep, she woke with a jump. What was that outside her window? She assumed it was an owl and settled down again, only to wake once again. What was that at the end of her bed? It looked like a doll. Had she left a doll lying around? She hadn't thought so. She had just turned over in her bed, when she caught something out of the corner of her eye: The doll had moved forwards... Had it? She was sure it had. She pulled the covers over her head. She was getting scared, and she could not see properly in the darkness, the moon's glow from the window was the only thing that let her see slightly... But not enough. She shivered; from the cold, or the mysterious doll? She, herself, was unsure. She took a peek from underneath the covers: The doll was not there. Had it ever been there? Or was it just her imagination? She did not sleep easy that night.
The morning sun shone through her window. She opened her eyes. It was, at least, a sign she had slept some. She wriggled out of the bed sheets, and ran through to her mother's room. She was not inside. She panicked, lightly: Until she heard her mother's voice echoing from the kitchen. “Breakfast is ready!” She called. Janice walked out of her mother's room, and into the kitchen. She climbed up onto a wooden chair, and her mother put her breakfast on the table in front of her; Pancakes! That would get her mind off things for a short while.
After finishing her breakfast, Janice, without even thinking, asked her mother: “I want to go into the attic again!” She didn't realise what she was saying – she didn't want to go up there at all. Unaware of how Janice really felt, her mother said yes, and led her up the stairs to the attic door. The lock has rusted and broken away, so it was easy to open the door without a key. Sometimes, it required a tug or pull, as it was a very old door. Her mother would back down the stairs and leave Janice on her own to open the door – she was a strong little girl. But, today, Janice had no energy to open it, and called for her mother to help. She arrived, and opened it for her, with ease. She patted Janice on the head and went back to doing what she had to do, leaving her on her own. She did not enter the attic yet, though; just stared into the vast piles of dusty, unused junk. She tried not to look at the dolls – but she could not resist. They pulled her in, she could not hold back. Her feet disturbed the mounts of dust on the floor that had settled, as it seemed, overnight. As she sat on her knees in front of the dolls, she was fearless on the outside – and terrified out of her wits on the inside.
Today, it seemed the dolls went a bit further; they controlled Janice. They made her pick up a doll: one with an extreme similarity to the doll which she had broken just yesterday. It was the same doll! But it had no cracks – it couldn't be the same doll. But Janice knew it was. It was the fact that frightened her the most: the dolls would never go away be destroyed, leave her alone. She would forever spend her life trapped in the attic, the dolls wasting away her life. What would they do to her – or let her do? She was still holding the doll. She wanted to be able to put it down, and run for her life: but the dolls wouldn't let her. She stood up, with the doll in her hand. A shelf was mounted to the wall in front of her, which she put the doll on top of. They were letting her do more. Not of her own free will: what the dolls told her to do... although they did not speak to her. It was just a thing: she knew what the dolls wanted. Did anyone else?
A call from her mother was all that was needed to break the trance – but not this time. Her mother's voice echoed through to the attic, calling Janice to come for dinner. She realised how hungry she had gotten. But reluctantly, she stayed put. She wanted to get away, so badly, but she was to stay. The dolls commanded her. When she did not run into the kitchen as usual, her mother just assumed she was having too much fun. “Alright then, I'll keep your dinner in the oven until you want to come down!” Her mother called, with a laugh. Oh, she wouldn't laugh, if she knew that Janice might not make it down for dinner... ever again... She felt like crying, but knew she couldn't. She was completely emotionless on the outside: it was what the dolls had made her. She continued to pick up each doll – carefully – and lay them on top of the shelf. Because the shelf was at her height, she ended up staring at them, the dolls staring back. Her feet became too weak to carry her any longer – she collapsed to the ground, knocking herself out. The dolls continued staring... staring... watching.
When she awoke, the attic was in complete darkness: the only window the room had was barricaded up, so no light was let in. She felt around on the ground, looking for something to pull herself up by. She reached a crate, and used it to steady herself. She was moving of her own accord – where had the dolls gone? Were they still there? Were they asleep? She wobbled a bit as she rose, as her feet were still a bit unsteady. She saw a slight light from a corner of the attic – it was the hallway light, left on, peeping through cracks in the door, She made her way towards it, close to tripping and falling, with every step she was taking. She reached it – and clasped her hands around the doorknob. She pulled. It stayed shut. She pushed. It stayed shut. She kicked against it, pushed her body into it, and punched it: no exit. She panicked. She could not get free! She kept punching it until her hands hurt. Still exhausted, she fell backwards onto the floor, tears streaming down her face. She curled up into a ball, and somehow, fell asleep once again.
The morning after: Janice's mother was worried, at how her little Janice had not come down, and would not answer her when she called. She had tried to get into the attic the previous night – but the door had gotten stuck. No entry... no exit? She crawled out of her bed, and quickly checked Janice's bedroom. There was no-one inside. She exited her daughter's room, and went up the stairs, to the attic. She pulled at the door... and it opened. She peered inside – there was no movement. She went in, but saw no-one. The door was the only way you could get out. She began to cry. She walked over to the area with the dolls – all lined up on the shelf. Except one, which she had stepped over on her way inside. A small doll, one she had never seen before. It bared a similar resemblance to Janice – but that being her was impossible. She dismissed all thoughts of such. Holding the doll, she put it onto the shelf with the other dolls, and forced a smile. She backed out of the attic, and closed the door behind her. She would call the police, to help her find her daughter – but her daughter was still in the attic... and would never come out. Just as sweet little Janice had feared. And she feared for the next child to wonder up into the attic, completely unaware of what might happen... and end up like her...