Chapter 25:
Horrid 21. The Attic Where the Sun Never Reaches
HG's horrid shorts
The sun was at its zenith, scorching the roof of the house, but when I climbed the pull-down ladder to the attic, the temperature plummeted to freezing. I shined my flashlight around, but the beam seemed to be swallowed by a thick, oily darkness that defied physics. In the center of the room sat a chair.
In the chair sat a version of me—starved, skeletal, with eyes that had filmed over like a dead fish. "It’s been eighty years," the thing whispered, though I had only been in the house for two weeks. I realized then that the attic wasn't a room; it was a time-leak. For every minute I spent in the light downstairs, a decade passed in the dark up here. I turned to run, but the ladder had already rotted away into splinters. I am sitting in the chair now. I can hear the new owners moving in downstairs. They sound so fast, like hummingbirds. I’m waiting for them to find the ladder. I’m waiting for a fresh set of eyes.
Please sign in to leave a comment.