Chapter 11 - The Attic Door
The heavy front door swung inward with a slow, agonizing creak, letting in the damp scent of river mud and decaying leaves. Outside, the sky had turned a bruised, unnatural purple, though it was barely mid-afternoon. Clara stood frozen with her hand on the knob, her fingers trembling against the cold metal. The wind outside didn't blow; it seemed to hold its breath, creating a heavy, suffocating vacuum inside the house.
We are not going into the attic, Clara said, her voice barely above a whisper as she tried to pull Lily toward the threshold. We are walking out that door right now. Step through, Lily. Come on.
Lily didn't move. Her small feet seemed anchored to the floorboards. She looked up at Clara with an expression of heartbreaking patience. Mommy, the water is coming up through the floorboards again. We have to go upstairs. That’s the only place dry enough.
Ethan rushed over, placing a hand on Clara’s shoulder. She’s right, Clara. Look down.
Clara looked down at the floor. Between the boards of the living room, a thin, dark line of water was seeping upward, bubbling gently as it spread across the wood in widening pools. The creek hadn't receded; it had simply moved underneath them, rising from the earth itself to reclaim what the foundation had stolen.
No, Clara choked out, backing away toward the center of the room as the water touched her shoes. This isn't real. We can stop this. We just have to walk away.
We've tried that, Clara, Ethan said quietly, his voice heavy with a terrible, crushing resignation as he looked at the open front door. Every time we reach the tree line, the storm starts over. The bridge washes out. The water rises. We've lived this day a thousand times, and we always try to run.
Clara stared at her husband, the denial shattering inside her mind like thin ice under a heavy boot. Memories flooded her consciousness—not just the ones she thought she had made, but the cold rush of water in the dark, the sound of the roof timbers snapping, the terrifying weight of the ceiling falling inward as she clutched a little white bunny to her chest. She fell to her knees in the shallow water, her burgundy cardigan trailing in the dark liquid.
Then let's see what’s in the attic, Clara whispered, lifting her head with a defiant, broken courage. Let's finish it.
May you like
Ethan nodded. He walked over to the ceiling pull-down cord tucked neatly into the hallway ceiling. He grabbed the wooden toggle and pulled hard. The folding wooden stairs dropped down with a loud clatter, kicking up a thick cloud of dust. At the top of the dark opening, illuminated by a pale, sickly light, sat a small rocking chair moving back and forth by itself.
---
