Chapter 12 - The Rocking Chair
The wooden stairs vibrated slightly as the rocking chair above continued its rhythmic motion, creaking softly against the floorboards of the unlit attic. A cold draft descended from the opening, carrying the sharp, unmistakable scent of rain on hot asphalt and wood smoke. Ethan stood at the base of the ladder, his hand resting on the rough wooden rung, feeling the chill radiating from the space above.
I’ll go first, Ethan said, his voice steady despite the adrenaline hammering in his veins. Stay here with Lily.
Clara stood up from the shallow water pooling across the living room floor, wiping her damp hands on her white shirt. She shook her head, stepping past him to take the first rung of the ladder. No. We do this together. She’s waiting for both of us up there.
Ethan didn't argue. He followed close behind her, his hands hovering near her waist to steady her ascent. Lily stood at the bottom of the ladder, looking up with her big blue eyes, clutching her stuffed white bunny tightly against her teal knit sweater. She didn't call out; she simply watched them climb into the gloom.
Clara’s head cleared the floor level of the attic, and she pulled herself up onto the plywood flooring. The space was surprisingly vast, stretching out into the eaves of the house under a steeply pitched roof. The only illumination came from a round gable window at the far end, looking directly across the water at the abandoned, waterlogged house on the opposite bank.
In the center of the attic sat the wooden rocking chair, moving back and forth on its own accord. And sitting on the seat of the chair, neatly folded and resting against a small porcelain tea set, was a single, dry white cotton dress.
Ethan climbed up beside her, his flashlight cutting a sharp beam through the dusty air. He swept the light across the rafters, revealing dozens of small handprints pressed into the raw wood of the roof beams—handprints of varying sizes, as if a child had climbed those beams year after year, century after century.
Look at the window, Clara breathed, pointing toward the round gable opening.
May you like
Through the dirty glass, the abandoned house across the creek seemed much closer than it had before, as if the water separating them had shrunk to the width of a narrow hallway. And standing in the upper window of that ruin, clearly visible in the pale light, was a woman wearing a white shirt and a burgundy cardigan, staring back at them with wide, terrified eyes.
---
