Attic

I could hear her tennis shoes, hitting the shingled roofs a few feet behind. I pumped my legs harder, and my chest cried out with pain.

I made a sharp turn, broke her line of sight, and jumped into an old house whose circular window in the attic was open.

I held my breath for a while. After the foosteps passed away, I gasped for air.

The attic was a strange musty one. There were cobwebs everywhere; I hated spiders. Oriental chairs were stacked randomly throughout the room, and for some reason candles hung upside down from the ceiling.

I moved to open a nearby drawer, and as soon as I touched the handle, my hand turned gray with dust. I wiped my hand on my pants and searched the drawer. The only things inside were round objects. Tennis balls, mini-globes, fake oranges, a spherical bar of soap, a rotund salt shaker, and a glass ball whose insides contained a clock. The clock mesmerized me. No matter which way I turned the glass sphere, I could still see the time perfectly.

I loved these types of clocks. I had one as a kid.

I opened another drawer and this time there were square objects. A matchbook, a toy square pizza, a folded shirt, an old photograph, a music box, and a pamphlet for the locations of the world’s best mazes. I picked up the mathbook and lit a few of the candles around me. Most of them glowed a warm orange, but some glowed dark red and purple. Their wax dripped down onto the floor, and seeing other towers of wax around the room, I figured someone had been here a long time ago. Unfortunately the candles didn’t give it much light.

I picked up the photograph, and saw a boy with his parents. It was extremely faded but I still managed to make out who the kid was. It was me.

I dropped the picture which made a large clang when it hit the ground. My heart leapt to my throat and I jumped back, looking around the room in paranoia. As I looked, my horrors grew. Now I noticed the top I used to play with, my alligator plushy, my favorite collection of movies. Artifacts of my childhood littered the room. What was it doing here, hundreds of miles away from my home?

A door squeaked open and I shrieked.

The girl who was chasing me stood before me and laughed. “You scream like a girl,” she said. She circle the room and picked up a knife with dry blood inside a cardboard box. “Do you remember this? It’s why you moved.”

I shook my head, too shocked to speak. The way she waved the knife around made me nervous.

“What about me? Do you remember me?” the girl moved her orange hair out of her face and smiled, a sickly smile that made my insides turn. The girl wore a white shirt with a hat to match, while her pants was a torn up pair of black jeans.

I shook my head again.

“Awww, that’s a right shame.”

I bolted for the door and down the stairs, while the girl laughed at me. “You sure can run boy but they’ll find you eventually.”

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