Ropes in the Attic

by Edward Flora

  Peter grabbed a flashlight from the nightstand, shining the light down the dark hallway to find where the stairway began.

  Descending the stairs, the light cut through the darkness, leaving much to be desired. He hated the living room at night. Not that it creeped him out, he just hated how much it reminded him he no longer lived in Brooklyn. Once upon a time, he could navigate the shadowy halls of their home at night without assistance.

  Peter held the flashlight in his mouth for a moment, so he could pull the clock away from the wall. He did his best to aim the beam while balancing the flashlight between his teeth. Once there was enough room, he knelt down, popping open the rear door to survey the clock’s inner workings again.

  “What the fuck?” he said out the side of his mouth, still gripping the flashlight to utilize two free hands.

  The wires were destroyed. He had arranged them neatly just a few weeks prior. Folded and taped off to the side. Not now. The wires he shone the bright white beam over had been completely shredded. Remnants of tape were scattered about the bottom of the clock’s base.

  How could the clock possibly ring in its current condition? “This is ridiculous.” Why did you come back down here? “This thing has to go out in the trash in the morning.” You know why this happened. “I’m wasting my time now.” But you did this…

  As he knelt there behind the clock, a drop of water splashed the back of his neck. He jumped, slapping it away, dropping the flashlight in the process. He tensed up grabbing a fistful of his hair and squeezing the tension away.

  That didn’t accomplish anything.

  All Peter wanted was to get back upstairs and into bed. He reached down, grabbing the flashlight from the floor. As he stood, he pointed the light across the room to reveal the little girl standing in the middle of the living room. Peter fell backwards into the wall, nearly knocking over the clock.

  The decomposition process had taken a greater effect on the child. Her face, arms and legs were withering away. She looked down at her hands, which had been eroded through so badly that lesions had formed on her skin. Her hair, dripping wet, covered her face and spilled water onto the living room floor. She outstretched her hands, reaching out in Peter’s direction as if asking for help. Drops of water splashed on the discolored skin. One drop hit a lesion so deep that it passed completely through to the other side. That drop met its fate not on her hand but through it and onto the living room floor.

  She slowly lifted her head up, and revealed her face. Peter dug his fingers into the wall behind him as the girl tilted her head in his direction. He couldn’t tell if she was looking at him, however. Her eyes were blank, white orbs floating inside her skull. Lifeless. She began to weep, ever so softly.

  She stood there, continuing her reach for Peter as a child would when they wanted their parents.

  “Why didn’t you save me?” she whimpered. Her voice trembled from fear and likely hypothermia. “You could have done something more. If you don’t stop her, she’ll kill you too!”

  This isn’t real this isn’t real…

  Oh, but that smell…that was real. The odor that hit his nose brought a retch to his throat. It reeked of something rotting away for years. Maybe even decades. It couldn’t be given an accurate timestamp as Peter had never endured such a putrid smell in his life. The stench made the air thick and heavy. Unable to catch his breath, Peter choked on the vomit lacing his throat.

  Peter scrambled to the safety of the stairs. Now catching his breath, he sunk to the floor. You’re not real, he tried to convince himself. Yet, still with the gagging hint from his throat, he doubted his assessment of the situation.

  It had to be real.

  Peter’s hands shook as he pointed the flashlight back towards the living room.

  No sign of the girl. Not even an indication of the foul odor looming in the night air. It was all gone.

  Peter composed himself before walking back up the stairs. He stopped off in the bathroom first. He didn’t want Dani to know what just happened.

  He switched on the light and splashed his face with water. Gazing at his reflection in the mirror, he looked drained. Dark circles had formed under his eyes, like he’d been struggling to sleep for a while. He splashed his face once more with cold water and wiped the excess from the thick scruff forming on his chin. He ran his fingers across the grainy hairs that he had abandoned maintaining. The majority of his brunette hair had flecks of grey.

  He couldn’t be so stressed out that he started earning his greys this fast.

  He flicked the light switch off again and concluded that he needed to shave again in the morning.

  The clock!

  He forgot to push the clock back up against the wall.

  Peter, now at a loss for patience, ventured back downstairs. The living room was clear. It was how he had left it, with not a living soul to be found. He clamped shut the clock’s back door and returned it to its place against the wall. He retreated back upstairs, unaware of the silhouette standing at the bottom of the stairway.

  With a sigh, exhaling the tension that had just built up in his body, Peter climbed back into bed. Much to his relief, Dani had already fallen back asleep. He set the flashlight on top of the nightstand. He stayed awake for the rest of the night.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Two months later

  What was left of the Fall was good to the Shellys. Peter hadn’t a single episode since Dani spoke to Dr. Urbridge. Dani was having a healthy and (mostly) comfortable pregnancy, much more than she could have asked for. Preparations for the arrival of their little one were well under way.

  “What about a name?” Dani asked as she sat with Peter in the living room.

  “Maybe Abigail? I like that it means joy,” he said.

  “I’ll consider it. I like a name with positive meaning.”

  She leaned back on the couch. The sun set earlier in the winter months and Dani’s hair had reverted back to its messier predecessor. Peter preferred it that way. He thought it was more fun. His facial hair, on the other hand, consistently grew the further into winter they ventured.

  “I like Vera too,” he went on.

  “That’s not bad,” Dani said, sounding iffy on it.

  “It means hope…well, faith actually. But I think it’s fitting.”

  Peter’s office would soon be converted into a baby’s room. Boxes of baby furniture were found laid out along the wall across from Peter’s desk. Although apprehensive at first about having to give up his space, Peter gave way to the idea. Any shred of selfishness was gone when it came to their growing family. There was also another reason Peter was so willing to part with his prized office…he’d completed his book. It was late-December when he concluded that his story was finished. He was proud of his accomplishment and satisfied enough to say it was time to take the next steps in having his work published. A dream of his for many years.

  “Since we’re on the subject of baby names,” Dani continued. “I think we should talk about a long-term plan.”

  “What do you mean?” Peter asked.

  “Well, I mean where we should live,” she said slightly tensing up.

  “I figured we’d live here. Aren’t you happy here?”

  “Yes, of course I’m happy…we’re doing well now. I just think it’s a good idea to keep our options open. For the baby.”

  “For Vera,” he said.

  “We’ll work on the name.” Dani smiled. “I just think that with everything that’s happened, we need to play it safe. I don’t think we can afford to learn as we go in this case.”

  Peter steepled his fingers. “You have a valid point. I’m not dismissing it, I just want to see if we can make things work here first.”

  “Peter, this isn’t a situation where we can have a do-over.” Dani stood up and faced Peter. Her patience had worn thin and she needed to put her foot down. “This took us both by surprise, but we need to be serious. If things don’t stay consistent here, we need to move.”


  Peter hung his head. He didn’t want to leave. He loved their new home. But he had a family to look after.

  He sighed. “You’re right. This family comes first.”

  “Thank you,” Dani said.

  “As long as everything is okay here I would like to try. But I promise not to be stubborn in case we need to leave.”

  “That’s all I’m asking.” She scanned the room. “Life can be good here. We’ve made happy memories, but those good times don’t negate the stress we’ve had here too.”

  Peter nodded again.

  The matter of where he would write his next book suddenly became an issue. Until the baby came, his desk and laptop remained in the spare room deemed his office. After that, he would begin to utilize the space in the living room where the typewriter had been originally found. Although this space lacked the natural lighting and view of the lake his office boasted, it would serve its purpose. If they had to move, he feared of his plans being ruined.

  The temperature had dropped significantly in the months after the book’s conclusion. Snowfall had become a frequent occurrence in Piermont, so Peter had adjusted his run to brave snowy trails. As a result, Dani could no longer join Peter on their usual weekend runs together. Although a walk would have been good for her, she opted out as the brisk cold along with the snow on the ground made for a less appealing expedition for a pregnant woman. She did plan on being active for the health of both herself and the baby, the cold was just a little much for her to handle at this point.

  Another adjustment that came with the winter months was maintaining the outside of the house. Peter and Dani were used to having minimal snow removal in their Brooklyn brownstone apartment. However, the lot of land that came with their new colonial style home in Piermont required a higher degree of care. Peter took extra time to clear a path from the front door to the driveway so Dani’s walk to the SUV remained a safe one.

  Peter went ahead on his run alone. Dani took the opportunity while Peter was out to get ahead on lesson planning for her students as well as catching up on some reading. One of the perks of her job was how it allowed her to kill two birds with one stone. Sinking into a book while getting work done didn’t sound like a bad way to spend a snowy afternoon.

  She grabbed a book from the shelf, intending to put it through her own personal screening. Dani enjoyed deeming whether a book had an adequate message for her students to dive into.

  As she headed for the living room to cozy up on the sofa, she discovered the typewriter sitting back atop the table.

  “Peter!” she snapped out loud as if he were listening to her in the other room.

  This was the one argument she was tired of having. Why is it necessary to keeping bringing this thing downstairs? she thought. It had been a couple of months since they last fought about the typewriter. In fact, they hadn’t had any arguments since she took the initiative in visiting Dr. Urbridge. It seemed their relationship was back on track. She couldn’t be too mad at finding the typewriter back in the living room. Peter was likely trying to figure out where he wanted to do his writing once his office turned into a nursery.

  Dani placed her book down to come back to later, then grabbed the typewriter from the table. Although this ancient piece of writing equipment had some weight to it, she managed. Taking the pregnancy into consideration, there wasn’t much to worry about. While sturdy, the typewriter was something she was able to handle. She did strain slightly as she climbed the stairs to the second floor though. Lifting the thing was a different story when an incline was added to the equation.

  She placed the typewriter on the floor as she stopped below the attic. Her breath came out a little heavier than she’d have liked. Standing up on her tippy toes and reaching for the latch was much easier without having to carry the aluminum monstrosity. The steps fell down awkwardly in front of her. She took a couple of deep breaths for good measure before continuing on her trek. Dani had already slowed her pace and focused more on her breathing patterns. No sudden movements. No surprises. She knew she was fine, but didn’t want to take any chances.

  Once ready, she picked the typewriter up off the floor, which was a bit of a tougher task than before. She made sure to have a solid grip before making the final climb into the attic.

  The machinery was cradled in Dani’s arms as she entered the house’s top-floor storage. She hadn’t been up to the attic since moving day and with good reason. The air up there was heavy. Apprehension had prevented her from returning but mostly there hadn’t been much incentive. Peter had done most of the unpacking and organizing so a lot of that work was already taken care of, much to Dani’s relief.

  The room had the same strange energy as it had the first time Dani stood in it. Goosebumps formed on her neck and arms at the memory. She told herself there was no reason to be afraid. Just get in and get out. It wasn’t a big deal.

  Still…she felt off about it. I’ll just put this thing back and get out of here, she thought.

  The gloom and atmosphere soaked into her. Isolated. Detached from the rest of the house. The stale air tasted of death. The same crack of light from outside created a dim glow. A long shadow cast on the floor and the statue’s silhouette creeped from the corner of the room.

  Dani jerked her head in the direction of the strange woman to discover there was nothing there.

  It’s only your imagination.

  A clearing on Peter’s makeshift worktable marked what she assumed was where the typewriter belonged. She walked over with the typewriter still cradled in her arms, a slight waddle in her step. Dropping it in its place with a thud, she let out a sigh of relief now to be rid of the burden. She was surprised that she had been holding her breath the entire time. There was nothing to worry about but her instinctively cautious nature told her otherwise. It was time to get out of there.

  As she headed for the exit, done with the attic once and for all, one last detail caught her eye. The chest that Peter spoke about repeatedly, holding its position crouching in the corner, away from the dim light. The last Peter had even mentioned the chest, he was wondering what was inside. He had been adamant over finding out how the thing could be cracked open. Dani, at the time, felt it was unimportant. Mostly just a distraction. Peter, however was so dead set on finding out what was inside. It was strange how he suddenly let it go. Dani’s guess was he simply lost interest in whatever was locked away in there. She figured it best not to bring it up as to avoid re-igniting his unhealthy obsession. Now, the tables had turned and for the first time the chest caught her attention…

  It was open.

  Had Peter finally opened it? Dani thought it was out of his character to discover something like this and not share it with her. Regardless, the sight of the opened chest gave her chills.

  She reluctantly knelt-down in front of the opened chest.

  Anything could have been in there. Her heedful nature drove her actions slower, but not to a halt, as if she was being pulled in by some outside force. She didn’t want to be caught off-guard again like she was the first time she came up here. Yet, she couldn’t ignore this.

  She peered inside. Her breath shuddered out. It was a rather dull sight. Mostly just loose papers scattering the inside of the chest. This included several notebooks, journals and newspaper clippings. The clippings were bundled together in batches by paperclip, with the exception of a few loose ones scattered on top of the pile. Dani picked up the loose newspaper clippings. The publication couldn’t be identified, as only the bodies of the articles were saved.

  July 17th, 2003.

  Dani, glancing down at the story’s date, recalled the significance of the year 2003. The real estate agent mentioned the house had been last occupied then.

  “ROCKLAND COUNTY: MISSING CHILD ALERT”

  Ten-year-old Piermont resident, Lauren Rivers, has been reported missing by her parents Tony and Janet Rivers. She had last been seen walking outside wearing a bright blue sundress, brown flip-flops and her hair tied in a bun. She
stands at 4’6, has brown hair and brown eyes. Her parents are extremely distressed. Please, if anyone in the Rockland area has any information leading to Lauren’s whereabouts, contact the police immediately.

  Dani’s heartrate skyrocketed. The description of Lauren Rivers was eerily close to the description Peter gave of the girl at the lake. Dani dropped the first clipping back into the chest and continued onto the next.

  JULY 19th, 2003.

  “TRAGEDY: LAUREN RIVERS’ BODY FOUND AT LAKE”

  Tragedy has struck the town of Piermont. Young Lauren Rivers, reported missing just two days ago, has been found, dead from drowning. Details of the grisly discovery are being withheld at this time as the case is under investigation. Police found her lifeless body on the shore of Rockland lake, just feet from the girl’s home. Authorities are not ruling out homicide. There are no suspects at this time. Police and investigators are working around the clock to gather evidence.

  Dani shook as she dropped the second article back into the chest. She couldn’t believe there had been a potential murder so close to their new home. Had she known this prior to the move, she wouldn’t have been okay with coming here. She was barely able to compose herself. Any other time, Dani would have cut from this horror immediately but she wasn’t in the driver’s seat. It was as though something stronger than herself compelled her to read further.

  JULY 27th, 2003.

  “LOCAL WOMAN TO BE TRIED FOR MURDER”

  Long-time resident of Piermont and acclaimed writer, Leida Nielsen, is being sought for questioning. Investigators have linked recent evidence tying Ms. Nielsen to the disappearance and murder of Lauren Rivers. It has been understood that Leida has also gone missing. Any information leading to her whereabouts and eventual apprehension will be rewarded.

  Without even a pause, Dani dropped the next piece of the puzzle back into place. She couldn’t stop now.

  October 3rd, 2003.

  “WRITER LINKED TO RIVERS MURDER FOUND DEAD”