Christian didn’t know she existed. Or was
her father merely fooling around? It was hard to tell
sometimes.
When she finished washing the dishes, she
blew out the lantern, picked up her book, and stepped out of the
kitchen. It had been a long day, but it was only minutes after
seven, so she knew it was far from over. She planned to study until
nine or so, reading by the lantern in her room. After spotting her
father, who sat in the living room with the only light coming from
his cigarette, she began making her way upstairs.
“I’m going to have to buy eyeglasses for you
one of these days,” had become Emmanuel’s final words to her each
day since she was eight. He didn’t bid her good night and tuck her
in, always lacking the genteel approach for a parent. There were
times Reverie wished he would, but she didn’t feel that way
anymore. She was independent, almost, and couldn’t imagine being
anything but.
Before she could reach her room, she heard
scurrying in the attic. She paused. The attic was the only room she
had always been kept from, but that didn’t mean she didn’t think
about going there. When she was outside looking up, she often tried
gazing into the room via the window but had never been able to see
anything. It was the largest room in the house, spanning the space
of the rooms beneath it, which Reverie doubted was a familiar trait
with Victorian architecture. Hearing the noise, she walked in the
gathering darkness towards the inaccessible room. Just as she
reached it, the scurrying stopped.
Reverie stepped closer and pressed her ear
to the door, breathing calmly. She heard the opposite on the other
side. Whoever was standing there, taking refuge in the attic, was
gasping harshly. She jumped away, fetched a candle from the nearby
stand in the hallway, and lit it immediately.
“Who’s there?”
She spotted something coming from beneath
the door and jumped back when it slid across the floor. Looking
hard, she realized that it was a key. It was dirty because it
hadn’t been used in a long time. As she bent down to get it, she
heard banging on the door.
“No! No!” the voice wailed plaintively. “No!
Give it back!”
Reverie didn’t know how to react and stood
staring from the door to the key and back again. The banging
continued and the voice, now inaudible, was only sobbing. As she
was bending down to retrieve the key, she heard someone coming up
behind her. The footsteps became all she heard and the crying and
banging stopped, causing her to focus on whoever was approaching.
She stood up straight and turned around, backing up so that her
foot was on the key. Standing at the end of the hall with a candle
much like hers, Emmanuel stared at her with what she could only
assume was rage.
“What are you doing here?” he asked
furiously. “You know the attic is forbidden!”
She gulped, unable to say anything for a
second. As he approached, she began wondering if she had been the
only one to hear the creature in the attic. He stood in front of
her, checking the doorknob to make sure the attic was still locked,
and then grabbed hold of her wrist.
“You, young lady, are in serious trouble!”
he stated.
With eyes still full of fury, he realized he
wasn’t threatening in the slightest. He had never lost his anger
with her, often thought she was his gift from Heaven, but tonight
was different. He had to show her he was serious, outraged, but he
couldn’t find it in himself to do it. She looked so innocent.
“What? For being curious?” she asked,
stammering. “I’ve been here several times before, but you never
said anything. If just being here makes you put me in serious
trouble, I’ll never come here again.”
“Of course you won’t, Reverie. You’re
grounded,” he said calmly. He glanced at the door, away from her
eyes. They were her mother’s eyes, always serene and able to calm
him no matter what mood he was
her father merely fooling around? It was hard to tell
sometimes.
When she finished washing the dishes, she
blew out the lantern, picked up her book, and stepped out of the
kitchen. It had been a long day, but it was only minutes after
seven, so she knew it was far from over. She planned to study until
nine or so, reading by the lantern in her room. After spotting her
father, who sat in the living room with the only light coming from
his cigarette, she began making her way upstairs.
“I’m going to have to buy eyeglasses for you
one of these days,” had become Emmanuel’s final words to her each
day since she was eight. He didn’t bid her good night and tuck her
in, always lacking the genteel approach for a parent. There were
times Reverie wished he would, but she didn’t feel that way
anymore. She was independent, almost, and couldn’t imagine being
anything but.
Before she could reach her room, she heard
scurrying in the attic. She paused. The attic was the only room she
had always been kept from, but that didn’t mean she didn’t think
about going there. When she was outside looking up, she often tried
gazing into the room via the window but had never been able to see
anything. It was the largest room in the house, spanning the space
of the rooms beneath it, which Reverie doubted was a familiar trait
with Victorian architecture. Hearing the noise, she walked in the
gathering darkness towards the inaccessible room. Just as she
reached it, the scurrying stopped.
Reverie stepped closer and pressed her ear
to the door, breathing calmly. She heard the opposite on the other
side. Whoever was standing there, taking refuge in the attic, was
gasping harshly. She jumped away, fetched a candle from the nearby
stand in the hallway, and lit it immediately.
“Who’s there?”
She spotted something coming from beneath
the door and jumped back when it slid across the floor. Looking
hard, she realized that it was a key. It was dirty because it
hadn’t been used in a long time. As she bent down to get it, she
heard banging on the door.
“No! No!” the voice wailed plaintively. “No!
Give it back!”
Reverie didn’t know how to react and stood
staring from the door to the key and back again. The banging
continued and the voice, now inaudible, was only sobbing. As she
was bending down to retrieve the key, she heard someone coming up
behind her. The footsteps became all she heard and the crying and
banging stopped, causing her to focus on whoever was approaching.
She stood up straight and turned around, backing up so that her
foot was on the key. Standing at the end of the hall with a candle
much like hers, Emmanuel stared at her with what she could only
assume was rage.
“What are you doing here?” he asked
furiously. “You know the attic is forbidden!”
She gulped, unable to say anything for a
second. As he approached, she began wondering if she had been the
only one to hear the creature in the attic. He stood in front of
her, checking the doorknob to make sure the attic was still locked,
and then grabbed hold of her wrist.
“You, young lady, are in serious trouble!”
he stated.
With eyes still full of fury, he realized he
wasn’t threatening in the slightest. He had never lost his anger
with her, often thought she was his gift from Heaven, but tonight
was different. He had to show her he was serious, outraged, but he
couldn’t find it in himself to do it. She looked so innocent.
“What? For being curious?” she asked,
stammering. “I’ve been here several times before, but you never
said anything. If just being here makes you put me in serious
trouble, I’ll never come here again.”
“Of course you won’t, Reverie. You’re
grounded,” he said calmly. He glanced at the door, away from her
eyes. They were her mother’s eyes, always serene and able to calm
him no matter what mood he was
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