The Prisoner in the Attic
"Look how sick this is!" Eben’s voice chirped from the dark, cobwebbed corner of the attic. He’d always been the one to find treasure in the trash.
"Ooh! It's a mirror!" Lilith gawked, joining him. They were hovering over a massive object sheathed in a heavy, moth-eaten cloth.
Since Grandpa passed, the house had felt like a hollow lung. Mom was heartbroken, roaming the halls like a ghost herself, so moving out felt less like a choice and more like a necessity. I wasn't too grieved by Grandpa’s demise, honestly. Our relationship was... complicated. He was an ominous man, prone to midnight chanting and roaming the hallways with a lantern, whispering to things that weren't there.
"Earth to Aaron!" my siblings screamed in unison, snapping me out of my thoughts.
"Let’s remove the cover!" Lilith suggested, her hands already reaching for the grime-slicked ropes.
I didn't like it. The attic was musky and sweltering, yet a sharp chill seemed to radiate from the object. There was no reason for Grandpa to keep a mirror up here. Especially not one tied down with heavy knots like a prisoner waiting to cause havoc.
"Wait! We should focus on packing—"
Rip. The cloth fell away with a heavy thud. The mirror was beautiful in a sickening way, its frame embedded with tiny, carved wooden dolls that looked less like decorations and more like frozen, screaming people. "That's sick! I'm keeping it in my room," Lilith declared. Eben, usually the loudest, had gone silent. He stared at his reflection, his eyes wide.
"Rumors say the dolls were cursed," Eben whispered, his voice sounding leagues away. "That anyone who looks too long gets sucked in." Then, he burst out laughing, pointing at my horrified face. "Oh, Aaron! You’re such a baby! Did you actually believe me?"
I flushed with sheepish shame. But as we left the attic, I glanced back. I could have sworn one of the wooden dolls had shifted its gaze toward the door.
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