A Haunting Excerpt From: Kiss of the Calliope
The attic was dark and quiet. Nothing moved within the confines of the small, stuffy room that was full of boxes, memorabilia and dust so thick, it was matted onto the cluttered wooden floor, as well as on the many objects lying here and there. If it wasn’t for the sound of the rain outside, hitting the single window at the far end of the room, there wouldn’t have been a single sound at all in the dark, forgotten space at the topmost part of the cottage. Maybe all that would have been heard were the sounds of the family that dwelled below—the family who had stashed the articles in this forgotten attic years and years ago.
But if there was indeed a family below, there were no signs of them on this dark and stormy night, and that suited it just fine. There was much work to be done, and the work would have been better accomplished in silence after all. For in the absence of sound and in the absence of the living, the dead and buried make their home … it is then that they make themselves known, after all.
It moved itself ever so slowly towards the edge of the box marked: PICTURES in a solid black marker. It glided over the dusty cardboard, scraping against the box, making a slight pffft sound as it went.
The sky outside lit up with a bright burst of lightning, but no sounds of thunder ensued. No … the silence prevailed, and that was good.
Silence was good.
Silence was golden.
Silence was bliss.
And so it was … it edged closer and closer to the edge of the box, so that if seeking hands and curious eyes chose to wander close, they would fall upon it and only it, and the rest ….
Well, the rest would work itself out as it always had. It had always been patient, hadn’t it?
Yes … yes indeed.
It stopped just short of the edge, and there it would wait.
There it would wait.