*Chapter 2: The Girl in the Attic**
438 Words
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Evelyn rushed forward, her footsteps echoing in the empty hallway as she followed Lila up the creaking staircase. Each step groaned like a voice from the past, warning her to turn back.
“Lila, wait!” she called, her voice trembling.
But Lila didn’t stop.
The little girl climbed with quiet confidence, as if she knew exactly where she was going. As if someone was *guiding* her.
When Evelyn reached the top of the stairs, she saw Lila standing in front of the attic door—her tiny fingers brushing against the locked brass handle.
"She said she lives up there," Lila said softly.
Evelyn swallowed hard. “Who said that, Lila?”
“Rosie,” her daughter whispered. “She said she’s been waiting a long time.”
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Evelyn stared at the attic door. It looked exactly like it had fifteen years ago: heavy, wooden, and nailed shut with thick rusted bolts. Her mother had done that herself. She remembered watching her hammer each nail in with shaking hands, whispering prayers with every strike.
That night was the last time Evelyn saw her mother smile.
And it was the first night she began to dream of the girl in the attic.
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“Come on, Lila,” Evelyn said quickly. “Let’s go back downstairs.”
But Lila didn’t move. Her eyes were wide, glassy. Her lips trembled.
“She says she’s cold.”
Evelyn’s heart skipped a beat. “Who?”
“She says she’s alone in the dark. And no one listens to her scream anymore.”
Lila suddenly burst into tears.
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Evelyn scooped her daughter into her arms and hurried downstairs. She tucked her into the couch and wrapped a blanket around her small frame.
Lila clung to her rabbit, her eyes still locked on the staircase.
“She says you used to hear her too, Mommy.”
Evelyn froze.
How could she know that?
How could her daughter—who had never heard the stories, never seen the attic—know about *the whispers?*
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That night, Evelyn sat alone in the dusty living room, the candlelight flickering as the storm howled outside.
She thought about her mother’s fear.
The way she’d never let Evelyn near the attic again.
The way her hands had trembled.
The way she would whisper to the shadows, *“Not again. Not my daughter.”*
Evelyn hadn’t remembered much of what happened that year. It was all a blur of nightmares and cold floors and a girl’s voice calling her name.
Until now.
A floorboard creaked above.
Footsteps.
*In the attic.*
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- Writer
