Once Upon A Broken Ending

Six months after her grandmother's funeral, Amelia Carter still couldn't bring herself to throw away the old teacup. It sat alone on the kitchen shelf in her grandmother's house. White porcelain. A faded blue flower curled around the handle. A tiny c***k ran along the rim. Amelia had thought about taking it home more times than she could count. She never did. Some things felt too much like stealing. She stared at it for a moment longer before turning away. Tonight, she wasn't thinking about the teacup. She was thinking about the attic. And the warning her grandmother had repeated so many times that Amelia could still hear her voice perfectly. Never go into the attic after midnight. Not don't. Not stay away. Never. It had always sounded strange coming from her grandmother. She wasn't the superstitious type. She didn't believe in ghosts or curses or monsters hiding beneath beds. So why had she been so afraid of one particular room? Amelia glanced at the clock. 11:57 p.m. Three minutes. She tightened her grip around the flashlight. “This is stupid.” The house answered with a quiet creak. Amelia froze. Her eyes darted toward the staircase. Nothing. Just darkness. She exhaled. “Very stupid.” She should have gone back downstairs. Instead, she remembered why she had come. Six months ago, she'd buried the woman who raised her. Since then, Amelia had found herself collecting unanswered questions like they were things her grandmother had left behind. Why had she locked the attic? Why had she never spoken about certain photographs? Why had she worn that strange silver pendant every day of her life? And why, whenever Amelia asked about the attic, did her grandmother's expression change? There had always been something behind that warning. Something her grandmother had never told her. Tonight, Amelia intended to find out what. She climbed the stairs. One. Two. Three. At the end of the hallway, the attic door waited. Amelia stopped in front of it. For a second, she was eight years old again, sitting beside her grandmother on the sofa while rain battered the windows. Promise me, Amelia. Promise me you'll never go into the attic after midnight. She had promised. Apparently, eight-year-old Amelia had been terrible at keeping promises. The clock downstairs began to chime. Midnight. Amelia reached for the handle. The door opened with a long, reluctant groan. Dust drifted through the beam of her flashlight. She stepped inside. The attic looked exactly as she remembered it. Old furniture covered in white sheets. Boxes stacked against the walls. A broken rocking chair. Yellowed photographs. And beneath it all, the faint smell of dust, cedarwood... and something strangely sweet. Amelia wrinkled her nose. “Okay. Find the answer. Leave. Pretend this never happened.” She swept the flashlight across the room. Nothing. She almost laughed. “See? Nothing.” Then the clock downstairs struck twelve. Dong. The attic light flickered. Amelia's smile disappeared. Dong. The temperature dropped. A cold shiver ran across her arms. Dong. Something moved behind the boxes. Amelia slowly raised the flashlight. “Hello?” Silence. She took a cautious step forward. Then another. Something dark was tucked beneath an old sheet. Amelia crouched and pulled it away. A book lay underneath. She stared. It wasn't ordinary. The cover was completely black, smooth as glass, with thin silver patterns curling across it. At the center was a symbol. Amelia's breath caught. She knew that symbol. Her hand instinctively went to the pendant beneath her shirt. She pulled it free. Silver glinted in the flashlight. The symbol on the pendant was identical to the one on the book. Her grandmother had worn that pendant every day. Even in the hospital. Even when she was too weak to get out of bed. Amelia had once asked her why she never took it off. Her grandmother had only smiled. One day, you'll understand. Amelia had hated that answer. Now she hated it even more. “What were you hiding from me?” Her fingers touched the book. It opened. Amelia jerked backward. The pages began turning. Slowly. One after another. Then faster. Faster. Faster. Amelia couldn't move. Every page was blank. No words. No pictures. Nothing. “Okay…” The pages stopped. The book began to glow. A faint silver light spread across the cover. Then it lifted from the floor. Amelia's flashlight slipped from her fingers. It hit the wooden floor and spun, throwing frantic beams of light across the attic. The book opened again. This time, words appeared across the pages. Amelia leaned closer. She couldn't read them. They moved too quickly, changing before her eyes could focus. “What is happening?” The air in front of her trembled. A thin c***k appeared. Amelia stumbled backward. Another c***k formed beside it. Then another. The cracks spread through the air like invisible glass breaking. Her heart slammed against her ribs. There was something on the other side. A sky. Not her sky. Violet clouds stretched across an unfamiliar horizon. Two moons hung above a vast forest—one silver, one gold. Strange flowers glowed between enormous trees. Something moved among them. Something huge. Amelia's fear finally drowned out her curiosity. She turned toward the attic door. It was gone. Her stomach dropped. “No.” She ran toward the doorway. There was only a wall. She spun around. The portal had grown. Wind tore through the attic. Boxes toppled. Papers spiraled into the air. Amelia grabbed the edge of an old table. “Stop!” The book continued floating. The portal widened. A distant roar came from the other side. Amelia screamed. Then she saw it. A photograph. It had been knocked loose from one of the boxes. She reached for it as it flew past. Her fingers caught the corner. She looked down. And froze. Her grandmother stood in the photograph. Young. Beautiful. Almost unrecognizable. But she wasn't alone. A boy stood beside her. Dark hair. Sharp features. Silver eyes. Amelia stared. She had never seen him before. Yet something about his face made a strange feeling twist inside her chest. Not familiarity. Something closer to recognition without a memory. The photograph slipped from her fingers. The wind snatched it away. It flew toward the portal. “No!” Amelia lunged. For one impossible second, she saw the boy again. Not in the photograph. On the other side. Alive. Standing beneath the violet sky. His silver eyes widened. He saw her. And the expression that crossed his face wasn't curiosity. It was shock. Then fear. Then something Amelia couldn't name. He stepped toward the portal. “Amelia?” Her blood turned cold. He knew her name. “How do you know me?” The boy's expression hardened. “Don't let it take you!” “What?” He glanced behind himself. Whatever he saw made his face lose all color. “RUN!” A shadow moved behind him. Huge. Amelia couldn't make out its shape. The boy turned toward it. “Amelia, listen to me!” The portal violently pulled at everything around her. The table. The boxes. The photographs. Even the floor beneath her feet. Amelia grabbed the edge of the attic wall. “I can't!” The boy reached toward her. “Don't let it take you!” His hand broke through the portal. His fingers stretched toward hers. Almost touching. Almost. Then something seized him from behind. His body jerked backward. “AMELIA!” She screamed. The boy's eyes locked onto hers. For the first time, Amelia saw something that looked almost like grief in them. As if he already knew what was about to happen. As if he'd been afraid of this moment long before she'd ever arrived. “Remember—” The portal exploded with light. The boy vanished. The photograph disappeared. And the force ripped Amelia from the attic. She reached for anything. A table. A wall. The floor. Nothing held. The last thing she heard was the boy's voice. Desperate. Fading. “Remember…” Then the world shattered. And Amelia fell. Not into darkness. Into a story.