It started with a flicker.
Not the wind. Not the rain.
Just a flicker.Like the house blinked.
I was lying on my mattress, watching shadows crawl across the ceiling. My drawings fluttered on the walls from the breath of the night wind. The tiger, Marshmallow, stared at me as always — loyal, frozen, silent.
Then the light above the hatch — the only electric bulb Mama let glow through the wooden cracks — blinked twice…
And died.
At first, I thought it was a power cut.
They happened in the books I read.Storms. Lightning. Flick! Darkness.
But this storm was gone.
And yet, the house fell into silence.
Heavy, ringing silence.
I crawled to the hatch.
It was still open, just a slit.
No light from below.No sound.Not even the tick of the strange clock in the hallway.
The house wasn't sleeping.
It was gone.
My heart thudded in my chest — not fast, but slow. Loud. A drum inside a box of bones.
I whispered, "Mama?"
No answer.
I whispered again.
Nothing.
Not even the usual creak.
I sat there for a long time.
Too afraid to go down.Too afraid to stay up.
Then I remembered the key.
It was still under my pillow, cold now.Like it had drained its warmth while I slept.
I held it tight in my fist, like a charm.
What do keys open?
Doors.
What kind of doors?
Locked ones.
Mama said locked things were dangerous.
She said the house had "rooms that remember."
Whatever that means.
I took the flashlight from under my bed — a small, cracked one Mama gave me once, with barely any battery. I had saved it. Hidden it.
Now it was my torch.
My sword.
My only friend.
I opened the hatch wider.
Stuck my legs through.
Let them dangle over the stairs.
Then I began to climb down.
One step.
Then two.
The wood groaned under my feet — louder than I remembered.
The hallway looked different in the dark.
Longer. Crooked.
Like it had stretched overnight.
The picture of the eyeless woman on the wall was gone.
In its place… a mirror.
Old. Foggy.
And something written across the glass:
"YOU ARE NOT LUCAS."
I froze.
My breath caught in my throat.
The words were written in black — not ink.
Not paint.
Something thicker.
I stepped closer.
Touched the glass.
Sticky.
Still wet.
My fingers trembled as I lifted the flashlight and scanned the hallway.
No signs of Mama.
No footsteps.
No breathing.
No sound.
Only that message burning in my mind.
"You are not Lucas."
I moved toward the living room.
The floor creaked beneath me, but not just from me.
There was something ahead.
A shadow.
No.
A figure.
Slumped on the couch.
Still.
Too still.
"Mama?" I whispered.
No answer.
I crept closer, flashlight flickering.
The light hit her feet first.
Bare. Dirty. Motionless.
Then her hands — one holding something.
A piece of paper?
Then her face—
I screamed.
Not out loud.
But inside, something cracked.
Mama's eyes were open.
Wide.
Unblinking.
Her mouth, too — slightly parted like she wanted to say something but forgot how.
A small trail of red ran from her temple into her hair.
Dried.
Old.
The paper in her hand had my name.
No—
A name.
Not mine.
Not Lucas.
"Missing Child: Daniel Reese – Age 3"Last seen: 6 years agoHair: BlondeEyes: GreenDistinguishing mark: Birthmark on left shoulder
I dropped the flashlight.
It rolled onto the floor, spinning light across the walls like lightning.
I yanked up my sleeve.
There.Left shoulder.
A birthmark.
Faint. But there.
A little spiral.
I am Daniel.
Not Lucas.
Not her child.
Not anybody's child.
I backed away from Mama's body.
Tears pressed at my eyes, but wouldn't fall.
Not yet.
Not now.
The key burned in my hand again.
I looked around.
The door to the basement — the one always locked — was open.
Not wide.
Just enough.
Enough to invite me in.
I stepped toward it.
My body moved without my mind.
The key turned in my hand even though the door was already ajar.
The stairs down were steep. Rotting.
The air… thick.
And a smell I couldn't describe.
Like burned sugar.
Like old meat.
At the bottom, the flashlight caught on metal.
Rows of cages.
A cot.
A wall covered in children's drawings.
Some looked like mine.
But… older.
Rougher.
One had my name.
"Danny."
I dropped the light again.
It hit the floor.
Went out.
I was alone in the dark.
Truly, finally, deeply alone.
And for the first time in my life—
I wanted the attic back.