Gargoyle Grin

Gargoyle Grin

        Dreary willow trees lined up along the drive, beckoning the newcomers forwards. The gravel crunched beneath the weight of the silver van, brakes squealing as it slowed. Frown the mossy sod sprouted a church like estate. Sharp spires piercing into the grey sky like needles. The Gargoyles that were meant to guard looked more like they were cackling at the new arrivals.

        Winds whistled eerily along the open patio columns, sounding much like a wail. The family of four, mother, father, and trouble twin boys who raced towards the house. Old stairs creaked beneath small feet on a mission to claim the best room on the second floor. A single door stood closed at the furthest end of the long hallway, just waiting to be pulled open. The eldest brother’s curiosity brought him to it, and clustered in the room were dark stairs that led up. 

        He grinned and snuck up to the attic, stepping into the dusty space with thin rays of grey light through the patched window coverings. Right in the center of the shadowy room, was an old brown box that seemed to be calling him name. As he stepped closer it’s calls grew louder, and he yanked it open. The calling stopped, only for the boy to be dragged inside, the lid slammed, trapped.

        Meanwhile, the younger twin had returned downstairs alone, welcomed by burning gas stoves and grilled cheese. It wasn’t a strange occurrence to dine without the elder twin. 

        Later, under a pale silver moon, the younger brothers mind filled with the image of a ugly brown box. He could almost hear the pounding and screaming as if someone were inside. The sound of nails scraping angrily on a chalkboard rang through his ears even as he jolted awake. 

        Following the sound, the boy made his way up the hidden staircase into the attic, like he’d been there before. He spotted the brown box from the dream.

        It was pushed flush against a back wall. Spider webs spraying out from the corners to catch against the wall. Dust lay heavily upon the lid, undisturbed for some time.

        The boy could hear it though, loud and clear, the scratching and screaming. It made his heart pound, the hair on his arms prickle. When he stepped too close, it rattled, rocking back and forth, end to end, like someone was throwing themselves against it. The movement startled the younger brother, sending him down the stairs and into his mothers familiar arms.

        She gave him a sympathetic look, leading him back up the staircase. With the boy clinging to her legs they opened the dust filled box only to find nothing. The boy startled, peering into the box, watching his mother run her hand against the bottom, showing him it was empty. He even watched her close it.

        His mother patted his head, sighed tiredly, and led him back to the door. She always warned him about playing in such places alone.

         The young boy heard the scratching sound again, his eyes snapping bacbk to the box, settled now in the center of the room. The lid was lifted slightly, bright gleaming eyes staring back with a sinister gargoyle grin.