Bedtime - A Short Story Anthology

Attic Anomaly

Attic Anomaly 

By ExLyrical

Mirabelle kicked her legs back and forth aimlessly. She had been seated at the stairwell's edge for a little while. The young girl was exhausted, having aided her Father in managing the family homestead and farm all day long.

Yet, she refused to show it.

After all, Mother never complained about helping her parents, so why should Mirabelle?

She crawled back onto the moist attic floor, throwing her back onto the creaking redwood planks.

The house had seen some damage over the years; it was no longer in a pristine state. Spiderwebs coated every corner of the attic; some portions of the floor had grown weak. It was still damp after last week's downpour - which effortlessly penetrated through the gaping holes in the roof tiles.

Mirabelle sighed as a droplet trickled down the overhanging support beam, falling right onto one of her eyes.

Her vision momentarily blurred up; however, within her foggy, dazed state - an old cupboard stowed away in the back corner remained sharp in any and all details. It took the girl aback. She narrowed her eyes in a squint, fixated on the finer intricacies carved into the woodwork.

Stepping closer, she caught sight of some bizarre inscription near the iron handle.

Mirabelle had never seen the signs before. They appeared much like those... How did Miss Daisy call them again? Ah, right! Hieroglyphics. But these seemed off; perhaps, the humid atmosphere had affected their integrity.

So wondered Mirabelle.

She reached out, trailing the etched markings. Though she could not read them, as her fingertip progressively resumed to trace the runic language, a whisper emerged in the back of her mind.

"Step forth into the Embrace of the New World."

The girl gave in to the compelling thought.

"The New World?" She wondered out loud, reaching for the iron handle. She pulled the door wide open, excited to see what lay beyond.

Nothing.

Utterly nothing; there was nothing but bits of dust and... powder snow?

Mirabelle bent down to touch the substance.

A sudden vortex emerged, forcing her off-balance. She tripped into the closet, the door falling back into its lock. Panic dealt a heavy blow to the girl. She screamed out loud, praying for someone to come find her.

Then, the door opened.

The humid air had dispersed, leaving only a warm embrace. Mirabelle stepped forward, immediately noticing her clothes had changed. The dirt-covered farming clothes and mud-stained boots were no more. They had been replaced by some impressive royal attire; a long dress that reached down to the floor, small heels and a tiara adorning her brown, frizzy hair.

The girl exited a luxurious carriage.

She believed herself to be the protagonist in some lucid dream. But as she proceeded, the mere sight of a grand palace greeted her. Never-melting snowflakes flew down from the heavens above. Repeated fireworks adorned the sky.

Mirabelle squeezed her cheek in awe.

She felt the pinch.