The Attic

Chapter 8 - Presence

Day: Three

Date:  March 1, 2012

Time:  10:01 A.M.

     Closing the diary, I put aside the leather-bound notebook and checked the clock to realize how much time I’ve spent doing things irrelevant to my work.

                I had to admit to myself that I was amused by the writings of the person before me, as well as learning that we shared something in common. Wilfredo was an architect too, which made me ponder on the power of coincidence, and wondered whether it was possible for Stella to be an interior designer just like Camille, but I dissolved the thought when I recalled that she was a bank teller before she quit.

                I was determined to accomplish as much as possible with the design today but the cat stopped me from returning to work when it sprang onto my lap. I haven’t thought of a name for it yet, but I figured that it wanted something, judging from the way it was acquainting itself with me. The feline was unusually clean despite finding it in a dust-jacketed room; its pure white coat had no marks of dirt it could’ve gotten from staying in such an isolated place. I had no idea if it had a way to get in and out of the attic through the roof, so my guess was it was starving.

                Gently placing the furry cat down the floor, I jumped into some clothes. I’m a good guy, so I decided to buy some cat food. There’s no use fooling myself that I haven’t yet decided to keep it. I’ve had a weakness for animals since I was young. If I had the money, I’d undoubtedly feed every stray I found on the street.

                 Before I left, a sudden urge grew inside my head that made me look at the closet.

                Not possessing enough courage to tell myself that what I laid my eyes on was real, I need no more convincing that there was something in this house that my mind’s capacity couldn’t readily explain. I didn’t want to, but I had to see it up close.

                One step at a time, I dragged my feet towards the closet.

                The new lock I thought I installed was replaced by its predecessor. Instead of a new lock, the former broken lock laughed at how dumbfounded I was as I stared upon it in awe. I finally understood why Camille’s reaction towards the combination lock I asked her about was skeptic. There was a lock, but it was the broken cap that failed to keep the bolt in place. The old lock, unmoving, not replaced. It was there, the cap dangling by a loose screw just like how it was before I replaced.

                Or did I even? My mind refused to work alongside my memory, remembering perfectly how I removed the useless, broken piece of metal and substituted it with a functional one. The inconsistency of events gave my head an ache. I knew I replaced the lock! I was willing to feed the cat now to prevent myself from becoming crazy, seeing how it was waiting for me to throw it a fishbone or something as it curled unapologetically above my bed. Unfortunately, my brain was a scumbag and it didn’t stop thinking about it.

                Wanting to step out of the boundary of insanity, I hurried to my car.

                It was a strenuous task to drive through the tree covered dirt road back to the borderline urban town while my thoughts were constantly occupied by something else. A driver should concentrate on the road, reflexes towards the brakes and the steering wheel. But my mind was occupied. There were instances when my hands alone took over the car absent my attention, realizing at the almost latest second before every turn. I shook myself and recalled why I was driving my car.