I raise the flashlight and gulp.
Bats. Lots and lots of bats hang from the ceiling, asleep.
“Just great,” I mutter, focusing the flashlight on a group of boxes stacked in the corner. One of them, which is made of cardboard, sags, and its contents threaten to spill out.
I climb to my feet, careful to duck so I don’t disturb the sleeping bats as I step closer. The doll seems to watch me out of the corner of my eye, and the floorboards creak beneath my weight as I pause near a book beside the boxes. Crouching down, I trail my fingers over the curled, water-damaged pages before closing the book to read the title. “Devil-Worship in France, or the Question of Lucifer,” I read out loud before shining the flashlight across the room. The chilling sensation of beady eyes watching me from the shadows crawls over my skin, but a sweep of the light reveals nothing except an old coat rack in the corner.
I’m unable to shake the uneasy feeling, so I scan the room again. When nothing jumps out at me, I turn back to look through the boxes but pause as the beam catches on the doll, which is now directly in front of me, propped up against the crates.
I scream and fall back onto my ass, scrambling away as the soles of my shoes slip against the dusty floorboards. My heart races, threatening to escape my chest. I direct the flashlight to the space where the doll was when I first entered the attic, but it’s gone. Cold sweat dampens my neck as the flashlight trembles violently in my grip.
Slowly, I let my gaze drift back to the doll, and the tremble worsens until the light flickers.
Behind me, another crash disturbs the silence, and a rat scurries across the floor, while I let out another terrified scream. Silence settles like a heavy blanket over the room, disturbed only by the whistle of the afternoon breeze outside. The flashlight flickers, so I smack it against the palm of my hand. “Work, dammit.”
Now is not a good time to freak out. Not up here with the bats and the rats. Don’t get me started on the porcelain doll.
I crawl forward again, never letting my eyes move from the doll. A mop of brown, matted hair that hasn’t seen a comb in decades stands in all directions, and a crack runs through its pale cheek. Its dark eyes watch me approach.
Unease twists my insides the closer I get.
Ignoring the voice in my head that warns me this is a bad idea, I pick up the doll and catch a whiff of its musty blue dress. The lace trimming at the neckline has yellowed with time, and one of the shoulder-length sleeves is ripped.
“Creepy,” I mumble, then nearly jump out of my skin when Mom’s voice drifts through the gap from downstairs.
“Camryn, are you up there? I heard screaming.”
“Shit…” I crawl over to the opening and poke my head through. Mom stands with her arms crossed and an alarmed look on her face.
“Hi, Mom.”
The expression morphs into one that’s far less impressed. “What were you doing up in the attic? This is an old house. It might not be safe.”
“Sorry. I was curious.” After sliding the flashlight into my back pocket, I climb back down. The moment my foot touches the ground, Mom points a finger at the doll in my hand. “What is that?”
I hold it up. “A doll.”
“Looks like something straight out of a horror movie. Why would you bring it down here?”
Good question. I needed something for the séance, and since I didn’t have time to root through the boxes, the doll would have to make do. Mom pulls a face, then turns on her heel.
“Wait,” I call out, folding the steps back into place and shutting the hatch to the attic.
Mom turns around, and I catch up.
“Did you visit Wilfred yet?”
“No, not yet. I need a gift basket.”
“I wouldn’t bother.” A shiver that has nothing to do with the doll in my hand or the ghoulish-looking attic raises the hairs on my arms.
Mom’s eyebrows knit together. “Why not? It’s the polite thing to do.”
“My friends from school tell me he is a loner who doesn’t like people.”
“All the more reason to visit him.”
“Just…be careful.” I kiss Mom on the cheek and return to my room. Once the door is shut, I place the doll on the dresser,staring at it as if I expect it to do something, like move or talk. When it doesn’t, I back up until my calves connect with the bed.
