Suspended In Dusk (34 page)

Anna made her way through the gloomy maze of the attic. The wooden beams of the roof acted as a reference so she didn’t get turned about amidst the looming shadows. It was kind of like navigating by the stars she thought.

She worked her way through the narrow spaces slowly, careful not to touch anything. For some reason she could not fathom, she felt that if she touched anything her courage would abandon her to the nightmares of her imagination. This became more difficult; her was resolve tested the farther she wound away from that lonely bulb by the attic stairs. She studied the shapes, trying to guess what lay beneath the shadowy sheets. Not everything was covered. There were ornaments piled high upon boxes and old trunks with big brass clasps. Tiny black spiders weaved gossamer webs that undulated as she moved by, her body disturbing the air. A mapped globe of the world stood at the end of the narrow passage she was traversing. A dead end. Anna didn’t want to think about anything dead at all. Not in this place. Even if it was only an expression. She’d had enough thoughts about death, and enough talks about it from the adults in her family. Their voices always quiet and solemn.

Turning, she made her way back the way she had come and took a different path where several met. She turned a few more corners, avoiding precariously placed heirlooms.
This must be the right one
, she thought, as the path took her farther towards where the end of the attic should be. This she knew, was where all of the oldest stuff would be. Her Grandmother’s keepsakes from many years ago, when she was still young. These were the types of things Anna was particularly interested in. Quickening her pace, eager for what she might find, she was not expecting the figure standing tall in her path before her.

So sudden was she upon the figure that she let out a startled cry. Shrouded in long cloth, the figure stood still and ominous in her way. Anna moved back the way she came, eyes fixed on the silhouette, watching for it to move or give chase. But it didn’t. Anna squinted her eyes in the gloom of the far attic, trying to get a clearer view. Working it out, she moved forward to touch it. She held her breath, ready to bolt if needs be, and reached her hand out.

It was cool and rough.

No warmth.

It wasn’t alive.

Anna tugged at the sheet partly covering the figure in front of her. As she had guessed; it was a mannequin. Well, not quite. It wasn’t like the ones she saw when her mother took her shopping, all plastic with hair on and painted faces to make them look real. This one was missing its head and limbs. It was merely a torso on a sturdy pole. A bonnet had been placed atop it giving the impression, from a distance, of having a head.

Relieved, Anna breathed out, unaware that she was still holding her breath. Removing the old dust cover had stirred up a lot of dust. She could feel it now tickling the back of her throat and her nostrils. She slinked by the old dressmaker’s mannequin and further on towards the farthest end of the attic. This was where the real treasures hid. A tall grandfather clock stood like an absurd mechanical headstone surrounded by old wooden chests. The type Anna had seen on television and in movies, with metal bindings and padlocks holding them shut; the type that always held treasure.

She tried the padlocks, checking to see if carelessness or age had opened one. Unfortunately they all held fast. With a disappointed sigh Anna left the padlocks, but stood stock-still when a scratching noise came from behind one of the trunks. She focused her mind, straining to hear the slight sound again. A moment later she heard it. A light scratching coming from a large trunk pushed against the far attic wall. All of a sudden she wondered what she might have wandered into. This place had remained untouched for decades. Even in her earliest memories of her grandmother, she was too old and frail to make it up the folding attic stairs, never mind navigate the labyrinth attic itself. She became startlingly aware of how far from the light and the exit she had come.

What was that scratching? Was it rats? Oh, she hoped it wasn’t rats. Had she stumbled into the secret realm of the attic-rats? Her mind populated the attic then with phantom scuttling things hiding just beyond her view, sneaking around her, watching her with their tiny black beady rat eyes.

It came again, that light scratching sound.

She steeled herself, ready to run at even a hint of fur, and moved towards the old chest. The closer she got the more she saw that the huge old thing hadn’t been push up against the wall as it appeared. There was a small gap between them. Nervous, her fingers scrunched the lacy hem of her dress as she peered behind the trunk.

There was no rat there—only a small pile of lacy black rags.

She squinted against the deep gloom and peered closer, trying to visually decipher the shape she had found. All of a sudden, like those silly 3D images her father loved to show her, it snapped into view. It was a doll, long discarded. It lay with its dresses coiled around it. It must have been sat on the old trunk, then at some point collapsed behind the trunk and never been recovered.

She reached down to pick it up, when it moved further into the dark corner. Anna shouted with fright. All of a sudden she was half way back to the dressmaker’s mannequin when her reason returned.
I must have seen things, or knocked it somehow. It couldn’t move by itself. Could it?

Unless it wasn’t a doll.

Slowing her panicked breathing, she forced herself to turn back and venture another look.

What she saw she couldn’t quite believe, but it left any fright she’d had behind. It was
not
a doll she had seen. There, pressed against the back corner, tiny and clutching at the wall with fright, lay a tiny girl. She was impossibly pale and thin, and her chest heaved with quick terrified breaths. Her wide eyes were black like spilled ink. Anna’s heart went out to this fragile creature.

“It’s alright,” she said, “I won’t hurt you.”

The little girl in the black lace dresses kept her distance. She looked so small and thin, like she was starving.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

No response.

“Please don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody you’re here. You won’t get in trouble, honest.”

Strangely enough, this worked. The expression of abject terror softened to one of mere exhaustion. Anna backed up, hoping to encourage the tiny girl to come forward a little at her own pace.

“Really it’s alright, I promise I won’t tell.” She smiled crouched down sitting on her knees. She was careful not to get her dress under her; the attic was dusty and her mother would not be impressed. The tiny girl with the black eyes seemed to calm down a little but made no move from the safety of her corner. The girl had calmed down when Anna told her she wouldn’t tell anybody that she was there. Maybe she was scared they’d send her away. Though what on earth she was doing here in the first place Anna couldn’t even guess, but it gave her an idea.

“I’m not even supposed to be up here anyway. Nobody knows I’m up here, but it’ll be our secret okay?” she said, hoping the girl would trust her sincerity.

Slowly, and very carefully, the tiny girl in her ratty black lace dress sat up and moved a little closer along the tunnel between the trunk and the wall.
She looks like a frightened animal from one of my nature programmes the way she darts her head around like that, looking for danger,
she thought. As the girl got a little closer and her confidence grew that there was no immediate danger, she leaned forward and in a dry whispery voice said, “Nobody?”

It took Anna a moment or two to work out what the little girl meant and marvelled at the fact that this tiny thing had spoken. It made the girl seem more real to her somehow.

“No, nobody knows I’m here. They’re all downstairs, talking quietly and being sad. So, it’s just the two of us.”

“Promise?” came the little voice again. To Anna it sounded like several voices whispering to be heard as one.

“Promise,” Anna beamed.

With this the tiny girl stood up to her full height, a little over a foot. She was whip thin and chalk white and her dresses were dirty and torn. She looked like a fairy tale peasant girl, except for all the black. The girl climbed up the back of the trunk and sat on its edge. With Anna on her knees they were almost eye-to-eye now.

The tiny girl seemed much more at ease than she had been only moments before. This encouraged Anna and she smiled when she spoke, “My name’s Anna,” she asked, “what’s yours?”

For a moment the girl looked confused. As if she had no idea of what Anna was talking about. She kinked her head to the side, like a bird.

“
Slou’ha,”
said the tiny girl in her strange little whisper. It was Anna’s turn to be confused. She tried to repeat the sound, working her mouth around the sounds slowly.

“Slooo-a,” she attempted.

“Slou’ha,” the little whispers came again. This time delighted.

Anna tried again: “Sloo-Ah”’ she said phonetically; then again, “Slou’ha.”

The tiny girl smiled and spoke again, “Ah-na.”

There was a slight sing-song lilt of an accent in the way the girl spoke.

“That’s right,” she said, “I’m Anna, you’re Slou’ha. It’s nice to meet you.” With this, Anna slowly extended her hand out towards the girl, Slou’ha.

The girl retreated a little at first, unsure of her intentions. Perhaps she thought it was some form of trick? Then she leaned forward and extended her own fragile limb alongside Anna’s. Anna took the girl’s hand between her fingers, careful to be gentle, and shook her hand. She didn’t want to hurt her. After all, she was so very small and frightfully thin. She seemed so delicate that any wrong move might break her. But she didn’t break.

“Nice to meet you,” Anna said again.

The girls smiled at each other. They had both made a new friend today.

* * *

They spent a few minutes together, before Anna heard movement from downstairs and her mother’s faint call. She didn’t want to have to go and leave her new friend. But she knew that if she didn’t go now her mother would come up to the attic, and Anna had promised Slou’ha that she’d keep her presence a secret; a promise she’d break if her mother came and found her here. Besides, her mother wouldn’t approve of Anna being up here by herself, particularly in her special dress. Not with all that dust.

Anna promised Slou’ha that she would visit her tomorrow, assuring her that this would remain their little secret. She said goodbye, and wormed her way through the maze-like attic back to the lonely bulb and the bright opening leading down into the house proper.

She had just gotten the attic stairs folded up and slid them back into the ceiling, when her mother came down the corridor.

“Anna, there you are,” her mother scolded, “where have you been? Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

Anna didn’t know which question to answer first.

“You weren’t trying to get into the attic were you?”

“No,” she said quickly, “I was just bored, so I decided to explore Grandma’s house.”

“Oh,” said her Mother, “Good, I wouldn’t want you going up there anyway. It’s so old; I don’t know when someone last went up there. It’s probably not safe, and all that dust besides.” Her mother took her by the hand, taking her back downstairs. “Try not to wander off in future, I want to introduce you to your Great-Aunt Talitha.”

As they went back down to the sombre proceedings, Anna cast a long yearning look behind her, wanting to return to her new friend already.

* * *

The next day all Anna wanted to do was to go up to the attic and visit her friend again. To visit Slou’ha again, and bring her some food. She was so small after all, and thin too. She
must
be hungry. Anna’s heart went out to the tiny pale girl she had found up there alone in the dark and dusty attic. Her parents, however, had different ideas and she wasn’t able to steal even a minute to herself. Today was her Grandmother’s Wake. Anna still thought it sounded silly. Tomorrow they would bury her in Ashwood Cemetery, next to Grandpa. For that they’d all have to go to the church. Which was another silly thing too. In all the time Anna had known her Grandma, she had never once gone to church.

But her parents insisted, and she was forced into the scratchy and uncomfortable dress yet again. Once more her mother brushed her hair straight back and placed a band on her head to keep it that way. Then came the silly white frilly socks and the shiny beetle-like shoes.

This wasn’t fair—it wasn’t even raining today! But heaven forbid that she went outside, or had any fun. She was sad that Grandma Harris had died, she really was, but she didn’t think that Grandma would want any of this fuss. And she didn’t see why
she
had to suffer. All the adults got depressed, and stood around being respectful. Funny how respectful and quiet seemed to be the same thing.

How many of
them
actually wanted to be here?
Anna wondered.

Not many most likely.

She looked at them all now, assembled in the large downstairs sitting room of her Grandmother’s house, dressed in black, the ladies with their big silly hats. They all stood still; a few talked in dangerously low whispers, but most just stood around being quiet.