Chapter 3 — What Lives Above

The attic was long and low-ceilinged, running the full length of the house. A single bare bulb hung from a central beam; Phil had found the pull cord. In the yellow light, Nora could see: old furniture pushed against the walls — a rolled carpet, two armchairs, a mirror covered in a drop cloth. Boxes. A dress form. A child's rocking horse with one eye missing.And, running along the floor in the centre of the attic, a path.Not worn exactly — the boards weren't scuffed any more than the rest. But there was something about the centre of the floor, a fifteen-foot stretch back and forth, that was somehow different from the surrounding area. Cleaner, maybe. Like the dust had been disturbed and resettled differently.Like something paced this stretch. Repeatedly. Over a very long time."No animals," Phil said. He'd been checking the eaves and corners. "No droppings, no nesting, no entry points. Whatever you've been hearing, it's not something living up here." He said this matter-of-factly, with no apparent awareness of what the sentence implied.Nora stood in the middle of the attic and looked down at the floor.She looked at the rocking horse.Its one remaining eye was turned toward her. The other socket was empty, the glass eye gone, and in the socket there was just shadow.She became aware, in the wordless way of the body rather than the mind, that she was not comfortable in this room. Not afraid, exactly — not yet. Something more specific: the sensation of being in a space that had its own gravity. That wanted to hold you."We're done," she said. "Thank you, Phil."She went back downstairs first.She was very careful to lift the latch back into place when she closed the door.