Chapter 1
'I know I heard something.'
Dayo tiptoed up the stairs leading up to the attic, placing each foot slowing and carefully so as not to make the old wood whine too loudly. Her grandfather was sleeping in his room right down the hall on the floor from which she was ascending and to wake him would be a very big mistake. She could make a pretty confident guess that he would not like her snooping around in the middle of the night especially nowadays. She had been living with him for the past two weeks and they were still getting used to each other. There was something odd about him, though – something Dayo couldn’t quite put her finger on. She had always known him as a gentle man, very kind and mild mannered. At first, he was just as she had always remembered, but then, he gradually began to change. He became more callous and mean. He never seemed to want to be around her anymore and when he was, he would always regard her with cold indifference that boarded on disgust. He had also become very secretive. He would shut himself off in his room for two or three days at a time without coming out for anything. Dayo would sometimes try to talk to him through the door, but all she could was him muttering and sometimes laughing wildly to himself. She found herself having to take care of the both of them – buying groceries, doing laundry, cleaning the house, etc. while he ignored everything and went about his “business” whatever it could be. She was starting to worry.
She missed her parents. About one month before she moved in with her grandfather, Dayo’s mother passed away. She had been caught in a terrible car accident after a short summer storm had slicked the roads. It was extremely painful for Dayo and her father, but he took it extremely hard. It came to the point where he couldn’t take care of his daughter in the state he was in. So, he put her in his father’s care while he sorted himself out and tried to deal with his wife’s death. Dayo didn’t know when he was coming back. He very rarely called and when he did, he never said much. Sometimes, she wondered if he would ever come back at all. It troubled her greatly and it was a terrible feeling to live with.
It was a Sunday night and right around 11:15, Dayo had heard an odd tapping coming from overhead in the ceiling. Her room was at the opposite end of the hall from her grandfather’s. Between the two rooms was a bathroom, a closet, the beginning to the staircase leading down to the ground floor, and the beginning of the staircase leading up into the attic. The noise was right above her room and it would not stop no matter how long she waited. Finally, she decided to slip out from beneath her covers, put on her blue slippers, and investigate. Even as she made her way up the stairs, she could hear the tapping still going. At first, she thought that it might be some animal that had made its way into the attic to nest. If that was the case, she hoped that could just tap on the attic door and scare it off.
Dayo wasn’t allowed in the attic. Her grandfather had forbidden it. He had said that there were old things up there, things that she shouldn’t be meddling with. So, as she kept walking up the stairs, taking one step at a time, she found herself rather nervous and a tiny bit fearful that whatever was up there was something she didn’t want to find. But she had to make that tapping stop. It would drive her crazy if she didn’t. She was too scared of her grandfather to wake him. So, that just left Dayo to find out for herself. The tapping got gradually louder as she approached.
At the top of the stairs, she came to the old, faded red door to the attic. It had several long scratches and cracks running deep into the surface. She could hear the tapping, not at the door itself, but from somewhere beyond it. She pressed her ear to the door, thinking that if it were some sort of animal, there would be some additional sounds like scratching or gnawing, but there was only that tapping sound. She placed her hand on the old brass doorknob and twisted to open the door, but found that it halted mid-way through the turn. It was locked.
She should’ve known. She should’ve thought of that before she went all the way up there, risking waking her grandfather and creating an even more uncomfortable and awkward situation for herself. Of course, it would be locked. Her grandfather wasn’t the type of person to just trust a thirteen year old, even if it was his only granddaughter. Suddenly, Dayo noticed that the tapping had stopped for just the briefest moment when she had turned the knob and then, had started back up again. She listened carefully and though that it had even picked up speed. Maybe she had spooked whatever was making the noise. She jiggled the handle again and the tapping did the same thing – stopped and then, started up again, picking up speed. She turned to look down the stairs, to see if there was any hint of her grandfather stirring. When she was satisfied with what she saw, she became braver and with the most gentle of touches, but with still enough strength to make a sound, she knocked on the attic door three times. The rapping stopped on the other side and it was quiet for what seemed like forever. Dayo was believed that she scared away whatever had been making the noise, but then, three knocks came to answer her.
Her eyes widened in the dark. She hadn’t expected something like that to happen. Now, she had no clue what it could possibly be on the other side of the door. Certainly, an animal wouldn’t be able to answer her back like that. Feeling as if there was just the slightest chance that she imagined it, she knocked again – five times while putting a space between knocks three and four. It came back to her a moment later, exactly the same way. It definitely wasn’t an animal.
She put her fist up and tapped out the famous little tune.
Shave and a hair cut . . .
A moment later . . . two bits.
“Hello?”
Dayo jumped.
“Hello? Is someone there?”
She stared at the door, horrified. There was someone in the attic.
But how? The door was locked. There was a window, but she was pretty sure that it was locked too. At least, she assumed her grandfather would lock it.
“Hello?!” the voice asked, a little louder than before.
It sounded nervous, but desperate for someone to be on the other side of the door.
“H-hello?” Dayo answered back, trying her best to not speak too loudly.
“Hello!” it said, excited and relieved “Oh hello! Who-who is this?”
“Who is this?” she challenged, not so willing to give her name to a stranger, especially one who so mysteriously appeared in their attic.
“Oh . . .” the voice replied, a little taken aback “uh of course – how silly of me . . . my name’s Bob.”
“What are you doing in our attic, Bob? How’d you get in there?”
“Well, uh . . . you see, it’s kind of a long . . . complicated story.”
His voice was getting more unsteady and nervous.
“Try me.”
“Well . . . I kind of doubt you’re going to believe me . . . but . . . your grandfather put me here.”
That had caught her by surprise. She gave the door a weird look as if Bob could see it from the other side of the door.
“You want to try repeating that, Bob?”
She pressed her ear hard against the door - sure that she had misheard him the first time. He hesitated for a moment, but then, she heard his voice, small, but clear.
“Your . . . grandfather . . . put me here.”
She jerked her head back from door and stared at it as if she was staring at Bob – who she now thought was completely insane. She opened her mouth once or twice, thinking that she might try to say something in response to that, but then, closed it again once she realized she had nothing.
“Everything ok over there?”
“Um . . . no, not so much . . . I’m going to call the police.”
With that, she started to head down the stairs.
“Wait! Wait! Don’t go! Please! They won’t believe you!”
She paused and looked back up at the door. She sighed and walked back up so that she wouldn’t have to yell for him to hear her.
“What do you mean, Bob? Why wouldn’t they believe me?”
“Well . . . I mean . . . they’d believe you . . . until they opened the door.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well . . . because they wouldn’t see a man standing around in here . . . they’d see . . . something else . . . and then, they’d leave . . . and both of us would be in trouble with your grandfather.”
“What are you talking about? What do you mean ‘something else’?”
“If I told you through the door, you’d never believe me. You’d have to see it with your own eyes.”
“But . . . but why would my grandfather lock somebody up in the attic? That just doesn’t make sense.”
“Well . . . he’s not really your grandfather for one thing.”
Dayo stared at the door, unsure of what she really just heard. It just sounded too crazy to even consider . . .
“. . . what?”
“I know! I know it sounds absolutely ludicrous, but it’s the truth! He’s not who you think he is. He’s not your grandfather – uh . . .”
He paused.
“Dayo . . .” she gave him her nickname which people tended to use much more than her regular name.
“-Dayo.” He repeated, seeming to appreciate the little bit of trust.
“If he’s not who I think he is . . . then, who is he?”
For a while, Bob said nothing.
“Bob?”
“You need to open the door, Dayo.” He said suddenly.
“What?”
“It’s the only way you’ll believe me. It’s the only way you’ll understand.”
“Why should I?” she said, forcefully “You’re just some . . . some lunatic who found his way into my grandfather’s attic. Why should I even be listening to you?”
“Doesn’t he seem different, Dayo? Is this how you’ve always known him?”
She stopped at that.
She was afraid to agree with him, but there was no escaping it. There was something wrong with her grandfather. He was nothing like what she remembered of him. She knew that people changed over time, but this . . . this was different. This was worse.
“Dayo?” Bob’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Dayo, are you ok?”
“Yeah . . .” she answered, not really sure if it was true.
She stood there for a moment, thinking.
“How do I get the door open?”
“Find the key.” He replied, sounding somewhat relieved. “It’s probably somewhere in your grandfather’s room.”
She hesitated, but then, turned to head down the stairs.
“I’ll be back.” She said.
“Thank you.”
She said nothing in response, but disappeared down the stairs to find a way to open the door. Bob waited on the other side, anxiously. He knew that if he had complete sets of fingers, he’d be wringing them. The time that passed felt like hours and he began to wonder if Dayo had said she was going to look just to appease him and was actually going to phone the police or worse – wake her grandfather.
He didn’t want to think about it and prayed she’d get back soon.
“Bob?” Dayo’s voice came from the other side of the door.
“Dayo! Did you find the key?”
“No, but I think I found another way.”
Going into her grandfather’s room to find the key would’ve been too risky and too difficult. She knew that even before she made it to the bottom of the stairs. Instead, she had run, quickly and silently, back to her room and had pulled out her old Riverside library card from her purse. It was sturdy and stiff and should be able to slip the lock on the door. In addition to that, she had slipped down stairs to grab a flashlight, but what she didn’t want Bob to know was that she had also found her way into her grandfather’s tool box and had decided to borrow his claw hammer. She already felt stupid for even considering that this guy may be telling the truth – a little primitive protection couldn’t hurt.
Dayo set the hammer gently on the floor by her feet. She turned on the flashlight and did her best to hold it between her elbow and her body so that she could work with both hands and still have a little light. She took a deep breath and started to shove the card into the crack between the door and the frame, right where she thought the lock was. She worked at it, doing her best to push the card deeper into the crack and wiggling it so that maybe it would catch the lock. She could hear the card creaking as it bent and a few snaps from it trying to interfere with the lock. Suddenly, she felt the lock give way to the card and the door swung open.
She hesitated. Beyond the door, she could see the attic was illuminated by moonlight peaking in through a window somewhere. Everything within was distorted by the shadows, turning ordinary objects into anonymous and threatening shapes, one of which could’ve been Bob. She slipped the bent library card beneath the elastic waistband of her pajama bottoms and reached down to pick up the hammer. With the flashlight in one hand and the hammer ready in the other, she moved slowly into the attic.
Immediately, the musty scent and the dust that filled the attic invaded her nose and mouth and ran deep into her lungs. She stopped and stood there for a moment, choking and coughing.
“Dayo?” Bob’s voice perked up from somewhere deep within the attic. “Dayo, are you alright? Are you in?”
She tried to gain control of her coughing fit.
“Yeah–” she was able to force out.
Eventually, she got used to the air, but it was still terrible to breath. She moved slowly through the attic, making sure to flash the light over all surfaces and to keep the hammer ready should she need to protect herself. The attic was filled with various “things” covered in large, dirty off white sheets. She used the hammer to lift up one of the sheets and found an old wine colored arm chair with several rips and tears along the surface of its seat. When she did the same to another object, she found an old dresser. Every once in a while, she would flash the light to the dusty wooden floor and find a stray, abandoned toy or some forgotten garment like a sock or a glove. It looked like no one had been up there in years.
“Bob?” she called out. “Where are you?”
“All the way in the back – by the window.”
Dayo kept moving, maneuvering around objects and doing her best to not stir up light showers of dust. She saw the window at the back of the attic with the light form the moon pouring in, despite the dust and smears that covered the glass. Off to the left of the window, catching only the smallest sliver of moonlight was something else, covered in an old grey sheet. It was tall, taller than her, and when moved to the side of it to look behind it, she saw that it was quite thin. She backed away from it and looked around cautiously, the hammer still heady in her grip. She swung the flashlight this way and that, seeing if she caught anything that looked like a man in the beam.
“Bob, I can’t see you!”
Dayo turned and suddenly looked back to the tall thin object, hidden beneath the sheet.
Could he be under there?
She inched forward and grabbed a bit of the sheet. She pulled downward, backing away immediately as the white form fell and pooled on the floor. Standing there was an old full length swivel mirror. The wood that framed the glass was light brown and gleamed slightly under the light. Dayo moved cautiously and looked behind it again, but there was nothing but the wooden backing of the swivel mirror – no Bob, nothing.
She moved back around to stand before the glass. She could see herself, the moonlight illuminating the right side of her body while the other was left to the shadows. It was unnerving to her that Bob had become so quiet all of a sudden.
Then, something hit the glass. Dayo jumped and the flashlight fell to the floor and rolled away, its beam shooting off into some random area of the attic. She looked around madly to see if she could find whatever had been thrown or the person who had thrown it, but there was nothing but the moonlight, the shadows, and the covered objects in the dark. She turned back to the mirror to see that whatever had hit it hadn’t broken the glass, but there was something else there. Dayo stayed at the space to the right of her reflection, right next to her hand. She squinted and even rubbed at her eyes to make sure she was seeing clearly what she thought she was seeing. To her right, there nothing, but in the reflection, hovering right next to her hand, was a ratty, old workers glove that was pressing its palm against the glass.
It looked to be made for a man’s left hand. It was a tan in color, but was fases and dirty from apparent overuse, but Dayo was more concerned about the fact that it had somehow come to life and was trying to get her attention from the other side of a mirror. She could only stare at it, not sure what to do or how to react. It removed its palm from the glass, balled itself into a fist, and rapped gently against its side of the mirror, producing the same sound that had brought her up there in the first place.
“I told you . . .” Bob’s voice came from the mirror.