Defend And Attic

It was just a staircase. 

Empty, not because no-one was there, but because even passing by could leave you feeling dejected. Each step seemed carefully designed to be at every possible angle other than level. The bannister that ran along the side was marked with peeling white paint under the deep tone of the wooden hand rail. No-one ever used the staircase.

He wondered why. The boy was not more than six years old, seven at most. He possessed the dangerous quality of curiosity that all defenceless infants do until its worn away by the pitfalls of age and education. He regularly passed the staircase on the way to his bedroom. The house he lived in had been around for a few centuries, but he knew it as 'a very very very long time'. The staircase lay at the other end of the corridor of the top floor, a long stretch of stained carpets guarded by a number of pale, lifeless doors. The boy stared from the other end for a while. Stairs were meant to be climbed.

The dim lights gave a yellow hue to the walls. The boy walked on to the foot of the staircase. He looked up.There were about a dozen steps to clamber up before he reached the top. He clambered up. One by one, each step was conquered. He reached the top.

He was met by a door unlike the rest in the house. It was a deep shade of red, with intricate patterns chiselled into its surface. It was majestic, so unlike the stairs that cowered before it.

The boy wondered. He wondered where it led to. He wondered why no-one else went up here. He wondered a lot. While he wondered, the door creaked softly and opened. Heavily, like an aged man sighing as he rises from a chair. All he could see was dark. He walked in.

The door closed.


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