Short Story

Attic
©2003 Elizabeth L. Clark

It was so hot here. Only one tiny window and it was only opened a crack and nailed to prevent it from opening further.

There was nothing but old blankets for her bed and a bucket for her to use as a toilet. Water was in a gallon jug and food was an apple... for all day.

The child had never known anything but this. No freedom, no love. Her dark grey eyes were intelligent, if dulled by anguish. Her chestnut locks were long and tangled from lack of care.

The attic had always been her home. She used to cry and plead to be held, loved. But beatings resulted from that and she ceased in self-defense.

Now she simply took what was offered and said nothing. She only made noise when she knew all in the house were gone. Then she sang. 

She would look out the tiny opening of the window sing out her hurt, her longing. Her voice was ethereal and soared to the heavens.

They had slipped in and left her the apple and more water earlier, but she was saving the shriveled fruit for later. Now she looked out at the foggy world and sang her heart out, tears streaking her pale cheeks.

From the trees beyond the Victorian house a figure listened and watched. His dark grey eyes filled with wonder and anger. With a whispered word he appeared behind her. 

She turned and looked into her own eyes and knew... knew this was who she had been calling for. No words were needed as he scooped her up and cradled her thin body close. 

In the blink of an eye they vanished and left behind the dusty attic and the withered apple. As they vanished he whispered a short phrase and the house seemed to shimmer then darken.

Nothing would be happy there ever again and the spirit of a young woman was finally laid to rest. Her beloved had finally found their child and reclaimed her. The Elf would make up for all the hurts the girl had suffered and give her the love she had been denied. Never again would she view the world through a tiny attic window.