The Shut Attic

The door was open. I didn't know how.

In our house, the attic was never open. Never. My grandfather had rusted it shut, making sure nobody could ever see what was inside.

But I was a curious kid, so for the sake of adventure, I had been planning to open the door for quite a while. But I couldn't figure how to open the attic door. My dad's new sledge hammer? Nope. A jackhammer? Still no. A chainsaw (Do not ask where I got it)? Still a no.

Then, one day, it was open. It just was. I was walking across the hallway to my room. My jaw dropped to the floor when I saw the fully ajar door. I frantically rushed to tell my family.

But then, I stopped. Maybe I should just go inside. If I told my parents about the situation, they would just shut it off again. So, with a sense of prolonged curiosity, I got a ladder and climbed up through the trapdoor.

Well, that was it. In front of me, lying on a majestic marble pillar, was a box. Not nay treasure chest or something of the sort, just a normal cardboard box. Should I open it? Should I leave? I didn't know. Part of me was screaming to open it, to get to know what has been hidden from me for so long. The other was telling me this could be dangerous, and I should just leave right now and act like nothing happened.

The first part won. I moved my sweaty hands to the box and with a small force, opened the box.

I left the attic instantly. The image was still clear in my mind. But one thing was certain. I could never forget those glowing, red, demonic eyes.