HOME | DD

Description
In her fifteen years on this earth, Annabelle had never known anything outside of the cold loneliness of Halliburton Manor. She was used to the cold, dimly lit room she was forced to live in, and she had even made a truce with the shadows that flickered on the walls on particularly stormy nights, now the closest things she had to friends. She was used to the silence and callousness of the main house, the looks that “family” (for they neither saw nor acknowledged any real connection between them) and servants alike shot her when they thought she wasn’t looking. She was even used to undeserved and cruel punishments; her malicious brother, Thomas, had a habit of blaming his bad behavior on her, and of course her uncle Robert would believe her sweet, honest, hard-working brother over her.

So at first, this day simply seemed like any other to her. Her uncle had been sitting at his usual place at the head of dinner table, and she and her brother were sitting only a short distance from him. It was apparent from the moment she first sat down that her uncle was displeased with something or someone—his jaw was clenched, which was a sure sign that he was annoyed—and from the grin on her brother’s face, she had a feeling that that someone was herself. Her suspicions were confirmed not long afterwards, both in the irritated glance he sent her way and in the tone of his voice as he spoke.

“Annabelle.” The flat, dangerous note in which he said her name was enough to have her sitting up, at least pretending to play the part of the adoring, obedient niece. He didn’t buy it; rather, he just narrowed his eyes at her and grumbled, “Don’t patronize me, you little devil. What in blazes were you doing, playing in the ballroom? You know it’s off limits—and only if that were the worst of it! My mother’s vase—broken!” The last sentence was punctuated by Uncle Robert slamming his fist into the table, causing Annabelle to jump in fright. She reached in her pocket to clutch a small candle—it was a small one, an old candle that she had found with her mother’s other possessions. It made her feel slightly safer, especially in times like this when she felt all alone in the world. Thomas, in the meantime, was watching the events unfold with a wicked grin; he was little more than a spoiled and cruel child who got great pleasure out of watching his sister be punished.

“I think,” Robert continued on, face flushed and voice sharp with anger, “that I have no choice but to resort to harsher methods. I have tried to be reasonable with you—” The snort that his statement elicited from her made him turn a color that faintly resembled purple. “I have tried,” he repeated, “but now I see the error of my ways.” He paused and pursed his lips in what appeared to be thought. Slowly, a smile slowly and dangerously crept across his lips. “I know what I’ll do,” he murmured, appearing to be in a much better mood now that this brilliant idea had struck him. “After supper, I’ll send you up into the attic to spend the night—yes; a night up there would scare even the vilest of children straight.”

The attic. Of course, he would choose the attic. Ever since she was a child, she had feared that place—the cold, wet, moldy attic, with its narrow walls and hard floors. Annabelle was quite the imaginative child, and while that might have served her well in keeping her entertained during her miserable years at her uncle’s house, it was a curse in matters such as this—for Annabelle saw in her mind’s eye all sorts of ugly and unfriendly monsters that found refuge in that horrible room. Ogres, demons, dragons—all ready to eat her as soon as she set foot in their lair. There was absolutely no way she would spend a whole night in the attic.

Annabelle usually knew better than to talk back to her uncle, but the torture she would be forced to endure scared her enough that she threw caution to the wind. “Uncle! You can’t ask me to stay up there! There—there’s mold, and it’s always wet because the roof leaks, and it’s so cold…” But even as the words left her mouth, she saw that they would do no good. He had already condemned her to this fate, and nothing she said could sway his mind—rather, her protests and complaints seemed to do more harm to her cause than good. Only the thought that further whining might land her more time in that godforsaken room kept her from arguing further, and even then, she remained anxious throughout the rest of their meal. She ate as slowly as possible, knowing that as soon as she was finished she would be exiled in her personal torture chamber.

Unfortunately, she could only stretch her measly meal so far, and the time came when she was marched up to the attic like a prisoner on his way to the gallows. The anxiety bubbling in her stomach made her quite nauseous, and she desperately looked around for distractions. The imperial high-vaulted ceilings in the main hall did nothing to assuage her discomfort; the somber paintings, consisting entirely of shades of black and grey and charcoal, failed to rouse her from her melancholy. The large, looming stairs in the main stairway were difficult for her to climb, as her knees were shaky, and there were a number of times where she feared that she would tumble down and crack her head open on the cold, unforgiving tile below. But her uncle kept his hand firmly on her elbow, and he harshly dragged her to her final destination.

Annabelle was roughly shoved up the ladder into the attic by Robert, who seemed to care little as to how his niece was faring. Rather, he closed the attic door on her and locked it from below as soon as she was within the room. Once she realized that she was alone, she quickly went to the attic door and got on her hands and knees, frantically beating at it. But the door, even being wooden and old as it was, refused to budge. When she had tired herself out and tears were beginning to cloud her eyes, the young girl wearily got up and surveyed her surroundings. There was a window across the room that was left slightly ajar. She faintly remembered hearing her uncle complain over how it refused to either open fully or shut entirely, but rather seemed to prefer being somewhere in-between the two. It was beneficial to her, at least. The open window provided her with a small amount of light—enough for now, but nightfall was soon approaching. There was a box underneath the window that seemed to be filled with all sorts of old and unwanted things that had apparently never been thrown out. The chipped-paint smile of a clown doll caught her eye, and she flinched away automatically. No wonder that box hadn’t been touched in a while.

There were a few more things in their attic—some haphazardly strewn chairs, most of which were too damaged to even sit on anymore; a few other overstuffed boxes, filled with more useless junk; and a small table with a few objects on it. Annabelle scuttled over to the table, picking up the items there. Lying on the table were some matches, an old notebook with illegible writing, and a hammer. Although the latter two items seemed to have no use at this point in time, she pocketed the matches, as they would no doubt be useful once the sun set and left her in darkness. She had a candle that she could light, after all. The small one she carried with her had never been used before, and thus should last her a good while.

The fatigue that suddenly washed over her caught her off-guard. She hadn’t realized how tiring fear could be, after the adrenaline wore off. Yawning, she curled up in one of the tight corners, promising herself that she would only rest her eyes for a few minutes. However, when she next opened her eyelids, the attic was entrenched in darkness. At first, she wasn’t even sure if her eyes were open or not. Once she had ascertained that yes, it was the room that was dark and not the back of her eyelids, she fished out the candle and matches from her pocket. After a few failed attempts to successfully light the candle (mainly because the fire made her very jumpy), she finally managed to set the wick on fire. Once it was lit, she placed it on the table, where it would be a safe distance away from her should a stray spark fly and catch something on fire. The candle gave off a pleasant and warm glow, and almost made the attic seem like a nice, cozy room. Almost. Annabelle wasn’t willing to relax fully, though. Those monsters, even if she hadn’t seen them yet, might just be hiding around the corner and waiting for her to drop her guard.

She returned to her corner, curling up into a ball and resting her head on her arms. From her spot, she watched the shadows as they flickered on the wall in the candlelight. Each of the chairs had a long, scruffy shadow that looked as if it might be a monster who was missing a few limbs, and the assorted items in the boxes sent all sorts of strange shapes up on the wall—Annabelle had difficulty trying to figure out what exactly could make such a strange image without actually looking over at the box itself. She entertained herself in this way for a while, and she found herself finally calming down in the presence of her friends, the shadow-people.

Out of absolutely nowhere, she heard a strange, high-pitched giggle that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up on end. It seemed to be coming from over to her far left, so she spun around…to find herself face to face with a specter. That was what it had to be, for this was no shadow—no normal shadow, at least. It was a shadowy mass on the wall, but instead of resembling a strangely-bent doll or a broken chair, it looked very much like a person. Annabelle’s mouth opened in a circle in fright. She tried to scream in fear—this was one of the monsters, coming to eat her just as she knew it would—but no sound left her lips.

The ghost was expressionless—literally blank-faced—but it was certainly not silent. “Hello, little girl,” it cooed. “Want to play with me?” There was something eerie about the phantom’s voice, something that rubbed Annabelle the wrong way. Shivering, she leaned away from the creature, trying desperately to hide against the wall or somehow disappear through it. This led to another laugh from her mystery visitor. “Don’t be afraid. I don’t bite…I don’t even have teeth!” It seemed to amuse itself with that remark, judging from the laughter that followed, but it didn’t strike her as funny at all. How dare it mock her fear?

“Come on,” the ghost whined. “I’m bored, and you’re the only person here. Just for a little while, huh? What do you say? Doesn’t look like you’ve got anything else to do, anyway.” This thing had a point, she had to admit. There wasn’t much to do in a locked attic after dark. Plus, she figured that she kind of owed it to this shadow to entertain it—had the shadows not amused her when she was lonely or upset? Granted, this might not be the smartest of ideas, but she figured that playing with the ghost and making it happy would make it less likely to eat her.

“Oh, all right,” Annabelle acquiesced, and she fought hard to suppress a smile at the specter’s childish cry of glee. “But only for a little while.” She got up, stretching as she did so. She must have been asleep for awhile, judging by the ache in her legs and the pain in her neck, but she resolutely put that to the back of her mind. She was here to entertain this monster so it wouldn’t turn on her and eat her. As she moved towards the shadow, it moved towards her, coming off the wall and actually standing in the middle of the room with her. This was quite surprising to her. She hadn’t expected the ghost to be able to move from its position up on her wall. However, she reminded herself that this was not a normal shadow, and thus did not have to adhere to the rules most shadows were bound to follow.

The shadow interrupted her reverie by extending a hand to her. “Dance with me,” it commanded, and Annabelle felt unable to do anything but do as he said. She placed her hand in its, and the next thing she knew, they were spinning around the room at a fast pace. In the background, she could swear that she heard waltz music, although she could not say where it was coming from. The specter led throughout the dance, as Annabelle knew very little about dancing in general. It wasn’t something her uncle had deemed necessary for her to know. As their speed increased, so did the speed of the music, until it started getting distorted.

The distortion of the music caused her to look over at the ghost, who had become distorted as well. Instead of being a friendly shadow, he had transformed into a huge, menacing monster—complete with a set of the sharpest teeth she had ever seen. This time, a shriek escaped her before she could even think of being afraid. The teeth pulled into a sadistic grin, and Annabelle’s eyes closed in horror and fear as said teeth got closer and closer to her face. She braced herself for the inevitable pain and for the agony of death.

Then, a gust of wind came in through the partially open window and blew out the candle, and—suddenly, blissfully, cruelly—she was alone once again.

Description
In her fifteen years on this earth, Annabelle had never known anything outside of the cold loneliness of Halliburton Manor. She was used to the cold, dimly lit room she was forced to live in, and she had even made a truce with the shadows that flickered on the walls on particularly stormy nights, now the closest things she had to friends. She was used to the silence and callousness of the main house, the looks that “family” (for they neither saw nor acknowledged any real connection between them) and servants alike shot her when they thought she wasn’t looking. She was even used to undeserved and cruel punishments; her malicious brother, Thomas, had a habit of blaming his bad behavior on her, and of course her uncle Robert would believe her sweet, honest, hard-working brother over her.

So at first, this day simply seemed like any other to her. Her uncle had been sitting at his usual place at the head of dinner table, and she and her brother were sitting only a short distance from him. It was apparent from the moment she first sat down that her uncle was displeased with something or someone—his jaw was clenched, which was a sure sign that he was annoyed—and from the grin on her brother’s face, she had a feeling that that someone was herself. Her suspicions were confirmed not long afterwards, both in the irritated glance he sent her way and in the tone of his voice as he spoke.

“Annabelle.” The flat, dangerous note in which he said her name was enough to have her sitting up, at least pretending to play the part of the adoring, obedient niece. He didn’t buy it; rather, he just narrowed his eyes at her and grumbled, “Don’t patronize me, you little devil. What in blazes were you doing, playing in the ballroom? You know it’s off limits—and only if that were the worst of it! My mother’s vase—broken!” The last sentence was punctuated by Uncle Robert slamming his fist into the table, causing Annabelle to jump in fright. She reached in her pocket to clutch a small candle—it was a small one, an old candle that she had found with her mother’s other possessions. It made her feel slightly safer, especially in times like this when she felt all alone in the world. Thomas, in the meantime, was watching the events unfold with a wicked grin; he was little more than a spoiled and cruel child who got great pleasure out of watching his sister be punished.

“I think,” Robert continued on, face flushed and voice sharp with anger, “that I have no choice but to resort to harsher methods. I have tried to be reasonable with you—” The snort that his statement elicited from her made him turn a color that faintly resembled purple. “I have tried,” he repeated, “but now I see the error of my ways.” He paused and pursed his lips in what appeared to be thought. Slowly, a smile slowly and dangerously crept across his lips. “I know what I’ll do,” he murmured, appearing to be in a much better mood now that this brilliant idea had struck him. “After supper, I’ll send you up into the attic to spend the night—yes; a night up there would scare even the vilest of children straight.”

The attic. Of course, he would choose the attic. Ever since she was a child, she had feared that place—the cold, wet, moldy attic, with its narrow walls and hard floors. Annabelle was quite the imaginative child, and while that might have served her well in keeping her entertained during her miserable years at her uncle’s house, it was a curse in matters such as this—for Annabelle saw in her mind’s eye all sorts of ugly and unfriendly monsters that found refuge in that horrible room. Ogres, demons, dragons—all ready to eat her as soon as she set foot in their lair. There was absolutely no way she would spend a whole night in the attic.

Annabelle usually knew better than to talk back to her uncle, but the torture she would be forced to endure scared her enough that she threw caution to the wind. “Uncle! You can’t ask me to stay up there! There—there’s mold, and it’s always wet because the roof leaks, and it’s so cold…” But even as the words left her mouth, she saw that they would do no good. He had already condemned her to this fate, and nothing she said could sway his mind—rather, her protests and complaints seemed to do more harm to her cause than good. Only the thought that further whining might land her more time in that godforsaken room kept her from arguing further, and even then, she remained anxious throughout the rest of their meal. She ate as slowly as possible, knowing that as soon as she was finished she would be exiled in her personal torture chamber.

Unfortunately, she could only stretch her measly meal so far, and the time came when she was marched up to the attic like a prisoner on his way to the gallows. The anxiety bubbling in her stomach made her quite nauseous, and she desperately looked around for distractions. The imperial high-vaulted ceilings in the main hall did nothing to assuage her discomfort; the somber paintings, consisting entirely of shades of black and grey and charcoal, failed to rouse her from her melancholy. The large, looming stairs in the main stairway were difficult for her to climb, as her knees were shaky, and there were a number of times where she feared that she would tumble down and crack her head open on the cold, unforgiving tile below. But her uncle kept his hand firmly on her elbow, and he harshly dragged her to her final destination.

Annabelle was roughly shoved up the ladder into the attic by Robert, who seemed to care little as to how his niece was faring. Rather, he closed the attic door on her and locked it from below as soon as she was within the room. Once she realized that she was alone, she quickly went to the attic door and got on her hands and knees, frantically beating at it. But the door, even being wooden and old as it was, refused to budge. When she had tired herself out and tears were beginning to cloud her eyes, the young girl wearily got up and surveyed her surroundings. There was a window across the room that was left slightly ajar. She faintly remembered hearing her uncle complain over how it refused to either open fully or shut entirely, but rather seemed to prefer being somewhere in-between the two. It was beneficial to her, at least. The open window provided her with a small amount of light—enough for now, but nightfall was soon approaching. There was a box underneath the window that seemed to be filled with all sorts of old and unwanted things that had apparently never been thrown out. The chipped-paint smile of a clown doll caught her eye, and she flinched away automatically. No wonder that box hadn’t been touched in a while.

There were a few more things in their attic—some haphazardly strewn chairs, most of which were too damaged to even sit on anymore; a few other overstuffed boxes, filled with more useless junk; and a small table with a few objects on it. Annabelle scuttled over to the table, picking up the items there. Lying on the table were some matches, an old notebook with illegible writing, and a hammer. Although the latter two items seemed to have no use at this point in time, she pocketed the matches, as they would no doubt be useful once the sun set and left her in darkness. She had a candle that she could light, after all. The small one she carried with her had never been used before, and thus should last her a good while.

The fatigue that suddenly washed over her caught her off-guard. She hadn’t realized how tiring fear could be, after the adrenaline wore off. Yawning, she curled up in one of the tight corners, promising herself that she would only rest her eyes for a few minutes. However, when she next opened her eyelids, the attic was entrenched in darkness. At first, she wasn’t even sure if her eyes were open or not. Once she had ascertained that yes, it was the room that was dark and not the back of her eyelids, she fished out the candle and matches from her pocket. After a few failed attempts to successfully light the candle (mainly because the fire made her very jumpy), she finally managed to set the wick on fire. Once it was lit, she placed it on the table, where it would be a safe distance away from her should a stray spark fly and catch something on fire. The candle gave off a pleasant and warm glow, and almost made the attic seem like a nice, cozy room. Almost. Annabelle wasn’t willing to relax fully, though. Those monsters, even if she hadn’t seen them yet, might just be hiding around the corner and waiting for her to drop her guard.

She returned to her corner, curling up into a ball and resting her head on her arms. From her spot, she watched the shadows as they flickered on the wall in the candlelight. Each of the chairs had a long, scruffy shadow that looked as if it might be a monster who was missing a few limbs, and the assorted items in the boxes sent all sorts of strange shapes up on the wall—Annabelle had difficulty trying to figure out what exactly could make such a strange image without actually looking over at the box itself. She entertained herself in this way for a while, and she found herself finally calming down in the presence of her friends, the shadow-people.

Out of absolutely nowhere, she heard a strange, high-pitched giggle that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up on end. It seemed to be coming from over to her far left, so she spun around…to find herself face to face with a specter. That was what it had to be, for this was no shadow—no normal shadow, at least. It was a shadowy mass on the wall, but instead of resembling a strangely-bent doll or a broken chair, it looked very much like a person. Annabelle’s mouth opened in a circle in fright. She tried to scream in fear—this was one of the monsters, coming to eat her just as she knew it would—but no sound left her lips.

The ghost was expressionless—literally blank-faced—but it was certainly not silent. “Hello, little girl,” it cooed. “Want to play with me?” There was something eerie about the phantom’s voice, something that rubbed Annabelle the wrong way. Shivering, she leaned away from the creature, trying desperately to hide against the wall or somehow disappear through it. This led to another laugh from her mystery visitor. “Don’t be afraid. I don’t bite…I don’t even have teeth!” It seemed to amuse itself with that remark, judging from the laughter that followed, but it didn’t strike her as funny at all. How dare it mock her fear?

“Come on,” the ghost whined. “I’m bored, and you’re the only person here. Just for a little while, huh? What do you say? Doesn’t look like you’ve got anything else to do, anyway.” This thing had a point, she had to admit. There wasn’t much to do in a locked attic after dark. Plus, she figured that she kind of owed it to this shadow to entertain it—had the shadows not amused her when she was lonely or upset? Granted, this might not be the smartest of ideas, but she figured that playing with the ghost and making it happy would make it less likely to eat her.

“Oh, all right,” Annabelle acquiesced, and she fought hard to suppress a smile at the specter’s childish cry of glee. “But only for a little while.” She got up, stretching as she did so. She must have been asleep for awhile, judging by the ache in her legs and the pain in her neck, but she resolutely put that to the back of her mind. She was here to entertain this monster so it wouldn’t turn on her and eat her. As she moved towards the shadow, it moved towards her, coming off the wall and actually standing in the middle of the room with her. This was quite surprising to her. She hadn’t expected the ghost to be able to move from its position up on her wall. However, she reminded herself that this was not a normal shadow, and thus did not have to adhere to the rules most shadows were bound to follow.

The shadow interrupted her reverie by extending a hand to her. “Dance with me,” it commanded, and Annabelle felt unable to do anything but do as he said. She placed her hand in its, and the next thing she knew, they were spinning around the room at a fast pace. In the background, she could swear that she heard waltz music, although she could not say where it was coming from. The specter led throughout the dance, as Annabelle knew very little about dancing in general. It wasn’t something her uncle had deemed necessary for her to know. As their speed increased, so did the speed of the music, until it started getting distorted.

The distortion of the music caused her to look over at the ghost, who had become distorted as well. Instead of being a friendly shadow, he had transformed into a huge, menacing monster—complete with a set of the sharpest teeth she had ever seen. This time, a shriek escaped her before she could even think of being afraid. The teeth pulled into a sadistic grin, and Annabelle’s eyes closed in horror and fear as said teeth got closer and closer to her face. She braced herself for the inevitable pain and for the agony of death.

Then, a gust of wind came in through the partially open window and blew out the candle, and—suddenly, blissfully, cruelly—she was alone once again.