The attic was quiet.
Night had long slumbered peacefully throughout this silent kingdom. And in its darkness, an archive of passing time had been left undated. Thin slats of light and dampened noise could seldom be observed from below, as dreams of a time spent in movement would become fragmented and obscure.
It was peaceful here, a rolling quiet that is only disturbed by scant creaks and groans of the building’s shifting, a clam presence of the familiar extends across the attic, it is a feeling of patience and contentment.
Dust has become a blanket in the attic. Boxes and carpets, picture frames all stacked in a line. Each of these items have long been coated with the building dust, with time passing. The memory of these items has faded. No longer are they close to hand, no longer are they kept with the want of use, or within the immediacy of sight. The attic is closed for these items. It is closed off from the weeks and days that pass by so quickly for the house below. Buzzing vacuums shear lines upon carpets of white, the kettle clicks on and off as if a metronome of morning’s waking. The pulse of everything below is frantic.
A once treasured bear hops from roof batten to the insulation of the uncovered attic floor. As it lands, a gentle cloud of dust merrily blooms upward and swirls outward in a dizzy pattern without wind to give it direction. Expanding, the cloud then dissipates and the small bear watches on peacefully, the dust fades and still the little bear remains.
Elsewhere, a desk lamp rocks side to side in placated daydream, each tilt of its metal shade knocking against the cardboard walls that it had nestled itself between.
Tired of the disturbance, a pin cushion pushes and strains against a bundle of wool, lifting just beyond the lip of it box so that gravity may—
–Light–
A single glowing beacon had suddenly winked into existence, A foggy light globe blossoming into radiance, wavering only slightly as it struggled to remember how bright it needed to glow. Small motes of dust were shaken from their sleep upon the glass. The sudden heat warming their feet and leading them to drop onto the wooden floor below. As they drifted down, they remembered a time before rest, they remembered the great day of moving boxes, and weary hands adding more and more to the room, labelling, moving, shuffling, forgetting.
The dust sprites looked upon the world around them now illuminated with light. The room had begun to stir but regarded the intrusion of light into its domain with silence. The long-abandoned attic maintaining an insouciant regard to change.
The desk lamp struggles back to its base and pushes the wool away from its shade.
What is this light? The lamp thinks to itself, remembering a time when it would shine just as brightly. It had sat on a desk many years ago. A man sat for hours and hours, scribbling away at numbers in a hall of desks, lamps, similar people all uniform and precise. The man grew old and was one day given the lamp, taking it home but using it less and less.
Wondering how long it had lived in the attic, the lamp ventured into the illuminated attic floor, the space felt smaller than it did before, new shadows casting odd angles across the once so familiar room.
With quiet feet, the adventurous toy bear ran into the light and regarded the world as if it was somehow new. It had lived in the attic for longer than it could remember but there was always a distant memory of joy. There was always a thought that it had once given comfort, that it had once given a feeling of safety to someone, and it believed that it one day may do the same.
The lamp and the bear stood in the glow and did nothing for a time.
Such was the unexpected nature of the sudden brightness that they were at a loss for a reaction. Was a switch accidently pressed somewhere below? Had someone been on their way to the attic only to become distracted or unable to lift the hatch?
Staying still for what felt like an eternity, the two became resigned to defeat and sat for a moment longer, the return to the world below only teased by the appearance of light.
Mirrors, once again fell dull, the pin cushion nestled down into its burrow of wool and returned to hibernation.
The lamp and bear felt lost. The long disused light was a sudden hope and as it still blazed sunlight up among the rafters, that flicker of newness would still not abate. Something had brought light to the globe, there was reason behind the change.
The bear, returned to the edges of the flooring, once again falling into the insulation but without the thrill of adventure that it once had before. The light of the globe was dull there, the bear tried to sleep but could only sigh.
The lamp, hopped over to the hatch, inspecting it for a moment and attempted to see something that looked like movement from below. There was only dust. Forgotten granules with sleepy eyes, staring back at the lamp and wondering why something so similarly forgotten should become so excited by a single change.
It felt quieter now. The noticeable absence of sound within the glowing light made the attic seem stark in comparison to how it was painted before. Lost for purpose, the lamp hopped its way to the shadow of a chest of draws and rested its lampshade against the timber.
Time passed slowly, noise was occasionally heard below but it was no longer voices or the warble of a radio. There was movement, scrapes and bangs of a migration below the attic’s floor, terrifying sounds that the lamp or bear had never heard during their time of restfulness, before the light had begun its glow.
But then a new light entered the attic, a gust of wind that in one mere sweep changed the room from its eternity of stagnation. Sound returned with this change, colour filled the attic with a lost vibrancy, and the warmth of memory cascaded into the small room as if been held just beyond wall for all too long.
‘Wow, there’s more up here.’
A voice spoke as things returned to motion again.
Light, dark, and light again in continuance.
The lamp had suddenly found itself on a desk without paper or pen, its company buzzing and blinking, but not shedding the gentle light that it was capable of.
The bear had a view now.
Atop a shelf with new eye and an infinite new world to look on and enjoy, the bear felt little need to explore and roam around its home. It felt older now that it had returned to memory, it was happy just to sit and to watch the world change around it.
J. McCray
2023
Sunday Short Stories 