The dazzling sheen from the utensils hanging over the center island twinkled in Bruno’s little bright-blue eyes as he stood in the kitchen, dwarfed by granite-cut countertops and elegant Brazilian rosewood cupboards on high. The floor was also wooden, a warm brown mesh of glossy panelling, but it felt strangely soft under his wellies, as if it sank a little with every step he took. It was a very spacious kitchen, he thought, and the smell was pleasant, fresh. He suddenly had an urge to make cookies before his father lifted him up and sat him on the countertop beside the sink. A cool breeze drifted in from an open window and he just about got a glimpse of an old, looming tree in the garden when his father looked around and asked, “Bit small isn’t it?”
His father was a tall man with a strong physique, thickly grey-bearded and moustached, like a sketch of an ancient Greek philosopher. His crow-feeted eyes were mounted by two bushy brows and his face sagged slightly along laugh lines that ran from cheek to jaw. His mother would often joke that his sense of humour equaled that of Bruno’s, that is to say: childlike.
Bruno abruptly swung his head around, almost headbutting his father in the process, “Is not! Are you crazy? It’s literally the biggest kitchen I’ve ever seen!” He waved his small hands around the room in a gesture to look and see for himself but his father just smiled back. “And it’s so bright, it’s really nice.”
“That’s because the dining room is interconnected, and the light coming in is reflected very well by the wood and the bright walls,” his father motioned to the cupboards and cream-coloured walls, “it would be quite different if darker colours were used instead.”
Bruno took another quick look around the kitchen before nicely asking, “Can we go out to see the garden now? Please?”
“I’m sorry kiddo, but we’ve got a lot of work to do with sorting out all of our stuff. we can explore the garden later.” A hint of impatience crept into his father’s voice.
Bruno let out a little sigh of disappointment.
His father tried cheering him up by gently pinching him on the nose, saying, “Now, I need you to do a huge favour for me. I need you to scout out the rooms upstairs and organize all of your things in your new room – you’ll know it when you see it. When you’re finished, bring down any boxes left over and we’ll make something for dinner, how’s that sound?”
“Okay, but only if we can have macaroni and cheese,” Bruno sulked as his father helped him down from the countertop.
His father patted him on the shoulder saying, “Sure thing kiddo, I think mam’s still sorting out the study and then she said she’s going to unpack the living room, so best not to disturb her.” Bruno was halfway out the door when he called after him, “Oh and take off those boots before you go romping about, don’t want you trekking any dirt up with you!”
“Okay!” Bruno roared from the hallway. He walked back to the front door before sliding off his wellies one by one and hanging his jacket on the coat rack.
Looking down the main hallway he could see the door to the kitchen, the first and only door to his right. There was another closed door opposite the kitchen, to his left before the stairway, with a wavy type of glass he couldn’t clearly see through. Once the hallway met the staircase leading upstairs, the remaining space on the ground floor became narrow. Both the staircase and hallway floor were made of a solid dark-brown wood which made the further end of the hallway appear kind of scary to him; it was a combination of the shadows cast by its narrowness and the looming difference in scale between Bruno and the house. At this further end of the hallway, past the staircase, was another door with wavy glass and, while leaning against the wall to the right, he could barely notice a metal bolt and doorknob sticking out from the side of the staircase, ‘Another door?’, he thought. Looking at it made him feel uneasy.
He wondered where the slanted door could lead to. Maybe it was for storage of mops and brushes, maybe a boiler room, or even a toilet – he had heard that some houses have a toilet both upstairs and downstairs. He resolved to come back later with his trusty flashlight at the ready for an expedition.
On his way to the staircase he stopped to peer through the first door with wavy glass on tip-toe, inside was a distorted light-green sofa and a bunch of blurry cardboard boxes scattered around, ‘The living room it must be!’, he thought to himself before scampering up the hardwood stairs, keeping his hand on the bannister in case he fell back down.
Prancing on the carpeted landing atop the winding staircase in his socks, he noticed many tiny nails sticking out of the walls. ‘For the family photographs they must be!’, he thought, opening the first door in sight. Inside was a decently sized bathroom with white-tiled flooring that matched the walls, sink, and toilet. The corner shower looked a bit funny to him, like it would spray water right onto the floor, but then he noticed that there was a squarish drain actually built into the floor tiling, giving the room an open, seamless feel. There was a fancy mirror above the sink adorned with an accented baroque frame and another wavy glass window that the lazy afternoon sun drizzled through like golden honey.
Before continuing his exploration of the upstairs, he stopped to splash some water on his face. Taking out a mini step stool that was left out beside the sink, he climbed up in front, turning on the faucet, and began splashing and scrubbing furiously. Once done, his head was a mess of chocolate-brown curls. His hair had always curled on its own; being shoulder-length it was annoying at times, especially when it got in his way or was damp, but he thought it looked pretty cool; and he hated haircuts. Grabbing a hand towel, he first gently dabbed at his eyes – an eyelash came loose causing him to itch and pinch and rub at his eye, he couldn’t help but open his mouth while doing this, causing his nose to crinkle on more than one occasion. Once dry, he folded the towel and quickly made a few silly faces to himself in the mirror before leaving.
Back out on the upstairs’ landing, he sneaked forward on his ‘tippy toes’. He imagined that he was on a top-secret reconnaissance mission deep in enemy territory, and that being spotted would result in critical mission failure. His codename for this operation, as always, was Calypso and he would radio-in his current whereabouts and any important details back to HQ. Krrrssh, he made the sound with his mouth whilst shaking and tapping on one of his fists, simulating trying to get a busted walkie-talkie working again. Once he was satisfied that his pretend radio was properly tuned, harmonized, and combobulated – a word that always made him chuckle – he issued a short report: “Come in Alpha Zebra Biscuit, I’ve made my ascent onto the landing, no enemy presents,” he had meant ‘presence’, “found yet. I’m beginning my search now, if you don’t hear from me in five minutes, send backup!”
Krrrssh, he put away his radio and flattened himself against the wall, shimmying along stealthily; the noise of his footsteps were dampened by the landing’s soft carpet. After moving past the stairs’ bannister, he crouched down to survey his surroundings. He was in an open space and in front of him was a glass double door leading out to the balcony that overlooked the front of the house; to his left was one door and on his right two more. He first snuck over to the balcony doors but his hopes of going outside were dashed as they were locked shut. Through the glass he could see some patio furniture lying about, some plant pots he recognised from the old house, and a folded-up parasol that he thought would be perfect for lounging out there on these summer days. The balcony was sun-facing and he couldn’t wait to get a proper overview of the surrounding countryside, it all seemed so majestic to him. Making another quick report through his hand radio, he would tell HQ, “Doors to the balcony locked tight, might be some goodies out there, beautiful view at the very least. I’ll have to root out the illusive key somehow! I’m going to check the rest of these doors in the meantime, over and out.”
Plopping the pretend radio into his pocket, he eyed the single door on one side and figured it would be more pertinent to clear it before moving on to the other two. Crouch-walking over and twisting the doorknob ever so gingerly, he peered in the doorway. The curtains were closed, blotting out most of the light, and eerily outlining the room were a few unpacked boxes, an unmade double bed, a single dresser without any drawers in it, and his parents’ suitcases lying tucked away in the corner. He half-thought to sneak his way into what was apparently his parents’ room for a bit of a rummage but was too freaked out by the shadows and emptiness to take a step inside. ‘Spooky!’, he thought before carefully closing the door and shuffling his way to the other side of the landing.
Out of the two remaining doors he had left to check, the one closest was the first on his top-secret itinerary. ‘Please don’t let this one be as spooky as the last,’ he hoped, creaking the door slightly ajar to get a glimpse inside. The room was adequately lit by a single quaint window so he scurried inside, closing the door behind him.
The small room, which he at once figured to be a sort of spare room, turned out to be remarkably plain. It had a single bed in the corner that was too stiff for jumping on – he tried – and a small closet with nothing but an L-shaped metal rod in it. There was a plain-looking, barren nightstand beside the bed and not much else of interest in the room. A small ‘O’-shaped protrusion sticking out of the ceiling caught his eye. At first, he didn’t notice it – it was painted the same plain white as the ceiling – and upon closer inspection it was clear he was staring at the entrance to the attic.
‘An attic! Just the job for super-secret Agent Calypso!’ Bruno’s mind raced at the thought of exploring the attic of such an old house, ‘Maybe the people who lived here before hid some treasure up there and forgot about it, there could be skeletons! Oh, I have to look!’ He could almost jump with excitement. First, he tried standing on the bed and reaching for the ‘O’ but it was no use, he simply couldn’t reach. He looked around the room and under the bed for anything that could be of use when he remembered the metal rod in the closet. Getting it out proved to be a bit of a challenge for him; it was awkwardly hooked into a hole in the wall, meaning he had to match its level to pry it loose. Even on tippy-toe his tiny hands couldn’t reach so in a snap judgement he dragged the dainty nightstand from beside the bed and lay it in front of the closet door on its side – the legs didn’t look sturdy enough to stand on top of it.
Very carefully, he balanced on the overturned nightstand and grabbed at the metal bar, wriggling it free and almost tumbling off in the process. In a fit of triumph he jumped from the nightstand to the floor but as he landed, he inadvertently whacked himself square in the forehead with one of his own fists clenched to the bar. “Oww!” he exclaimed aloud and unamused. It didn’t hurt all that much, but having a moment of victory soured by one’s own crassness always enhances the humility felt thereby, this truth Bruno was becoming more and more familiar with as his childhood neared its end.
The L-shaped rod was heavy and it took quite an effort for him to hoist it up towards the little ‘O’ on the ceiling, first he would sway this way then that as he tried to align the end of the rod to the opening. After some effort he finally managed to hook the end of the rod and unlatch the attic opening. As soon as he tugged to pull down the hatch he fell forward to his knees as a metal ladder slid halfway down, making a loud clink as luckily for his face, and the spotless flooring, its safety latches forced it to come to a stop.
Picking himself up in a fright, he turned to the door and listened carefully, all the while worrying, ‘Oh snap! Hope Mam and Dad didn’t hear that!’ A minute or two of silence passed before he let out a sigh of relief and decided to update his hand radio on current events. Krrrssh, “Come in Alpha Biscuit, we’ve hit the jackpot! Ok so, I checked the balcony doors first, but they were locked, and then I checked another door – it turned out to be Mam and Dad’s room, boring! – Then I came into this room, and at first I thought there was nothing in here, but then I saw the ceiling, and then I opened it with the bar and the ladder almost fell on me! It’s an attic Biscuit Zebra! Imagine the wonders I’ll find! The ladder is hanging down so I’m going to go up and take a quick look, but I might lose signal once… I… each… he… op…” He spoke in staccato, pretending that he was experiencing radio interference, “I… ate… when… I… turn…”
He was in such a hurry to undo the safety latches on the attic’s ladder that there was no time to properly secure his imaginary radio back into his pocket. Gripping the end of the ladder tight with both hands he slowly and noiselessly – this was a top-secret reconnaissance mission after all – folded it out and guided it to the floor. The metal rungs felt uncomfortable beneath his hands and socks as he climbed. In the few seconds it took to reach the top, his imagination was fraught with speculation: what was up there, waiting to be found, waiting for him?
“Wow!”, he quietly exclaimed, peeking his little head over the opening. The gigantic attic was carpeted wine and had a perpetual smell of dusty oldness. From a single arched window sunlight poured unevenly into the musty room, illuminating its center quite well while neglecting its dark, dark corners. Wooden support beams stood steadfast on either side of the opening, making him feel a bit claustrophobic, but the attic itself was spacious enough; indeed, it could have served well as a master bedroom in and of itself. There were various storage boxes tucked away here and there, all labelled in different hands of faded cursive he didn’t recognise. He squinted at one of the boxes nearby and could make out either ‘cutlery’ or ‘cookery’ written on its side. There was dust everywhere. Somewhere far away a clock ticked. The further end was littered with a selection of forgotten items of furniture: bureaus, chesterfields, three chiffoniers, a couple of davenports, and an armoire of particular bespoke quality. Among these relics sat an imposing wardrobe cut from a dark wood he didn’t know the name of. It stood out silently from the attic’s other items in its own little alcove in the corner and towered over little Bruno—the effect seemed magnified as he had only poked his head in from the top of the ladder.
The same uneasiness he felt from the bolted door underneath the main staircase crept back up from the pit of his stomach. The ticking of the clock ceased. He was suddenly aware of just how quiet the attic was, all to be heard was his own breathing, slow and drawn out. A cold shiver shot down his spine as he stared, transfixed to the image of the foreboding wardrobe. It was so beautiful, but looking at it made him inexplicably sad, and more than a little terrified. Carved into its surface was an intricate mess of winding line etchings of strange design, of blooming roses, and of sharp thorns that looked almost real. The seam dividing its two doors was midnight-black, like a pupil, and staring at it seemed to put Bruno in a trance. After gazing between this void for some time his periphery darkened, the same way it would as if he stared at the ceiling for too long in a pitch-black room. A series of vivid images flashed across the darkness of his mind; first he saw a dead, forgotten forest ashened by fire and wilt; next came a deep pit within the forest covered with grey, tendril-like roots that writhed in their masses; the final flash he imagined was a pale figure slowly rising from the pit, its limp limbs twisted out of place and covered in a rash of black blotches as if they were rotted. These visions only lasted but a moment and when he finally managed to pull himself away from the wardrobe, his bright and curious nature returned. Giving his head a little shake and returning to his survey of the attic he couldn’t help but think to himself, ‘Unspoiled!’, whilst instinctively his teeny feet shuffled in excitement against the ladder. He was about to take her first bold step into this uncharted land when at once the fanciful expedition came to an end. His father called, quite annoyingly, from the bottom of the stairs for him to get a start on sorting out his room. With a feeling of disappointment and the lingering image of the dark wood ingrained into his mind, he reluctantly descended from the ladder and began the arduous task of fixing it back up, in secret…
Copyright © 2024 Giuseppe Gillespie
Giuseppe Gillespie Writing 
Leave a comment