As snow began to fall on that frigid winter morning, Miles Beringer made his way up the rickety staircase into the attic. Every snowfall, he found himself retreating into the dusty, insulation-filled space.
Jam-packed with items collected over the years, Miles would wade through the vast assortment of antiquated nostalgia, sometimes tidying up along the way, but often watching the snow collect on the roof. Miles had come to find that on a winter’s day, nothing was quite like his attic.
“Wow. It’s like somebody comes up here after I clean and ransacks the place,” said Miles as he glanced about the attic.
“Maybe it’s the ghosts,” said Miles, “Nothing better to do!?”
Miles snatched a basketball from a dusty box and began to dribble.
“Beringer makes his way down the court. He fakes right; he shoots… Nothing but net, ladies and gentlemen,” shouted Miles with his arms raised. Miles glanced at a box tucked in a far corner.
Hm. And what secrets might you be hiding within your shadowy, cavernous walls? Glad I don’t talk like that out loud.
Miles made his way over to the old cardboard box. He opened it and began to rummage through its contents.
“I can’t believe it,” said Miles, pulling out an old photo album. Miles opened the old album.
This is crazy. How the hell did I end up with it? Miles thought, peeling back the first page.
Polaroids! Man, I miss them. Damn, I was chunky.‘Just a little baby fat,’ sure, Dad. Oh, no. Shirley, what were you thinking with that hair? Eighties or not, that was just bad.
Miles turned the pages, reliving treasured memories. He comes to the final page and smiles.
“Good times,” said Miles, rising to his feet. A Polaroid falls from the back of the album, landing on the floor. Miles reaches down to retrieve the old photo. As he flipped the picture around, Miles furrowed his brow. Glaring at the Polaroid, he noticed himself in the picture, at his current age.
What the hell is this? I don’t remember this. Of course, I don’t. It’s a frigging Polaroid, genius. They don’t even make those anymore, do they? Where did this come from? This is recent. How? And why would it be up-
A knock at the door forced Miles out of his pondering. He makes his way downstairs and opens the door, revealing a familiar face.
“Hey, Shirl,” said Miles as his dejected expression concerned his guest.
“Hey, Miley… I come at a bad time, or what?” asked Shirley, breathing into her hands and rubbing them vigorously. Shirley makes her way inside. Flipping off her snow-covered boots as she heads into the living room.
“You rearranged the living room. Looks nice. Roomier,” said Shirley, looking about the room. Shirley then returns her gaze to Miles.
“Uh, hello, Little bro! What’s with you?” she asked. Miles peers over at his older sister. Holding up the Polaroid, he hands it to Shirley.
“Do you remember when this was taken?” he asked. Shirley furrows her brow. She then raises her eyebrow and smirks.
“Nice. The Polaroid thing’s a bit much, but it’s nice work. Where’d you get this done?” asked Shirley.
“That’s the thing. I didn’t get it done. I found it up in my attic. It was with one of our old family albums. It was lodged in the back,” he said. Miles pauses, then peers at his older sister.
“Wait, I’m an idiot,” said Miles.
“That’s not breaking news, Miley,” Shirley said with a grin.
“New Year’s Eve. You and Jack were up in the attic. You had this done and put it up there!” said Miles. Shirley glared at Miles, “Ya, Miley. I spend my time having fake pics done up and then plant them in people’s attics during parties.”
“Ok, then what the hell were you two doing up there?” he asked. Shirley continues to view the picture.
“We were…,” Shirley paused. Miles glared at his sister.
“Really? How old are you two?” he said with disgust in his voice.
Shirley remained quiet, squinting as she looked at the Polaroid.
“… Ok, seriously, what is this? Is this one of those holograms that change in the light or whatever?” Miles peered up at Shirley, perplexed. He made his way over as she held the picture up.
“… What the hell? You weren’t in this earlier,” said Miles, his eyes wide.
“What am I doing?” asked Shirley as she continued to squint.
“You look terrified. I-it looks like we’re in the kitchen in this thing,” he said as the pair huddled together.
“This is like one of those ARG deals. And it has Jack written all over it. He loves this shit,” said Shirley, scratching her chin.
“Ok, your husband’s home invasion and privacy issues aside, what do we do?” asked Miles.
“Well, when we did one of these before, we just followed any clues we could find,” Shirley continued, “let’s move into the kitchen.” Miles and Shirley made their way into the kitchen. Miles glances at the photo.
“Look, it changed again. Wait, Why am I?…” Miles paused. Shirley glanced at the Polaroid.
“Is that blood? Looks like you’re being shot or… Shit, Jack! Getting a bit-” Shirley, suddenly startled by the ruckus within the kitchen, peers into the kitchen.
“Ok, get behind me, Shirl. Watch this,” said Miles, grabbing a large glass and filling it with water.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“It’s Jack. He’s in the basement,” said Miles, making his way toward the basement door. Miles pulls open the door.
“Ah-ha! Game’s ov-” a shotgun blast rings in Shirley’s ears as she falls to the ground. A second blast rips through the siblings as a masked man exits the house.
Ten minutes pass as knocks on the door go unanswered. The door opens as a man enters the house.
“Hey, Miles, Shirley! It’s Jack! You guys here? It’s really coming down out there. Jack glances down at the old photo at his feet. The Polaroid reveals a shocked Jack as he beholds his wife and brother-in-law slain on the kitchen floor.
CM “Spookas” Lucas is a is an aspiring Horror/Science Fiction writer, a free lance writer of articles and reviews. He has recently joined the HorrorAddicts.net staff of writers. Check out his recent article