I’m an old man living alone in an old house. My wife and I bought it 10 years ago, just before she passed. I don’t know how old it is. If I had to guess, I’d say at least 150 years. It’s your typical old house in back country southern United States, surrounded by forest and far from the closest neighbor.
There is a lingering musky odor all around this house. I’m not sure if its from the wood becoming rotten and moldy or if it’s exuding from my ever so slowly dying body. It’s pipes and floorboards creak just like my old bones and joints.
I don’t really have anybody in my life. We never had children. I only have one family member left. A brother. But he suffers from dementia and I haven’t seen him in ages. I’m living a tedious existence. Sometimes as I meander aimlessly through the house’s hallways and corridors, I see myself as no different than an ant habitually moving through it’s nest. Doing nothing more than what it needs to survive. Still duly serving its queen… even though it’s been almost 10 years since she last drew breath. Sometimes I briefly forget that my wife is no longer with me. That I’m completely alone. In an old decaying dark musky house.
I’ve been trying to come up with chores to keep my mind busy. Yesterday I decided to finally deal with squeaky door hinges. Why not? Nothing better to do. I went searching through various cupboards and drawers trying to find the oil canister. It was nowhere. But I stubbornly kept searching. And so started a much more manageable task for the day. Simply find the oil canister.
I eventually found myself in the attic going through old boxes. They had stayed in there unopened for some reason ever since we first moved in. I found some of our old books. Some utensils and cutlery. But no oil canister. And then I saw something else. I actually gasped in excitement.
It was a heart shaped pendant.
I remember how widely I smiled. My wife had been looking for this pendant ever since we moved in. She considered it good luck and wore it all the time. She had thought she lost it forever.
“Gloria,” I yelled down the stairs. She would be so happy to know I found it. I couldn’t wait to see her delight. “You wouldn’t believe what I jus—-“ But then I stopped.
I took in a deep breath. I knew something was off. Something was wrong. But it was only slowly dawning on me. And then I fully remembered. Whenever this happens it’s like going through her death for the first time all over again. Gloria was no longer with me. She hadn’t been for a very long time.
I hunched over. Alone. In a dark decaying attic. My joints aching in discomfort. I stared at the pendant. And I began sobbing. I wept because I missed my wife. I wept at what my life had become. But mostly, I wept because I knew it would never get any better. I’d continue rotting away living for nothing and for no one. Until it ended.
I eventually pulled myself together. I held the pendant and put it on. I grasped it as it hung around my neck. It actually made me feel better.
I looked around carefully. I hadn’t actually been up in this attic for years. I decided to go through other boxes and containers. To see what else was up here. But before I could even get started, I noticed that some of the wood on the corner wall had rotted away. There was a small opening. About six square inches. I pointed my flashlight inside and noticed that there was actually a small room that had been closed off. I realized then that it had probably been at least 150 years since anyone had been inside.
My curiosity peaked. The wood was so rotted in this area that the makeshift wall was barely even standing. It took about 10 minutes of effort, but using a hammer and a few well placed kicks I was able to create a hole large enough to crawl through.
I took in a deep breath, and I crept in.
The first thing I noticed was that the air tasted ancient. It really had been a long time since anyone had been in there. I shined the flashlight briefly around the room to get my bearings. The next thing I noticed was the gun. A musket specifically. It appeared to be from the civil war era. And on an old table there was a stack of currency. American one dollar bills. The date said 1862, but I didn’t recognize the man on it. He was fat and bald. I would have recognized any President of the United States, but this man had certainly never been President. I’d have to look that up later. There was also a stack of Confederate 5 dollar bills. I did recognize the man on those bills. Jefferson Davis.
But while all of that was very interesting, it’s not what I came here to write about. First, I should mention the photographs. They were old. Black and white. Partly decayed. From daguerreotype cameras. There were 6 pictures total and they were all full body portraits of six different individuals. But here’s the strange thing… while the pictures were clearly taken in the 1860’s, on one of the pictures a man is wearing clothes that looked like modern fashion. He was wearing jeans, sneakers, a hooded sweatshirt, and a baseball cap. His items of clothing were blank with no logo or picture on them. In all of the photographs the people looking at the camera seemed expressionless.
I have no idea how any of that is possible. I don’t know if it was just some strange coincidence or if it’s something more. But I don’t want to get into any more detail about those photographs for now. Because what I found next was much, much, worse.
At the corner of the table was a brown case, 8 by 12 inches. It was around 4 inches thick. There was a black handle on the top. And some strange foreign language written on it.
I opened it.
Nothing could have prepared me for what I would see.
I actually dropped it on the ground and screamed at what was in front of me.
It was a very old photograph again. The edges had been rotting for decades. It was also black and white and looked like it had been taken in the civil war era. It was again a portrait of a man. And that man was me. Looking just like I currently do. Wearing the same pants and shirt that I currently am wearing. The same haircut. The same facial hair. He was even wearing the same heart shaped pendant that I had only ever put on today.
And standing beside me in the photograph was my wife. But it was not the wife that I remembered. No. It was my wife as she would look now. After rotting in the ground for the past 10 years. The clothes she was buried in had partly decomposed. Parts of her face had completely deteriorated. But she was standing there, very much alive. Arm around me. Staring into the camera.
I heard something from outside the tiny room. In the attic proper. I had terrible visions in my mind of my wife standing out there. Looking as she does in the picture.
But there was nothing out there. I think my mind was just playing tricks on me. I had been spooked though. I decided to leave the attic for the time being. To think about all that’s happened.
It’s now the next morning. I may have been scared at first, but I’ve just spent 20 minutes writing this out. I was intending to ask for advice and guidance. Now I feel different. As though… as much as this is terrifying, it’s also fascinating. For the first time in years I feel interested in something. For the first time in years I’m excited about what will happen today. To search for more. So I’ll submit this now. And tonight these old bones will break through a few more rotted walls in that attic. You never know what I’ll find.