January 3rd 12:37 p.m.
It was complete nonsense. I thought to myself again, my eyes flickering to the concealed attic through my open door. Ever since my attention was first drawn to it, my eyes would wander every so often. No matter how much I attempted to distract myself, the scent of the house always brought my focus back to the strange phenomenon. The floral scent was concentrated directly underneath the attic. No matter how many times I tried to discredit the idea… it was true. When I made my way back into my room, I first walked around the space of the attic, noting how the ancient scent never altered. Then, I doubled back and walked directly under it… my nostrils flaring as the warm smell filled my being.
I reorganized my music again, trying an entirely new system: by year, then genre, then preference. It did not take long for my eyes to wander again. Something was up there. Something that specifically created that scent. Something that never left the attic.
Before I knew it, I was in the hallway, my piano bench nestled directly under the attic.
"Curiosity killed the cat," Alice chimed, flitting up the stairs as I climbed up. Ignoring her, I ran my fingertips over the spackled ceiling. The repair could have been done better. Perhaps it was human error or some force that made the easily concealable space entirely noticeable, but the wood and plaster combined stuck out almost a full inch from the rest of the ceiling. Placing both hands on the side of the protrusion, I applied just a small amount of force, smirking with the plaster gave way and fell on top of us in a cloud of white dust.
Edward Anthony! What are you doing? Esme seethed.
"I will clean it up," I promised half-heartedly, carefully removing the plank of wood that covered the hole. Immediately, that scent that had been torturing me since the moment we moved in swirled around me. I could feel my eyes darken dangerously. It was tantalizing. The right balance of warmth and light with the earthy tones of nature. Now that I was close to the source, I could detect a hint of something mystical… like the quiet aroma of dew in the morning.
I blinked, forcing myself to focus on the opening. It was small and had two tracks lining one side that could have been for a ladder. The wood was dark and questionable. It was no one a human had fallen through and broken a bone, it was clear that the foundation of the room was completely gone. I appraised the entrance for another moment. The entire perimeter seemed to be rotten through. I crouched slightly and launched myself straight through the opening, hoping that maybe whatever vampire control I had would keep me from falling through the floor.
Esme would never forgive me if I destroyed the house too much.
As luck would have it, though the room was completely dark, I was able to almost instantaneously see the spots on the floor that were still solid. I landed quietly and lightly, taking in the dark room around me.
It was, at one point, a studio. The walls were covered with blank canvases and lined with paintbrushes and shelves filled to the brim with vials of paint. On the table in the corner was a half-finished bust, the sculpting tools still resting beside it, covered in dust. There were four easels set in a circle. Surreptitiously, I tip-toed to the center of the circle to take a look. As I moved, the scent became stronger.
I was only half aware of Alice following me into the attic.
Three of the canvases were full and, as a whole, all seemed to be telling the same story. One canvases was completely covered in shades of black and gray, arranged in such a way that was hypnotizing. After staring at it for only a few seconds I began to feel as if it were pulling me in, as if I were falling into the painting and the blackness was stretching out in front of me. Alice's gasp brought me back to the present. She was staring at the next canvas which, upon first glance, looked nearly identical to the first one. Yet something was different. It was hard for even me to see, to a human it would have been entirely imperceptible…
There was a pair of red eyes staring out from the never ending blackness. They glared with a lifelikeness that made my arms wrap around myself subconsciously. The threat, the longing, the uncontrollable need, desire, and sadism rated from the eyes that were so dark with lust that they nearly blended in with the abyss.
Alice threaded her arm through mine, squeezing tightly before pulling me toward the third painting.
Blood. The thought passed through both of our minds as we stared at the shocking red that was splattered over the white canvas. For a brief moment… I thought it was actual blood, except the paint had dried a vivid crimson rather than fading to a rusted brown as blood tended to do. The effect was not tainted though, the story obviously taking a violent and devastating turn. Quickly, I looked to the last canvas hoping for some relief from the darkness that encompassed the room.
Nothing. The canvas was completely blank, though there were paints neatly displayed on the edge of the easel. It was as if the artist never got around to finishing the story.
And with dread creeping up my spine as I looked at the missing piece, I tried to pretend that I did not know the reason why.