The Attic: a short and twisted tale

I hoisted myself into the attic. It was warm from the baking summer sun. Dust motes glinted in the air. As always, being up here had a magical feel to it. I had lived in this house all of my life yet lately found myself up here more and more often.

Was it to browse through the detritus of so many years? Or was it merely the summer heat that settled deep into the timbers of the roof? It felt safe and welcoming and I needed that in my life right now.

Hey. What was that? There was something on the floor that I did not recognise at all. I felt a ripple of fear run through my body. Who had been up here? What was that thing?

I moved toward it and gave it an experimental prod.

It clacked shut with a snap. It's jaws slamming down with a bone-jarring crunch on my neck.

I didn't have time to utter a squeak.