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The Attic Door
by Mija
Category: Gothic
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I'm not expected to pass, that much is certain. Still, one must go through the motions -- cramming for examinations before leaving to live off trust funds.

"It's a quiet place to study," I told myself, returning to our family "home" (funny word, whatever else that building may be, it was never ever "home") for the summer.

My suite, kept ready for reasons that escape me, is on the second floor. The book-lined library is on the first.

I've no need to visit the attic stairs.

o0o

Despite the many darknesses in this house, the darkest place is the east attic. I discovered that when I was nine and, for the first time, twisted the key in its lock.

Going from the dark staircase into the room's eastern sunshine makes the schoolroom seem bright. Remove the dust sheets and two school desks cheerfully face a tutor's. "Cheerfully," until the eyes adjust and you can really see. Sunlight hides the details.

And elides the horrors.

These details speak volumes about my family's history. About how the vulnerable were trained and taught to fear failure as pain.

A tall corner cabinet holds cracking leather straps. Tawses. Canes.

Beyond yet another door, there is a windowless "room" --a closet really-- barely large enough for a narrow bed and table. It was used to punish children deemed too lazy and naughty to be allowed back into the nursery. Used on occasions when they were beaten then locked up alone to reflect on their sins.

Those were different times, I know. But how many canes does a tutor need to discipline one child? Or even four? Two canes maybe. Certainly not seven.

How many family schoolrooms have a birching block?

Or a punishment book tracing genealogy in more detail than the family bible?

The truth is, in my family we want children to suffer.

Truthfully, I do too. The history excites me.

My own suffering was emotional. Did my father enjoy my pain as I enjoy imagining his? Did he even know I suffered?

o0o

I pick up the book, reading my father's first record: "Six cuts on bare buttocks," imaging his fear and suffering.

In the past, thoughts of him bent over as the cane cut the air were enough. Not anymore.

Today I bent over, putting myself in his place, thinking about being shamed and beaten. Threatened with the birch even while writhing under the cane. The thought of such pain caused a jolt of pleasure pass through me, made the room swim before my eyes closed.

Darkness.

o0o

How long did I lie across that desk, hand pushed shamefully between my legs?

What roused me?

A metallic click.

Panicked, I rush to leave, anxiously rattling the door knob, too late noticing my long-neglected books on the tutor's desk. The closet door is open and fresh sheets are bright on the bed.

There is no key in the lock.

Too late I remember my family's motto carved deep into the stone mantle.

*nunquam delinquimus*

We never fail.

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Copyrighted to Mija. May not be reproduced or archived without permission. This is not in the public domain.

I thought this was a beautifully written story, full of tension and atmosphere, well in tune with the 'Gothic' section of the contest.  I liked the way the author captured, not just the physical scene in the east attic but the horror and fear of a school environment ruled by violence and fear. Added to that he/she recognised, and brought out so well, that, awful though it might be at the time for the victim, sadism and cruelty can be a powerful erotic stimulus. Very nice indeed!

This is a wonderful example of the genre, full of dark forboding. The hair on my neck stood on end as I read the story and I could feel those "six cuts on bare buttocks" described in the accounting book and hear the screams and begging.  Extremely effective story.

I read this story, and upon finishing sat back to write a review.  I knew what I felt.  I knew what it evoked.  But I couldn't put it down in words ... simply, I think, because I'm not a fan of Gothic literature. So I spent a few hours reading up on various opinions and examples, wanting to make sure I gave this entry the best review I could.  I'm happy to say that the tone, the mood, the state of mind created in this particular reader are directly because of the excellent use of classic gothic elements.

I felt the danger.  The darkness, which hung over my mind like a fog. The hint of evil and other-world-ness.  And especially the blending of desire and dread.  It's my opinion that this story nailed the Gothic category perfectly.  I could probably have saved myself the research by sticking to the vernacular and succinctly  saying "It creeped me out." That about says it all.  Loved it!

The Attic sounds like a wonderful place for a spanko to spend some quality time.  I love peeking into another person's secret thoughts and secret past.  Thanks for taking me there.  I enjoyed how the story grows darker as it goes along, getting very dark near the end, which is perfect.  The words are well placed and the sequences flow well.  Though no actual spanking takes place in the story, I felt as though there was one.  My imagination did all the work.  Nicely done!

Has the authentic gothic feel of dislocation, isolation, and dread. The descent (ascent?) into darkess is carefully, inexorably plotted. The absence of the merest hint of another character makes the house itself take the place of the narrator's nemesis, which works very well - the house, rather than any of the family's generations, is what has persisted, what has carried the oppression from person to person. I miss one or two hints of the 'normal' outside world which has been left to enter this place - the contrast would have been even more striking - and a slightly plainer voice might have suited the young narrator better, but the implication that this *isn't* an everyday world is only strengthened by the old-before-her-time narrator's voice.