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The Old Wooden Box in the Attic
#WritcoStoryPrompt36
Write a short story that uses atleast two of the given situations:
1. An old, locked box in the attic.
2. A winding staircase that goes nowhere.
3. A broken mirror.
4. An old desk with a locked drawer.
The Old Wooden Box in the Attic
She placed her gnarled hand on the doorknob, with a slight hesitation. It was not because of indecision-
her hip hurt. Indecision did not come into this or indeed anything else she did: she had made up her
mind the night before.
“One more time before I die…..”
Without much effort, she opened the door and stepped off the thickly carpeted landing and onto the
narrow, bare, wooden stairs. Looking up, she took in the long flight ahead, inhaled a deep breath and
gripped the rail on her right. As she did so, she noticed the almost translucent skin and how it
contrasted starkly with the thick, blue veins beneath it. She climbed the creaking steps, her breath
becoming increasingly faster with each one. At the top, she stopped for a moment. Another door.
It was almost sixty years since she had last stood here and contemplating the other world- the one she
had left behind downstairs- she briefly concentrated upon the busyness that had gone on there, in the
intervening years. The laughter. The children. The dogs. The extended family.
Here though it was quiet. Time had stood still. She unlocked the door surprisingly easily and stepped
inside. Elsewhere, the house was filled with warm, summer sunshine but here the light struggled to
make its way through the grimy windows.
Her rheumy eyes adjusted slowly and she took in her surroundings. On her right stood an old wooden
cheval mirror standing at an awkward angle, with a faded, striped scarf draped across it. She also
noticed the long forgotten toy theatre, a favourite of hers on rainy days in the nursery; a rack of clothes
from a bygone era; and so much dust! To her left was a heavy grandfather clock stopped, she noticed, at
twenty past three.
She had no need to search for her quest: she knew exactly where she had left it a lifetime ago. Two
steps…..three steps inside and she could make out a basket full of shoes. Four steps….five steps and she
was beside the ancient desk, her grandfather’s which she could remember him sitting behind, as clearly
as if it were yesterday.
There on top was the box- not a large one, but special because of the intricate inlaid pattern of mother
of pearl. All those years ago, she had chosen it especially because of its beauty. It had to be beautiful
because its contents were precious to her but they had lain untouched for over half a century.
Taking out a crumpled hankie from the sleeve of her cardigan, she dabbed her glistening eyes and then
wiped the layers of dust from the lid, revealing the decoration in all its glory. The mother of pearl was
shining through once again. The metal key was still in the lock, as she had expected it to be.
“Please don’t snap……”
She carefully grasped it and turned. It sounded dry, she thought, yet it moved with surprising ease. Now
she did hesitate. Her hands were trembling slightly and she found it difficult to see through the tears.
Taking hold of each side of the lid, she opened it slowly. It was as if she were releasing her long held,
pent up dreams. They had been trapped for decades and now they were to be set free.“Take a deep breath Isabella…..”
She saw the first of the contents. There he was- forever young- tall and handsome in his uniform,
turning slightly to his right so that his wings were clearly visible above his breast pocket. No wrinkles. A
wistful smile beneath a small, neatly shaped moustache. So young. So handsome. So alive.
Her heart skipped a beat and she had to catch her breath. The image before her was the one she carried
with her always, the one she called upon in quiet moments.
Carefully, she lifted out the sepia photograph. It pleased her to notice that it was in good condition,
apart from a crack across the bottom, left hand corner. On the right, in his exquisite hand she could still
make out, “With all my love. Edward. August 1943.” It was the last thing he had given her when she had
waved him off at the station. She drew back the wisps of hair from her temples with her long, thin
fingers and then touched her mouth. She could feel his lips on hers. His warm, soft lips and his strong
embrace. Her eyes closed as she remembered so clearly, so very clearly. The scent of him. She could
smell him so fresh, so young and hopeful. Sitting very still, luxuriating in the moment, the years fell away
for her. She was twenty again and so in love.
Her reverie was broken by the chiming clock on the landing and she reached once more into the box.
There they were. All in their envelopes and tied neatly together with thin, red ribbon. How she had cried
when she had put them into the box. Now she lifted them onto her lap and untied the ribbon and there
she saw her other name in his neat, even hand. They had planned that one day she would change her
name to his but…..
She gingerly pulled out the sheets of yellowed paper from the first envelope and heard the crackle as
she unfolded them. She felt the hot tears rolling down her cheeks as she read his first words.
“My Darling Bella……………….”
©Linda Wells January 2014
Write a short story that uses atleast two of the given situations:
1. An old, locked box in the attic.
2. A winding staircase that goes nowhere.
3. A broken mirror.
4. An old desk with a locked drawer.
The Old Wooden Box in the Attic
She placed her gnarled hand on the doorknob, with a slight hesitation. It was not because of indecision-
her hip hurt. Indecision did not come into this or indeed anything else she did: she had made up her
mind the night before.
“One more time before I die…..”
Without much effort, she opened the door and stepped off the thickly carpeted landing and onto the
narrow, bare, wooden stairs. Looking up, she took in the long flight ahead, inhaled a deep breath and
gripped the rail on her right. As she did so, she noticed the almost translucent skin and how it
contrasted starkly with the thick, blue veins beneath it. She climbed the creaking steps, her breath
becoming increasingly faster with each one. At the top, she stopped for a moment. Another door.
It was almost sixty years since she had last stood here and contemplating the other world- the one she
had left behind downstairs- she briefly concentrated upon the busyness that had gone on there, in the
intervening years. The laughter. The children. The dogs. The extended family.
Here though it was quiet. Time had stood still. She unlocked the door surprisingly easily and stepped
inside. Elsewhere, the house was filled with warm, summer sunshine but here the light struggled to
make its way through the grimy windows.
Her rheumy eyes adjusted slowly and she took in her surroundings. On her right stood an old wooden
cheval mirror standing at an awkward angle, with a faded, striped scarf draped across it. She also
noticed the long forgotten toy theatre, a favourite of hers on rainy days in the nursery; a rack of clothes
from a bygone era; and so much dust! To her left was a heavy grandfather clock stopped, she noticed, at
twenty past three.
She had no need to search for her quest: she knew exactly where she had left it a lifetime ago. Two
steps…..three steps inside and she could make out a basket full of shoes. Four steps….five steps and she
was beside the ancient desk, her grandfather’s which she could remember him sitting behind, as clearly
as if it were yesterday.
There on top was the box- not a large one, but special because of the intricate inlaid pattern of mother
of pearl. All those years ago, she had chosen it especially because of its beauty. It had to be beautiful
because its contents were precious to her but they had lain untouched for over half a century.
Taking out a crumpled hankie from the sleeve of her cardigan, she dabbed her glistening eyes and then
wiped the layers of dust from the lid, revealing the decoration in all its glory. The mother of pearl was
shining through once again. The metal key was still in the lock, as she had expected it to be.
“Please don’t snap……”
She carefully grasped it and turned. It sounded dry, she thought, yet it moved with surprising ease. Now
she did hesitate. Her hands were trembling slightly and she found it difficult to see through the tears.
Taking hold of each side of the lid, she opened it slowly. It was as if she were releasing her long held,
pent up dreams. They had been trapped for decades and now they were to be set free.“Take a deep breath Isabella…..”
She saw the first of the contents. There he was- forever young- tall and handsome in his uniform,
turning slightly to his right so that his wings were clearly visible above his breast pocket. No wrinkles. A
wistful smile beneath a small, neatly shaped moustache. So young. So handsome. So alive.
Her heart skipped a beat and she had to catch her breath. The image before her was the one she carried
with her always, the one she called upon in quiet moments.
Carefully, she lifted out the sepia photograph. It pleased her to notice that it was in good condition,
apart from a crack across the bottom, left hand corner. On the right, in his exquisite hand she could still
make out, “With all my love. Edward. August 1943.” It was the last thing he had given her when she had
waved him off at the station. She drew back the wisps of hair from her temples with her long, thin
fingers and then touched her mouth. She could feel his lips on hers. His warm, soft lips and his strong
embrace. Her eyes closed as she remembered so clearly, so very clearly. The scent of him. She could
smell him so fresh, so young and hopeful. Sitting very still, luxuriating in the moment, the years fell away
for her. She was twenty again and so in love.
Her reverie was broken by the chiming clock on the landing and she reached once more into the box.
There they were. All in their envelopes and tied neatly together with thin, red ribbon. How she had cried
when she had put them into the box. Now she lifted them onto her lap and untied the ribbon and there
she saw her other name in his neat, even hand. They had planned that one day she would change her
name to his but…..
She gingerly pulled out the sheets of yellowed paper from the first envelope and heard the crackle as
she unfolded them. She felt the hot tears rolling down her cheeks as she read his first words.
“My Darling Bella……………….”
©Linda Wells January 2014
