The Crows

5:1 Something in the Attic

• In which Carrie finds a music box and Guy brings a book •

20 April - Morning-Afternoon

As Carrie peeled her eyes open the next morning, the dream evaded recollection. She was left with a compulsive urge to go into the maze of the attics, but what she needed to find there escaped her. Heavy-limbed and on automatic pilot, she padded along the landing.

When she got to the narrow doorway leading to the stairs, she stood in front of the stained glass with some confusion, expecting to see a different door. Her head swam.

I'm dehydrated, she thought. I slept for ages.

Still, not quite knowing why, she pushed the door open and ascended the stairs to the airy eaves.

There was no fireplace up here, no Victorian study, no books with blue or green dustjackets. Those details returned to cycle through her mind, out of context. Carrie shivered, disorientated.

Something metallic clunked quietly a few yards away.

A water pipe? Carrie rubbed her face, trying to shake off the feeling that someone was behind her. She turned around, but there was no one there. Am I dreaming, or what?

The attics felt as inviting and comfortable to her as they always did.

She had to get ready for work.

Turning to go, the same sad little sound came again, off to her right, somewhere near the wall. Frowning, Carrie dragged herself over to investigate. If it was anything complicated or expensive, it would have to wait. Indefinitely.

The cardboard boxes were full of off-cuts of material, things that had been rescued from cabinets and cupboards during the building repairs, and some newer tins of paint. Carrie pulled out as much as she could to make sure there was nothing that required her immediate attention. The boxes had blocked a hole in the wall, but that was all.

...Look.

It was an urge more than a command, and it pulled Carrie to her knees as if tugged by an invisible cord. Her hand reached into the hole before her conscious mind caught up with all the usual reasonable objections: her fingers hit something hard inside the wall before she could pull her hand away.

Carrie had visions of a skeleton, yanking her hand back as the mystery object dislodged. A box slipped between the insulation and thudded with a quiet plink onto the floor, where Carrie could see it more plainly. It reminded her of something. Gingerly, not keen on spiders or any other creepy-crawlies that could be lurking on the object, she drew it towards her. It was a dusty, battered music box, its key snapped in the lock and crusted with the grime of ages.

Carrie had the strangest feeling that she had seen it before.

The déjà vu was a bit much on top of the tendrils of emotion her dream had left behind. Carrie turned the box over in her hands, noting the dirt coming off on her fingers in the process, and decided to take it downstairs and worry about it later. For some reason, Phil was on her mind. The dream she couldn't quite remember made her feel like she had been cheating on him, too.

That's ridiculous, she chided herself. You can't cheat on someone with a house.

It was half-past six: there was time for a quick run to the beach, if she hurried. She jogged down to her bedroom to deposit the music box, ignoring the chirpy morning text from her bank – Charges are due to be applied to this account, please top up your balance by 23:30 to avoid additional charges – and got ready to face the day.