Despite the ten or so years it had been since Mattea last set foot in her attic, the place still smelled like mildew. Her duties here kept her from admitting defeat, but she still recoiled and briefly retreated to catch a lungful of sweet, non-biohazardous air.

  Mattea hauled herself back into the attic, looking around the narrow, dusty space. The ceiling was low enough that she could barely stand up straight and slanted unevenly. Everything in sight was covered in a layer of thick, soft dust, even the windows, which filled the room with ugly, washed-out light. She popped in her earbuds, cracked her knuckles, and set to work.

  There was some weird stuff in the attic: a cardboard box full of nothing but Beatles CDs, a concerning amount of military books (Mattea threw those in the trash pile), and a lonely little dollhouse that looked older than her mother. But other things she found up there now served only as reminders of what once was, pieces of a once-perfect family: worn stuffed toys whose beaded eyes and noses were falling out; clumsily-made children’s clothing, the stitches carefully corrected by a more experienced hand; albums upon albums of photographs, their edges yellowing from age, showing Mattea in her younger years with her parents, back before it all went to hell.

  Mattea put those albums back, an achingly hollow feeling throbbing against her ribcage, and moved on to an old wooden sea chest which turned out to be full of jewelry. Mattea’s eyes grew wide at the sight of all the shinies, but her delight was quickly drowned out by disappointment when she realized it was mostly costume jewelry, with a few exceptions.

  Mattea slid some silver bangles onto her wrists, followed by a handful of rings and an anklet. They made a nice jingling sound every time she moved, and she switched off her music to do a little dance, giggling to herself like a child at the light sound. Her amusement died a quick and painful death, though, when she heard shouting coming from downstairs.

  “-brainwashed!”

  “You’re the one being brainwashed! I don’t know who you are anymore, but the man I knew would never-”

  Mattea quickly put her earbuds back in to drown out the voices with music, closing her eyes until the argument faded into the background. She sadly slid the jewelry off and went to put it back in the chest, only to catch sight of a strange, pale chain sitting at the bottom of the pile. Mattea hooked the chain with a finger and pulled it out.

  Hanging from the end of it was a charm made from the same odd pale metal. The charm’s surface was far from smooth, with odd edges and lumps that didn’t seem to have been properly forged out during its creation process. It was molded into the shape of two sash-like curves, and nestled snugly in the gap between them was a teardrop-shaped pearl the size of her thumbnail. The sight of it filled her with an inexplicable melancholy, and she blinked rapidly to keep tears from falling. Despite the feelings, it felt like the necklace was…calling to her, for lack of another way to put it.

  Mattea hung the amulet around her neck. It had one of those weird hook clasps, and it took her a minute of fumbling to get it right (and even then, she wasn’t entirely certain it wasn’t hanging by a thread and ready to fall off at any moment). The pendant rested cool and heavy against her collarbone.

  She finished cleaning up the attic and made her way downstairs, where she found her mother sitting at the kitchen table with her head in her hands. Mattea knew from experience she was crying and was about to move on and talk to her later, but she must have made too much noise coming down the stairs because her mother looked up at her with blotchy red eyes.

  “Hey,” Mattea said awkwardly, tugging at the hem of her shirt. “I, uh, just finished cleaning the attic.”

  “Good,” her mother said weakly.

  Remembering the necklace, Mattea tugged it out of its shelter under her shirt collar.

  “I found this while I was up there,” she said.

  Her mother’s eyes lit up in recognition. She gestured for Mattea to come closer and gently turned the amulet over in her hands.

  “I remember this,” she said fondly. “It was your great-grandmother’s. My grandfather gave it to her.”

  “Where’s it from?” Mattea asked.

  Her mother shook her head. “I don’t know. I always assumed he got it from somewhere in Europe while he was serving in WWII.”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Mattea blinked. “Wait, what?”

  “Yeah, he was in the Navy.” More quietly, she said, “he didn’t like to talk about it much.”

  Mattea fingered the amulet. Despite its age, it was surprisingly clean and free of dust.

  “Do you know which ship?”

  “No.”

  The front door slammed. Mattea’s eyes widened, her heart rate jumping from 1 to 100 on instinct.

  “Okaythanksmombye-” she spluttered, rushing out of the room and up the stairs to her bedroom.

  Mattea locked her door and pressed her ear to it, hoping that she wouldn’t hear the familiar sound of footsteps coming for her door. She let out a sigh of relief when she instead heard the familiar click of the TV. She never thought she’d see the day when she was happy to hear Fox News.

  Mattea’s bedroom was surprisingly big, mostly to accommodate the shelves lining all four walls, which made it seem much smaller than it actually was. There were hundreds of books on these shelves, most of which Mattea had already read. They were her pride and joy; she didn’t know what she’d do without them.

  Mattea pulled an armful of books off the shelves and set them on her bed, then began to sort them. Most of the time when she was younger, she sorted them by author, but as of late she’d been changing her system practically every day. Sorting them took her mind off of things, but never for long enough.

  Mattea stacked the books by thickness this time and set them on the top shelf, then took a few more and did the same with them until an entire bookcase had been sorted, with the smaller books on top and the thicker ones on the bottom. She was almost to the next shelf when she felt the hairs on her arms stand on end.

  Mattea turned around slowly. For a brief moment, she thought she saw… something perched on her lamp like a cat, watching her with baleful red eyes. But as soon as she saw it, it vanished like a puff of smoke, and she wondered if it had even been there in the first place. The prickly feeling lingered, though, stinging her skin. Mattea shuddered and turned back to the shelf, but those baleful red eyes haunted her still.

  The next day was a Monday, which unfortunately meant school. Mattea woke up early, packed her bags, and was out the door before 6:00 AM to avoid her father, passing her mother and brother, Lukas, in the kitchen on her way out; the latter was munching forlornly on a pop tart. His prestigious middle school was in the city, even further away than Mattea’s high school, and their father insisted on driving him there every day. Before their dad lost his mind, Lukas used to wear Mattea’s makeup to school; she’d even been the one who taught him how to put it on. Now, though, their father would be pissed at the mere sight of him wearing it and had even gone as far as to pull Lukas out one day and berate him in front of his entire class for daring to smuggle their mom’s eyeliner in his bag and apply it in the school bathroom. Only a year ago, Mattea would have tried to defend Lukas, but her patience and courage towards her father had been worn down to a nub. Lukas nodded forlornly in Mattea’s direction as she hurried past him out the door.

  Mattea was supposed to have her driver’s license by now and had even had a used car set up for purchase, but she’d had an argument with her father about it and he’d vetoed her plans, then revoked access to her bank account for good measure. Partially as an act of mercy to herself and partially as an act of spite towards him, she’d taken to leaving early ever since, justifying it by claiming that, if she’d had a car, the ride to school would be far shorter, but since she didn’t have a car, she’d have to walk for hours each day to and from the school. The real reason was that the only alternative was riding with him, and she preferred the cold and walking to spending ten minutes in the car with him. Well, that and she got to stop by the bookstore on the way.

  The bookstore, Kitty Corner, was more of a cat cafe that happened to sell a lot of books on the side. The proprietor was a sweet older man she called Richard, who ran the place with his grown daughter, Linsey.

  The bell over the door chimed as she entered, waking the black and white kitty snoozing by the door. She pulled off her gloves to pet them as she passed by.

  “Morning!” Linsey called from the counter.

  Mattea waved back, scanning the shelves. She took a book off of one of them, flipped through the first handful of pages, tucked it into her bag, and approached the counter.

  “Can I get my usual, please?” she murmured.

  “Of course!” Linsey wrinkled her forehead. “Are you alright?”

  “Yeah, my father’s just being…well, my father.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Linsey handed her a paper coffee cup and a paper bag, and Mattea fumbled for her wallet, fishing out her usual five dollars. Linsey took it, giving her back two. Mattea’s eyes widened and she tried to hand it back, but Linsey held up her hand.

  “It’s on the house,” she said. “You get the Daddy Discount for having a shit father.”

  Mattea clapped a hand over her mouth to hide the half-giggle, half-snort that would’ve come out otherwise. “That sounds so weird.”

  Linsey grinned. “It’s not wrong, though, is it?”

  “No, I guess not.” Mattea slipped the two dollars into her back pocket and smiled. “Thank you. Really.”

  Linsey waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t mention it.”

  Mattea climbed into her usual seat in the corner, careful to dust the crumbs from her muffin into the bag to keep the cats from eating them. Usually, people who ordered food here had to sit off to the side in an area fenced off to keep the cats out, but she stopped here so frequently and was always so diligent about cleaning up after herself that they turned a blind eye and let her sit there anyways. An orange cat jumped into her lap and started yowling like a furry demon at her, and she petted it with her free hand, balancing her book in the other. Even cats, it seemed, couldn’t understand that reading meant that you didn’t want to be disturbed. At least they were soft and less annoying about it.