The boy winced as he felt something hard slam against his spine. He was trying to stand but his space was too small to move.

Too dark to see. Too dusty to breathe.

The wooden floor beneath him was wet and mouldy. His cold feet shuffled against them. His toes frozen, he could barely feel them. He hugged his knees to his chest where he sat and stifled a cry. The suffocation didn't make him cry. Nor was it the fear of darkness. It was the staggering confusion that was overwhelming his senses.

His sight was blurry, his breathing was erratic.

When he couldn't stifle any more, he cried out loud, his voice raspy and worn, much like the bleating of a wounded sheep. He ran trembling fingers over his palm, feeling every crease and every line. His own body, familiar yet so strange.

His breathing hitched as he felt the cobwebs entangle around his fingers. The soft touch of its silky threads brought him consolation for a fleeting moment. His cries of agony quieted as he tried to grasp the feeling. A vague memory. He tried to reminisce but his mind was traitorous and agonizing. Something inside him begged him for hope. Something inside him told him that He was home.

That it was over. He was safe. He was free.

But something was wrong.

He wasn't free.

He can't be safe. This wasn't over.

This can't be home.

He cried out louder with a heavy heart and mind.

With a flicker of hope, he heard a creaking sound with which a delicate streak of light brightened the darkness around him. From where it shone from, he did not know. He sank back into the darkness by shutting his mouth close without an utterance. He let his exhaustion engulf him.

"I swear to god", A voice said in a tone of petition. "I heard something! and It came from the attic" A young boy walked in with curious eyes running all over for the mysterious person he heard crying.

"Don't swear on God if you're lying." Another voice sounded from afar, young and rather annoyed. "Is there anyone there?" the voice asked sceptically.

"Hello?" Hollered the stranger, wobbling an oil lamp in his hand. His voice wavered as he was afraid of the dark. The attic was engulfed in darkness with the little source of light from a small window tucked in a corner. The window proved useless source of light in the moonless night.

The boy with the lamp shuddered at the thought of feeling eyes on his back or something unholy lurking in the stacked old furniture pouncing on him as he walked into the attic. However he did not falter or turn back. His curiosity and his urge to prove himself right held him back from the refrain.

The boy hiding in the corner tensed at the sound but the flickering light made him crave for warmth. He let out a sob.

The stranger's steps neared the boy crawled up in the dark corner. He was barely visible underneath all the worn furniture. The boy tried to cry for help but his voice would not sound. His throat was hoarse. He moved, unsteadily rocking the furniture over him which startled the stranger.

His light finally fell on the boy's face before it immediately went off hitting the ground with a loud thud and a crackle as the flame snuffed around the broken glass.

"THE DEVIL'S IN THE ATTIC!" The stranger screamed in fright and thundered down his path making great noise.

The boy stiffened more, his heart seized to beat, hands trembled. He couldn't make out the source of the noises. Laughter gasps and cries they were. Then they were all quieted with one voice of authority. "Quiet!" That voice demanded.

A quiet moment passed before the sound of footsteps and the sight of light approached the boy again. This time it was of someone whispering a quaint tune. Light seeped back in and the new voice chanting with strange words, drew nearer.

"Evil! Show yourself!" The voice demanded.

The boy glimpsed the owner of the voice through his foggy vision. It was a nun- though he did not know what a nun was but he took in her veiled appearance, dressed in pure white from head to toe, cautiously walking towards him across the small space, uttering prayers of eviction holding out her lamp.

The confused boy stayed still stifling cries as the Nun neared him. Her chanting stopped as her sandled feet crunched on broken glass, right next to a pile of wooden brackets. She lowered her lamp. Unlike the stranger before she wasn't frightened as her light fell on the grimy boy.

"Sancta Maria!" She softly gasped, " What are you doing here child?" The nun knelt down by him, Setting her lamp on the floor. She swept the pile of broken glass to the side, with her sandalled foot and lifted the bracket of wood he was trapped under and helped him up. The boy wilted, unable to stand with sore legs. It was then, the nun saw the boys worn out brown trousers and dirty bare feet. He sat on the floor once again and pulled his knees up to his chest, defensively.

She picked up her lamp to get a clearer glimpse of the boy. Her eyes widened.

"Nathaniel?" She let out a cry as she reached out to him, cupping his face in her palm, making the boy wince at her startling grip as she took a closer look at his dirtied face. Nothing but dust and cobwebs.

She held him by his shoulders and hastily ran her eyes over him, looking for injuries. An audible catching of breath was heard as her light fell onto the boy's sleeves with a murky patch of splattered brownish red that ran across his sleeve to his torso on his beige vest.

"Dear God." The nun cried, covering her mouth with her hand. "You're hurt!"

The boy might not have known his name or how he came to be, but he knew one thing;
It was not his blood.