At the age of ten, some might say Denise Hartland was a kid but those who knew her better called her an old soul. She knew from experience that dull, cloudy days without a ray of sunlight always spelled a bad omen for her.
Her heart thudded a rapid staccato as she sat in the back seat of the official orphanage car, her hands folded calmly on her knees. One of the staff of the orphanage rode with her into the city.
Denise was going to her new foster home.
As the car slowly drove through the iron-wrought gate of a big modern house, she pressed her nose to the window glass to gaze at the magnificent house.
The landscape of the grounds was vibrant, colourful and alive. The walls were tall with big, crystal-clear windows. Her eyes were particularly drawn to a small window directly below the roof. Her new family must have an attic.
A middle-aged man dressed in a black suit walked out of the house stiffly and opened the passenger door. "Well, come out, young lady. Don't keep Mr and Mrs Graham waiting," he said, his eyes dark and shifty.
Denise disliked him instantly.
She stepped out of the car and glanced back at the staff from the orphanage. The woman nodded. "You'll do just fine, Denise. You have the office number. Call if you need anything and I'll check on you by the end of the month as agreed. Okay?"
Denise watched as the car turned and drove out of the gate again. Tension curled up inside her but she gritted her teeth. Now was not the time to give in to any weakness.
"Denise?" The man in a suit with weird, shifty eyes laid a hand on her shoulder. She gave a silent gasp from the shock of his clammy hand and edged away from his touch. He smirked. "You may call me Mr Cooper. Get it?"
"Yes, Mr Cooper. My name is Denise—"
"I know. Denise Hartland. Come with me."
Denise followed behind as he led her into the big house. The floors were marble, clean and shiny. Tall, mediaeval paintings graced the neat walls. The scent of fresh flowers permeated the house.
Two ladies dressed in black and white pinafores walked by. One of them smiled at her. Denise smiled back. They must be the housemaids. Her new foster parents were wealthy.
"Quick steps, Denise. Don't dawdle," Mr Cooper said, pressed a hand on her back and gently guided her forward. Denise never felt more uncomfortable in her ten years.
He led her into a room with bookshelves, tables and chairs arranged beautifully like an old Victorian room. A middle-aged couple sat across from each other playing chess.
"Sir, Madam, this is Denise Hartland," Mr Cooper announced. "Denise, Mr and Mrs Graham."
The man smiled and stood up. The woman glanced at Denise for a moment before returning to her game. It was her turn to make a move.
"Well, hello, young lady. Welcome. We are happy to have you live with us," Mr Graham said.
Denise smiled. "Thank you, sir. You have a beautiful house."
"Aww, such a proper thing to say," Mrs Graham replied, her gaze on the chessboard. "We hope you'll like it here, Denise. Cooper, is the attic room ready?"
"Yes, madam."
"Great. Show Denise to her room and return asap. We need to go over my book club meeting together."
"Certainly, madam."
As Denise walked up the stairs with Mr Cooper, her heart sank. Nothing felt right about the house and she missed her friends at the orphanage already.
When she was told that the Graham couple were interested in fostering her for a trial period of three months, she was determined to make it work. She wanted a home she could call hers like some of her friends. Yet there was an unease in her heart once they drove into the premises.
"Alright, Denise. Here's your room." Mr Cooper turned the doorknob and the door creaked open, revealing a compact room. The bed was covered with white sheets while the pillow and blanket were pink in colour. Denise was not a fan of pink colours. Another bad omen.
There were two small tables beside the bed. The room had only one window. It was the attic room. Denise felt like a servant rather than a foster child.
She walked in with her small bag, looked around and caught Mr Cooper giving her a sly look before closing her door. She shivered as her hair stood on end.
She noticed the door had no lock. She sat on the bed for a moment lost in thought until a loud knock jarred her out of despondency.
The housemaid that smiled at her gently opened the door, a tray of food and drink in her hands. "Hello, Denise. You've been up here for a while and missed dinner. I brought you some leftovers. I'm Sally."
"Thank you, Sally." Denise took the tray.
"No worries. If you need anything, come and find me in the kitchen. Also," Sally paused and glanced around like someone might come up behind her. "Beware of Mr Cooper. If he tries anything, anything at all, report him to Mr Graham, okay?"
Denise's heart lurched. The unease she felt was beginning to make sense. "What do you mean?"
"Just exactly that. Don't laugh or talk with him, okay? If he does something you don't like, tell Mr Graham." Sally left and shut the door behind her.
When it was night, Denise lay on the bed and gripped the blanket tightly to her chest. She couldn't sleep. Sally's advice echoed over and over in her head. Every creak, cricket chirp and unusual night sound set her teeth on edge until the early hours of the morning when she slipped into a deep sleep.
A light, feathery touch on her neck slipping down to her collarbone pulled her out of dreamland to reality. Her eyes widened in shock at first, wondering where she was. The night glow from the window jogged her memory.
She turned to stare into the eerie, dark face of Mr Cooper in the shadows. He smiled and placed a finger on his mouth to shush her.
Without a thought, Denise yelled at the top of her voice. Her shrill cry rang through the quiet house.
Mr Cooper quickly covered her mouth, trying to muffle her screams and flailing hands when loud footsteps resounded outside the room. The door burst open to reveal Sally, Mr and Mrs Graham.
An early morning excitement engulfed the Graham house as two police cars were parked on the premises. Mr Cooper was handcuffed and led to one of them.
It was revealed that Mr and Mrs Graham's two attempts to adopt a girl child from orphanages failed because the girls were involved in some inexplicable accidents.
The other police car conveyed Denise Hartland, thankfully unharmed, back to the orphanage.
The room looks compact, most likely for a child and it seems to be located upstairs close to the roof, like an attic room.
The room evokes melancholy, like a small space for a young person or a servant to hole up in.
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