The Girl in the Attic

by Jon Athan

He blamed the outside world for Abigail’s death, unwilling to take responsibility himself.

but it was still just a secret, unauthorized prison cell for an unsentenced inmate.

Goosebumps spread across her thin arms while fresh mucus mixed with blood dripped from her nose. She felt like she was freezing to death. And since she hadn’t had anything to drink since the previous night, she was parched, too. She started licking the cold water off her arms and chest. It wasn’t enough to quench her thirst, so she lapped at the puddle of dirty bath water underneath her. Some of the bloody mucus from her nose landed in the puddle as well.

Parents had a lot to fear—pedophiles, rapists, serial killers, pedophilic rapist serial killers, drugs, guns, the internet, and drugs and guns on the internet. And most of those fears were fueled by one thing: Losing track of their child’s whereabouts.

“I’d say I wish I was dead, but… but I feel like I’m already dead. I just… I can’t remember when I died.”

“And you are my property. And you will be my property until you are a full-grown, competent, respectful adult. In the meantime, I think those slave masters—despite their wickedness—had the right idea. I can’t rely on whippings to control you. I need to break you. I need to set an example so you’ll never try to run away or raise a hand at me again.”

In self-destructive societies, there was no such thing as good karma—only destruction.

There was nothing else to say. His fate was sealed. He saw a reflection of his old self in his daughter—miserable, angry, hateful. She had adopted his worst traits. He realized he had created a monster through his monstrous actions. Like father, like daughter.