Lyn stood at the foot of the metal ladders leading up to the loft. Her husband, Ian, was up there again. The attic space had become his favourite place recently. Where other men would spend time fishing or watching sports, or in the pub, Ian was retreating more and more, to their recently converted roof-space of the terraced house. 

‘Are you coming down, love? I’m putting the kettle on.’ She called.

Ian’s head appeared in the square of the open loft-hatch. 

‘Yeah, I’ll be down in a minute.’

‘Do you want me to bring your tea up to you?’ she asked.

‘No, don’t come up here, it’s filthy. It’s mostly junk covered in dust and cobwebs. Indiana Jones would have a field day up here.’ He laughed. 

When he joined his wife in the living room, she asked him how his work in the loft was going.

‘It’s such a mess. There’s so much to do. It will be a nice little storage space, when I’m done, but it’s a right tip at the minute.’

‘I’m sure it’ll be lovely when you’re finished.’ Lyn said.

‘Oh yes, but there’s a lot of work to do until then.’ Ian admitted.

One night, Lyn woke up, needing the bathroom. She checked the time on the bedside clock. Three fifteen a.m. She rolled over to see if Ian was asleep. She stared in confusion in the early morning darkness. She was alone in the bedroom. She sat up in bed, peering around the dark room. Ian, she whispered, where are you? She went to the bedroom door and peered out onto the landing. She sighed. The hatch to the loft was open, the light spilling down onto the landing. She marched to the foot of the ladders.

‘Ian, are you really tinkering in the loft? Have you seen the time?’ she called out.

She heard Ian chunnering to himself, and after a long pause, his head appeared in the loft hatch, his hair still ruffled from the pillow.

‘Oh, hi love. Erm, yeah, I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d crack on with this.’

‘And what exactly is it that you are cracking on with up there?’ she asked.

‘Sorry?’

‘What are you doing? Right now, what exactly are you doing?’

‘Oh, you know, tinkering.’

‘Tinkering with what?’ Lyn said.

Ian glanced over his shoulder, to the loft-space behind him, with what Lyn could have sworn was guilt 

‘Anyway, I’m coming down now. I’ll try and get back to sleep.’ He said.

As Ian snored beside her, Lyn wondered if her husband was hiding something from her. What was he doing in the loft for hours on end? He had all-but barred her from going up there. Whenever she mentioned the loft, he would describe how dirty it was up there, before quickly changing the subject. He could be doing anything up there, could have anything stashed up there. A silly thought occurred to her. He could have somebody chained up and gagged up there for all she knew. She smiled at the ridiculous thought, but the fact was that he could have something rather sinister up there. What if he was disposing of the bodies of his victims up there, while she was innocently watching television, and making him cups of tea? She recalled the local news broadcast that evening. Hadn’t several people gone missing recently? What if Ian was involved? It was a silly notion, she told herself. But how did she know? She told herself that she would look in the loft, see it with her own eyes, the next chance she got.

Over the next two days, as Ian pottered in the loft, Lyn worried herself sick downstairs. She would ask what he was doing yet again, and was again fobbed off with vague answers. 

‘Pottering, with my tools and stuff, you know?’ Ian said.

‘No, Ian, I don’t know.’

‘Anyway. I must crack on.’ He replied.

He quickly scurried up the ladders, eager to get back to whatever it was he was up to.

One evening, he arrived home, clutching carrier bags full of stuff. He barely bid Lyn good evening, before making for the loft. 

‘What’s in the bags?’ Lyn asked.

‘Just bits and pieces.’

‘Bits and pieces? Really? That’s all you’re going to tell me?’

‘I’ll be down for a cup of tea later.’ 

He turned and rushed way to the loft. Lyn had a horrible feeling about what her husband was doing. There was something wrong up there, something very wrong indeed. What Lyn would discover would completely change the way she looked at her husband. 

The following evening, Lyn arrived home from work first, as usual. Normally, she would make a start on the evening meal, with Ian returning home shortly after, tonight, however, she had a mission. She had a task that had been on her mind all day. Tonight she would see for herself, what was in the loft. She would get the answers, first-hand, that Ian was refusing to provide. She hung her coat up in the hallway, tossed her keys on the counter, and with a determination in her step, headed upstairs. 

She opened the loft hatch and yanked down the metal ladders. She took a deep breath, as the ladders clanked and snapped into positon. As she was climbing the creaking ladders, she heard Ian come through the front door. He called out for her, as he usually did. Lyn didn’t respond. She had business to attend to, and did not want him putting her off. She hurried up the ladders and emerged in the dark of the loft space. 

‘Lyn, what do you think you are doing?’ Ian called out.

Lyn switched on the light and gasped. She couldn’t take her eyes off the scene in front of her. What she saw was the last thing she would ever have expected. She stared in shock at the strange items and objects in front of her. She knew this kind of thing went on but had no idea her husband would be involved in such things. This had been going on in the attic of her home and she’d had no idea. Was this really what he was into? Ian dashed up the ladders, calling to her.

‘It’s not what you think, love. I can explain.’

As he joined her in the loft, she waved her hand what filled the roof-space.

‘A model train-set?’ she laughed.

By Chris Platt

From: United Kingdom