The Whispering Attic

The Whispering Attic Yavuz DEMİRKIRAN

Emma lived in a tall old house with creaky floors, crooked windows and one very mysterious attic. Every evening, just after the sun slipped behind the hills, strange whispers drifted down the attic stairs. Emma heard them from her bedroom, soft and shivery, like secrets being told. She pulled her mustard-yellow cardigan tight around her shoulders and listened. Her freckled nose twitched with wonder. 1

Emma was eight years old, small and slight for her age, with wavy chestnut hair tucked behind one ear. A little silver star clip sparkled on the left side of her hair. Every night, the whispers came again, humming and hissing through the dark hallway. Her big brown eyes grew wide. She wanted to know what made that sound. 2

Grandpa Walter sat in his big chair by the fire, polishing his round glasses. His white moustache twitched when he smiled. 'Did you hear the attic whispers again, Emma?' he asked gently. Emma nodded. 'They sound spooky,' she whispered. Grandpa clicked open his pocket watch and said, 'Spooky things are often just things we haven't understood yet.' 3

All week long, Emma's curiosity grew bigger and bigger, like a balloon filling with air. She thought about the whispers while she ate her toast and while she tied her red sneakers. What could whisper up there in the dark? A ghost? A secret? A hidden animal? She peeked up the stairs each evening, but her feet stayed put. 4

On Sunday, Emma decided she had waited long enough. 'I'm going to find out what makes those whispers,' she told Grandpa Walter. He looked up from his newspaper with kind grey eyes. 'That sounds brave,' he said. 'Take my flashlight, and remember, I'll be right here.' Emma's heart thumped, but she nodded and straightened her little silver star clip. 5

Emma stood at the bottom of the attic stairs. The steps were narrow and dusty, and the shadows stretched long and thin. A soft whisper floated down, like wind through leaves. She took one deep breath, then another. 'Curiosity is stronger than fear,' she whispered to herself. She clicked on Grandpa's flashlight. Its warm beam lit the first step. 6

Up and up she climbed, one red sneaker after the other. The wooden stairs creaked softly under her feet. Dust danced in the flashlight's glow, and cobwebs swayed like tiny curtains. The whispering grew louder, humming and sighing. Emma's hands were a little shaky, but her feet kept going. She reached the attic door and stopped to listen. 7

The whispering was right on the other side. Emma pushed the door with her small hand, and it swung open with a gentle groan. The attic was full of boxes, old chairs and a crooked lamp. Moonlight spilled through a round window. Then she saw it, standing in the corner: a tall wooden machine, carved with swirling patterns and crowned with a big pinwheel fan. 8

The machine was as big as a small wardrobe, made of dark oak wood with faded gold moon and stars painted on its side. A row of slender brass pipes rose from its belly, and tiny copper bells hung beneath them. A red velvet ribbon was draped across its frame. As the evening breeze turned the fan, the pipes began to hum and whisper. 9

Emma stepped closer, her brown eyes wide with wonder. The whispers were not spooky at all. They were music, soft and shivery, like a lullaby mixed with wind chimes. The pinwheel spun, the copper bells tingled, and the brass pipes sang their hushed song. 'So that's what made the noise,' Emma breathed. A cobweb tickled her elbow. 10

Just then, she heard slow footsteps on the stairs. Grandpa Walter appeared in the doorway, his forest-green cardigan buttoned up and his tartan slippers softly shuffling. 'You found it,' he said, smiling so wide that his white moustache curled right up. 'This old music machine has lived up here for over a hundred years.' Emma waved him over to listen. 11

Grandpa Walter explained that the machine was windpowered. When the evening breeze blew through the round window, it turned the pinwheel fan. The fan pushed air through the brass pipes and made them hum. The copper bells added their tinkle, and the oak cabinet whispered like a friendly voice. 'It's been playing music all along,' Grandpa said gently. Emma laughed out loud. 12

Emma felt silly for being scared, but mostly she felt proud. All those spooky whispers were just music, waiting for someone curious enough to come and listen. She touched the faded gold moon on the machine's side. 'I'm glad I climbed the stairs,' she said. Grandpa Walter squeezed her hand. 'Courage is just curiosity with its shoes on,' he said. 13

That evening, Emma and Grandpa Walter stayed in the attic until the stars came out. They opened the round window wide and let the night breeze drift inside. The old music machine hummed and whispered, and the little copper bells jingled along. Emma closed her eyes and swayed to the soft, secret music. It was the loveliest sound in the whole house. 14

Before bed, Emma ran to the attic stairs one last time and listened. The whispers drifted down, gentle and sweet now that she knew their secret. She felt brave and warm and a little bit sleepy. She gave the dark stairs a happy little wave. 'Goodnight, music machine,' she whispered back. Then she skipped off to her room with her red sneakers tapping.