God’s Attic

📅 Published on March 11, 2011

“God's Attic”

Written by Christian Thompson
Edited by Craig Groshek
Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek
Narrated by Otis Jiry

Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on CreepypastaStories.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed, adapted to film, television or audio mediums, republished in a print or electronic book, reposted on any other website, blog, or online platform, or otherwise monetized without the express written consent of its author(s).

🎧 Available Audio Adaptations: Scary Stories Told in the Dark – Podcast (Standard Edition) | 🔑 Podcast (Premium Edition) | YouTube (feat. Otis Jiry) ✦ Otis Jiry's Horror Storytime – YouTube (feat. Otis Jiry)

ESTIMATED READING TIME — 6 minutes

Rating: 10.00/10. From 2 votes.
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The boy heard the soft tinkle of a bell as he entered the shop. It was cool and dark inside; not at all what he had expected. Scattered around the small store were all sorts of items. Everything from teddy bears to cuckoo clocks could be seen, each item set carefully upon neat wooden shelves or displayed within a glass case against one wall. A faint, musty smell, like old clothing, tinged the air.

Something about the shop was unsettling; even frightening. Perhaps it was the dark, or the smell, but it seemed to Toby that this was a dark place. Maybe even a dangerous one. As far as he could see, he was alone in the store.

“Hello?” he called out tentatively. “Is there anybody in here?”

Only dark, musty silence greeted him.

He began to turn towards the door, thankful for an excuse to leave, when a voice spoke behind him.

“Leaving so soon?” it asked.

Toby spun around to see a tall, thin man leaning lazily against one of the glass display cases. Toby stared at the man, sure he had not been there before.

He let out a soft chuckle, then took a few strides towards Toby.

Toby drew back unconsciously as the man drew nearer. “Now, my dear boy,” he said, sounding hurt. “There’s no need to be frightened. I don’t bite.”

The store owner was quite a sight; he resembled a human toothpick, dressed in a tux of purple velvet, a red bowtie tied around his collar. A tall silk top hat, the same color as his tuxedo, was perched atop his head. The wide brim of his hat combined with the gloom of the shop bathed his face in shadows, though Toby could just make out a large, pointy nose above a pencil-thin mustache. The only feature that could be clearly seen were his eyes, which were a bright, neon green. But no… Toby watched with amazement as his eyes switched colors, flicking from green to red to blue, then back to green.

“Who… who are you?” Toby asked.

The mysterious man extended one long-fingered hand, encased within an orange silk glove. “Allow me to introduce myself,” he said. His voice reminded Toby the kind of sleazy used-car salesman that always shows up in the movies. “Walter O’ Whimsy,” he announced. “Purveyor of rare and desirable artifacts at affordable prices.”

Despite the man’s cheesy exterior, Toby found that there was something eminently likeable about the shop owner. He took the hand, shook it, releasing it quickly; there was something unpleasant about touching the man. His skin experienced a slight tingle when he touched the hand, like one of those prank sticks of gum that shock whoever pulls it.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. O’ Whimsy,” he said, rubbing his hand against his pant-leg and using the polite voice he always used when his father had people from work over for dinner.  “I’m-”

“Toby,” O’ Whimsy said, and jaw dropped. “Toby Daily, I believe.”

“But… how did you know?” The boy was flabbergasted.

“I have a knack for guessing names,” he replied, and winked at Toby. “So,” he said, his manner becoming more businesslike. “What brings you to my humble shop?”

“Well…” the boy said. The truth was, he didn’t really know. He had simply been passing by the shop when he had felt the urge to enter the strange building. “I just…”

O’ Whimsy gave a soft, not-quite-sinister laugh. “Yes,” he said quietly. “My shop does have that effect on some people.”

“What is this place, anyway?” Toby asked, looking around at the assorted items found all around the dingy room.

“This, my dear boy, is God’s Attic. Gathered here are some of the greatest treasures of this world- and others.” The man turned, walking towards the glass display case. “Come on, my boy. Let me show you.”

Toby followed the man to the case. O’ Whimsy drew a small golden key from his breast pocket, formed into the shape of a delicate question mark, with a purple gem set into the end. Dimly, Toby could see O’ Whimsy’s broad smile within the shadows of his face.

He slipped the key into the lock before dropping it back into his breast pocket. “Look here,” he said, pulling a small glass phial, carefully stoppered, from within the case. Inside was a slim black strand that Toby first mistook for a crack in the glass.

“This,” O’ Whimsy said with grandeur, “is said to be the hair of Samson. They say whoever possesses it will possess herculean strength.”

Toby looked at the hair with wonder. It couldn’t be true of course… but something, a feeling deep in his soul, told him that it was. He was about to ask the price when O’ Whimsy slipped it quickly back into the case. He then drew out a very old book, carefully bound in white leather. On the cover were golden runes that no one in this world could translate.

“This,” O’ Whimsy said, “is one of my proudest pieces. Unlike many of my others, its authenticity is assured. This, my dear boy, came from the shelves of the Great Monk himself, from the Library on the Edge of Forever.”

Toby was not really listening; something else had caught his attention. He pointed to it with wonder. “How much for that?” he asked.

O’ Whimsy looked where he was pointing. Sitting on the second shelf of the display case was a small golden ring, set carefully upon a square of purple cloth.

“Ah, yes,” O’ Whimsy said, placing the book back in the case. He withdrew the ring, holding it in his balm for Toby to see. “This, Toby, is said to date back to the eleventh Egyptian Dynasty. A possession of King Mentuhotep himself, I was told from the man who gave it to me. He also told me that it possesses fabulous power, and that it will change the life of its wearer in wonderful ways.”

As with Samson’s hair, Toby knew it could not be true… but found himself believing it anyway.

“What ways?” he asked, eying the ring and thinking of the change that clinked metallically in his pocket.

“That, I cannot say,” O’ Whimsy admitted. “I myself have never tried it on, for fear that, in reality, it is but an ordinary ring, void of any power. An old man afraid to have his hopes and dreams dashed, I suppose. Silly, really.”

“Could I…” Toby began, and his voice sounded distant and far away. All of his focus was upon the ring in O’ Whimsy’s palm. “Could I try it on?”

“Of course,” the man said. His grin broadened, and his eyes began to sparkle with an otherworldly light.

Toby took the ring from O’ Whimsy’s outstretched hand, careful not to touch the man’s palm. The metal felt cool against his skin, and he felt a shudder of pleasure as he touched it. As he slipped it onto his finger, he was amazed at how perfectly it fit. Not too loose, not too tight. He felt a surge of power rush up through his finger, across his body, and then… nothing.

“Well?” O’ Whimsy asked. His voice sounded eager.

Toby shook his head in disappointment. “Nothing.”

When O’ Whimsy spoke, he sounded let down. “Well,” he said. “These things do happen.” He paused, and then spoke again. He sounded brighter this time. “Well, I can’t very well sell a magic ring that isn’t magic,” he laughed. “If you want you can keep it. Free of charge.”

Toby looked up at O’ Whimsy with gratitude. Despite the letdown, he still wanted the ring, still liked the way it felt on his finger, the way the light caught the etched hieroglyphs upon the gold surface.

“Really?” he asked.

“Of course. You strike me as a good kid. Go ahead and take it.”

“Thanks!” he said, looking again at the ring, admiring its beauty. He turned, walking towards the door. O’ Whimsy gave a wave, which Toby returned.  “Bye, Mr. O’ Whimsy! I won’t forget this.”

As the boy left, the thing that called itself Walter O’ Whimsy sunk back into the shadows at the back of his shop, smirking in satisfaction. “No,” he said, lighting up a thin white cigarette that he seemingly pulled from thin air. “No, I don’t think you will.”

* * * * * *

Toby was more than halfway home when he became aware of the strange and frightening power of the ring. He looked down at his hand to admire it once more, when, to his shock, over half of his hand was simply… gone. The ring was still visible on his finger, but the finger itself was nowhere to be seen. It appeared to be floating in thin air. He screamed, but he was alone on the backcountry road.

He tried to pull the ring from his finger, but his fingers went right through where his hand should have been. He grabbed the ring, but he was unable to move it. He screamed again in terror as the invisibility began to spread, creeping up the back of his hand, to his wrist, up his forearm.

He could no longer feel the limb at all, and he realized with horror that he was not only turning invisible; his body was actually disappearing. He tugged and tugged at the ring, but it wouldn’t budge. It simply hung, suspended, in the place where his hand should have been.

He began to panic. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be real. The image of the shop owner flashed through his frightened and confused mind, and O’ Whimsy suddenly seemed less like a friendly, eccentric old man and more like Satan himself.

Toby shirked his backpack, tore off his shirt. His arm was completely gone, and his chest was beginning to dissolve as well. His legs, his other arm… going… going… gone.

Toby felt the strange sensation, the feeling of nothing touch his neck, creep up it, over his face. Frantically, he felt his mind slipping, falling apart. He began to forget things. Where he was, where he was going… who he was… until, finally, nothing more remained of Toby Daily.

The ring fell to the ground, landing in the dusty road, glinting innocently in the bright sunlight.

Rating: 10.00/10. From 2 votes.
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🎧 Available Audio Adaptations: Scary Stories Told in the Dark – Podcast (Standard Edition) | 🔑 Podcast (Premium Edition) | YouTube (feat. Otis Jiry) ✦ Otis Jiry's Horror Storytime – YouTube (feat. Otis Jiry)


Written by Christian Thompson
Edited by Craig Groshek
Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek
Narrated by Otis Jiry

🔔 More stories from author: Christian Thompson


Publisher's Notes: N/A

Author's Notes: N/A

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Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on CreepypastaStories.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed, adapted to film, television or audio mediums, republished in a print or electronic book, reposted on any other website, blog, or online platform, or otherwise monetized without the express written consent of its author(s).

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