My new home held many surprises. One of the best things about moving into a new house is never knowing what you'll find. The previous owner of my new home had passed away several years ago with no will, and left everything in the house with no one to give it to. I loved antiques and planned on keeping most of the furniture and decorations set up around the house. But today I had decided to clean out the attic. The stairwell was hidden in the back a small closet, and a doubted that there was much up there. But as I poked my head into the storage place, I was quite surprised and a bit wonderstruck. A large window let in lazy sunbeams that lit up the room filled with stacks of books, trunks and chests, and piles of junk. I brushed away cobwebs and left footprints in the dusty wooden floor, as I ventured into the cave-like room. I decided to start with the truck closest to me, I knelt down and pushed it open. The of dust and old clothes hit me and brought back memories of summers spent at my grandmother's house, hunting through chests and dressers, looking for imagination. I pulled out a white satin nightgown and unfolded it to get a better look, as it unraveled an old looking photo album fell out onto the floor. I carefully pick it up and ran my fingers over the leather binding and yellowed pages. It opened with a small creaking sound and I was cautious not to open it too fast, for fear of it falling apart in my hands. The album held black and white photos of families, babies, and children sitting together- I smiled as I flipped through the book. Then my smiled twisted into a look of confusion and horror as I came across a photograph of a  child sitting, slouched in a wicker chair, her head turned inhumanly to the side, her skin tight, teeth exposed, and eyes slightly opened enough to reveal she had no eyes at all. I gasped and covered my mouth, this was an album of post-mortem photography, everyone in it was dead. I closed it slowly and placed it ontop of the dress. It was a startling discovery, but didn’t shake me enough to stop looking through the chest. I dug around for a little while longer, mostly finding clothes and accessories. I reached my hand to the bottom of the chest then withdrew it quickly with a small scream- I had touched something small and covered in what felt like human hair. I gathered my courage again and parted the fabrics that lay in the trunk to see what it was. I laughed at myself when I saw it- a doll. I porcelain doll, about 12 inches, with faded rose lips, a baby blue lace dress, and soft light brown hair, human hair. I gently scooped her up and looked her over. No cracks, no stains, a little faded but in very good condition. On the back of her neck, hidden by her hair, someone had carved the name “Delilah.”
“Hey there Delilah, what’s it like inside the trunk? Did you spend your days stuck up here with all this useless junk?” I mimicked the tune to “Hey There Delilah” by the Plain White T’s, and then mentally told myself to shut up because I was only embarrassing myself, even though I was the only one in the room.
I carried Delilah out of the attic and placed her on one of the shelves in the living room. I hated the idea of her wasting away, sitting lost and forgotten in that crowded attic. When I finished unpacking all of my things I would place some of my dolls around her to keep her company. Antiques were a hobby of mine, and as strange as it may seem, I felt at home surrounded by them in this new, old house.