Page 8 of First Street (Harbor View Cozy Fantasy #1)

Chapter Six

Ocean

Ever since Ocean was little, her grandmother’s house had felt like one big discovery museum.

Every closet held a mystery. Every room had a bookcase overflowing with tiny porcelain animals, carved wooden boxes, and old books with spines so worn they looked like they might crumble if she touched them.

..and they sometimes did. The whole house was a maze of hidden corners and forgotten spaces and secret cubbyholes, tempting her to explore.

And that was only the house. The barn was always crammed with ten times more stuff. The best part? It was constantly changing.

The few times her grandmother had explored with her, Ocean had been mesmerized by the stories Clare would tell about the items. She could recall exactly when and where each piece came from.

Estate auction or old family home or even a yard sale.

She seemed to know the local people who had once owned them too, including the family history and why the furniture had ended up in her shop.

Ocean’s grandmother knew her business. She was a walking encyclopedia of antiques.

With only a glance, she could tell when a piece was built, often who had built it, the quality of its craftsmanship, and what it was worth.

But more than that, she always understood the sentimental value an item held for the generations who had used it and cared for it.

..before the current heirs came in and sold it all.

And Clare wasn’t generally complimentary in referring to them. For a long time, Ocean thought ‘rapacious vultures’ were a local breed of seabird.

Remembering her grandmother’s feelings, Ocean felt a pang of guilt about what her mother planned to do. Sell it all. But at the same time, she understood that unless another door opened and another option presented itself, Skye wouldn’t change her mind.

That meant it was up to Ocean to convince her otherwise.

She’d been getting ready for bed when she realized another option was right here, staring them in the face. The two of them could run the antique business.

Lying in the darkness with the sea breeze wafting in from the partially open window, Ocean had made a pros-and-cons list in her head.

On the pro side, her mother could still write her articles and blog remotely.

Ocean could finish high school here and help out with the business.

They’d be living in her grandmother’s house, which had been in the family for generations.

Living in Harbor View would be more affordable than Los Angeles.

And when it came to estate sales and what they lacked in experience, Skye was an expert researcher. Together, they could make it work.

As for the cons? They’d be even farther from her father. But emotionally speaking, Ocean already felt worlds away. The rest of the cons weren’t even worth listing.

Ocean realized she’d already made up her mind. Still, she was getting ahead of herself.

She finally drifted off to the sound of a distant bell buoy.

By the time she woke up the next morning, her mother was already gone.

Ocean found a note on the kitchen table with a carton of orange juice and a cinnamon raisin roll from the bakery around the corner.

The note reminded her that Skye was meeting Arthur at the Town Hall.

..and she was to ‘STAY OUT of the Salt Box.’

Ocean dropped the note on the table, took a bite of the pastry (still warm, seriously fresh), and wandered over to the kitchen window. The ‘Closed’ sign hung crookedly on the barn door, looking more like a dare than a warning.

Why was it that the moment someone told her not to do something, it instantly became the only thing she wanted to do?

Luckily, she already had a plan. While her mom was out, she’d made a mental list of everything she wanted to check out before the house went up for sale. At the very top of the list? The attic.

That narrow door in the upstairs hallway ceiling had always tempted her, but she’d never once been allowed up there.

She knew the attic had once been her mother’s favorite hangout, a secret retreat where teenage Skye and her friends could escape for a little privacy.

Ever since Ocean heard that, she’d been dying to see it for herself. The idea that her mom hadn’t always been the perfect daughter? That was irresistible.

But what intrigued her most was something far stranger. The cage.

An antique structure made of oak and steel bands. Supposedly, it was large enough to hold a grown person. From what she’d heard, it was too big to have come through the pull-down door or the attic windows. Which meant someone had built it up there.

No one—not even Clare, whose family had lived in the house for generations—seemed to know who made it or why. And according to Skye, her mother had never wanted to find out.

But that wasn’t the end of the story.

Dragging a chair into the hallway, Ocean stood on it and reached for the short rope attached to the attic door. She tugged on it, and the thing swung down easily. A folding ladder was attached to the door.

“Of course, there’d be an easy way to get up there,” she muttered.

She climbed up and peered into the semi-darkness. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust. There were two small windows, one at each end of the attic. They had multiple panes of colored glass, so they didn’t provide much light.

Above her, a string dangled from a bare light bulb. She climbed up a few more steps until she could reach it. When she pulled on it...nothing. The light didn’t turn on.

“Perfect.”

With a deep breath, Ocean kept climbing until she was half way through the opening. The thought suddenly occurred to her that this was a great place for bats. She stopped.

“Hello!” She waved her arms. No bats. No movement. So far, so good.

The attic smelled old. Dust and wood. And something sharp and tangy—like rusted metal. And the scent of mothballs.

The smooth wooden floor looked solid enough.

Scattered around the attic were a few mismatched dining room chairs.

A tabletop leaned against the far wall, legs stacked beside it.

Framed pictures, shrouded in faded bedsheets, stood like forgotten sentinels.

Wooden crates, open cardboard boxes, and a pair of antique trunks filled one corner.

Some of the boxes had already been rummaged through, with stacks of books and loose papers beside them.

A thin mattress, clearly used as a makeshift sofa, had been folded up and covered with a tattered quilt, then propped against the large brick chimney that rose through the center of the space. Stuffed garment bags hung from a sagging pole strung between the rafters.

Ocean climbed the rest of the way until she was standing. She was surprised how high the roof was above her head.

The light went on. She looked at it, surprised.

“Okay.”

Now she saw it. The cage. It was on the far side of chimney. The door was wide open. Someone had draped it with fake Christmas garlands. Inside lay a small, folded rug and a couple of pillows. There was room for two people in there. More pillows were scattered around it.

Ocean could easily picture Skye and her friends turning this attic into a secret hideaway, smoking weed and talking about boys.

She turned slowly around, taking it all in. Dusty, musty, and totally awesome. This place was dope.

Pulling out her phone, she snapped a few pics and texted them to Ivy. The last time they’d talked, her friend was still in Arizona with her mom.

Check this out

Ocean’s screen lit up instantly.

Where r u??

Grandma clares attic

Cool. How long are you there for

Forever hopefully. Summer in ct ?

Im down

As of two weeks ago, Ivy’s parents still hadn't decided who she was going to spend the summer with.

Get here then. We’ll throw down some blankets. Sneak snacks. Just hang

Ivy’s text reply was quick. I wish. Looks straight out of a movie

Yeah. Secret. Kinda creepy. But def lit. Facetime?

Cant. Out w mom. Pm?

Cool

Ocean tucked her phone into her pocket and walked toward one of the windows, waving a hand in front of her. She hated spiderwebs.

The wavy, multi-colored panes warped the world outside into a blur of shifting shapes. Ocean tugged at the small metal latch at the side of the window. It didn’t budge.

“Some air, please?” she muttered.

She gave it a harder yank. Still nothing.

“Probably hasn’t been opened in a hundred years,” she added under her breath. “Since Mom was a kid, at least.”

With a sigh, she let go and turned toward the window at the far end of the attic. She’d barely taken a few steps when a sharp, high-pitched scrape behind her cut through the stillness.

She froze. Heart thudding.

Then she spun around.

The window she’d just struggled with was now open. Wide open.

The attic suddenly felt colder.

Every hair on her arms and neck stood on end. Her heart pounded. She stared at the open window, frozen. The attic felt suddenly still. Too still.

She didn’t move. Just listened.

And waited.

A cool breeze drifted in, brushing her skin with the faint scent of flowers. Sort of like the lavender oil Ivy’s mom used. It was sweet, but right now not the least bit comforting. That window didn’t just open on its own. No chance.

She took a cautious step backward. Every creak of the old wooden floorboards now sounded unnaturally loud in the thick, unnatural silence.

A minute ago, she’d been ready to explore. Now…not so much.

“Okay,” she said aloud, trying to steady her nerves. “I’m from California. Born and raised. Not used to…creaky haunted houses.”

Great. Now she was talking to empty rooms.

Then—another noise. A sudden bang behind her.

Ocean spun around.

The second window, the one she hadn’t even touched, was now wide open.

A gust barreled in, scattering dust and whipping old papers into a frenzy.

“Fu-u-u-uck!”

She didn’t wait. In the next breath, she was scrambling down the ladder like that attic was on fire.