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Source written for Revision Library (original, copyright-free). Fictional playscript extract created for 11+ comprehension practice.
THE BOX IN THE ATTIC
CHARACTERS
MAYA, twelve years old, careful and observant
JAKE, fifteen years old, Maya's cousin, impatient and easily bored
SETTING
The attic of Grandma Pearl's cottage in Whitby, on a wet Saturday afternoon. A single bare bulb hangs from a beam. Old trunks, a rocking horse missing one ear, and stacks of newspapers crowd the sloping room. Rain drums steadily on the roof tiles.
(MAYA kneels beside an open trunk, lifting out folded blankets one at a time. JAKE leans in the doorway, arms crossed, watching the rain streak the small round window.)
JAKE: (sighing) I don't know why Grandma sent us up here. It's freezing, and there's nothing but old blankets and spiders.
MAYA: (not looking up) There might be something interesting. She said there were 'things worth finding' if we looked properly.
JAKE: (rolling his eyes) That's what grown-ups always say about attics. It's never true.
(MAYA's hand stops on something hard beneath the last blanket. She pulls out a small wooden box, its corners bound in tarnished brass, a keyhole but no key.)
MAYA: (softly) Jake. Look at this.
(JAKE crosses the room quickly, crouching beside her. He reaches for the box.)
JAKE: Give it here, then.
MAYA: (pulling it back slightly) Wait - it's locked. We shouldn't just pull at it.
JAKE: (under his breath) Since when do you care about 'shouldn't'?
MAYA: Since it's not ours. There could be a reason it's locked.
(A pause. JAKE sits back on his heels, studying the box properly for the first time. He runs a thumb over the brass corner.)
JAKE: (quieter now) Sorry. I just - I want to know what's inside. Don't you?
MAYA: (turning the box over in her hands) Course I do. That's exactly why we should be careful. If we force it and something's fragile inside, we won't get a second chance.
(Thunder rumbles far off. JAKE glances at the window, then back at the box.)
JAKE: Fine. Ask Grandma, then. She'll know where the key is.
MAYA: (hesitating) Or... we could look first. Properly, I mean. There might be a clue up here.
(She sets the box down carefully on a folded blanket and begins searching through the trunk again, more slowly this time, checking pockets of old coats and the seams of a velvet pouch.)
JAKE: (brightening, joining in) What am I looking for?
MAYA: Anything small. Metal. Anything that doesn't belong with blankets.
(JAKE digs through a shoebox of buttons and ribbon, then stops, holding up a thin brass key on a length of faded string.)
JAKE: (quietly, almost disbelieving) Maya.
(MAYA turns. For a moment neither of them moves.)
MAYA: (barely a whisper) Try it.
(JAKE holds the key out to her instead.)
JAKE: You found the box. You should.
(MAYA takes the key. Her hand is not quite steady as she fits it to the lock.)