You cannot imagine my attic.
It’s like an archaeological dig up there.
Nearly 300 years of families stuffing their junk in the attic has it actually, literally stratified.
In the northeast corner are the eyeglasses and potion bottles from the 1700s.
A few feet to the south are the layers of the 1800s with old schoolwork and weird leather shoes.
A few feet more and you get into the early 1900s and then come the huge stacks of Jehovah Witness booklets.
The whole attic is like that, not to mention the treacherous spots where the floorboards are just suddenly “not there” and your foot disappears into the abyss of whatever waits between the creepy spaces.
And then there’s the *wasps*.
Angry, angry wasps.
Lots of them.
[and there might be bats...I dunno for sure because I avoid the place like the plague]
You cannot imagine my attic.
* * *
I come from three generations of hoarders so actually, yes I can. ;o)
At any rate, just because *you* don’t want to go into your attic doesn’t mean Alice doesn’t! Seriously, I would check there, if you haven’t already.
Again, much luck on finding her! (Him?)