Heat and mothball stink washed over me.

Bulb out, but enough gray light to work with filtered through the dormers. Nothing was scurrying or swaying or scratching at the floor. Not that I could see.

I could almost stand up straight, keeping my weight on the support beams. Once, my father fell through the attic, the ceiling, and into the bedroom. I didn't plan on ruining my ceiling. The place was a rental.

Was I supposed to look for rat shit? How does one tell if there have been squirrels in the attic? I started moving boxes out of the corners, checking along the edges of the walls. Most of this stuff wasn't even mine. Artifacts from previous tenants.

It's fascinating what people will leave behind. Forgotten, but not gone.

I knocked a television sized box over, figuring it was safer away from the supports than I. Stuffed animals tumbled out and sank into the insulation. But those creepy eyes were staring right at me.

I reached down to pick up the doll, and heard the door behind me click shut.