FAR SIDE OF THE ATTIC, Chapter 2

(previous bit)

Chapter 2,

"In the Attic"

     The buyer and the agent were chatting near the access opening when I popped my head back out of the attic.  I collected my tools and told them about the other opening and that I needed to go back in and check it out.  They seemed more interested in the old trunks and the pulp novel, “Pajama Party.”

     Once back in the attic, I made my way back to the second access panel.  These screws were like new----there were no mangled slots, as if they had never been removed since the day they were installed----certainly they had never been painted.  They were also only about an inch and a half long and came out relatively easily with the right tools----didn’t need vice-grips after all.  

     With the cover out of the way I discovered there was another panel.  This panel slid up into a slot above it and I had to find something to prop it open. 

     A little ledge at the top of the opening under the panel provided a place where my screw driver could precariously support the heavy panel.  I had visions of Marie Antoinette.  Through the opening I could see the yellowed museum label and paper backing of a painting----the picture’s hanger-wire ran vertical in the opening. This must be inside a closet somewhere I thought.  I slid the picture to one side and I was fortunate that this was not one of 20 paintings stacked against the opening.  Just the one----lucky me.  Behind the painting there was a mountain of stuffed animals.  It reminded me of the closet ET hid in to elude discovery.  I was willing to bet that I would stick out like a sore thumb to anyone on the other side of this pile----then again maybe not.  Pushing the pile aside, I thought I heard voices and laughter----must be the buyer and the agent I figured. 

     The smell of pancakes and real maple syrup filled the air. 

     The closet light was on----I would not need my flashlight any longer.  I took my shoes off one at a time and stepped into the pile of stuffed animals as I left the attic behind.  The floor was carpeted.

     The oddest feeling came over me because none of the house so far had been carpeted.  I was entering a giant walk-in closet with louvered doors.  I looked out through the louvers to see two young children, a boy and a girl, lying on the floor playing a board game----Candyland.  Panic stricken, I stood up hard----cracking my skull on a sharp metal shelf support and then collapsed, bleeding, into the pile of stuffed animals.

     When I came to, a woman that I assumed to be the children’s mother was kneeling down beside me and holding an ice-pack on my head.  The children were huddled around her shoulders smiling wide curious smiles.

     “Where am I,” I asked, trying to feel the bump on my head under the cold ice-pack.

     “Next door,” she answered nonchalantly.

     At this point I was beginning to think that I had done something much worse than crack my skull.  I knew damn well there could be no “next door”----at least not directly attached to this house that I was inspecting. 

     Had “curiosity” actually finally killed the cat? 

     I knew that if I asked her the address of where we were, I could get to the bottom of where we actually were and all this “next door” baloney would go away.

     “What address are we at?” I asked her, wincing from the pain in my head.

     “3647 North South Street,” she answered without hesitating.

     While I had hoped for a simple answer to the confusion, this answer only made matters worse.  That was in fact the address of my inspection, so how could it also be her address?  I confessed to her that I didn’t understand how this could be.  She just said that she couldn’t explain it either but that she and her kids had lived there for several years.

     “But I don’t understand where “here” is,” I said trying to muster some sense of composure, when all I really wanted was an aspirin.  I was also grateful that I didn’t have to explain what I was doing in her closet.

     “I am here to inspect the house----and now I am here with you----and for the life of me I can’t figure out how this can possibly be,” I pleaded.

     “We know why you are here.  We have been listening to you through the walls since you got here----we even heard you up on the roof,” she said.

     “Listen lady, I know a lot about houses and I know damn well there simply is not room for this space I am in right now to fit inside the house I started inspecting this morning,” I declared.

     “Well that obviously cannot be so----because here we are,” she said with a sympathetic smile.

      Remembering hearing the laughter of the children I said, “If you have been here all along, why didn’t I hear you or the kids through the walls from the other side?” I was feeling confident again that I might still find a reasonable explanation.

     “Perhaps you were not listening,” she said.

     Ouch.  She certainly knew how to cut to the quick---as she pressed my coveted “powers of observation” button.  I decided to humor her and just go along for the ride for the time being----and see where this adventure would take me.  Sooner or later “curiosity” always kicks in----as reliable as death itself and perhaps why eventually curiosity does kill the cat.

(continued in a bit)