in a small house

I CLASPED THE TORCHhand. Before me, a door led into yawning darkness – a void closed to mortals through aeons. It was a scene that brought to mind Howard Carter’s 1922 excavation of the tomb of Tutankhamun. Its dimensions and treasures were unknown, its silent depths knew no sunlight. I pushed open the door, and dust fell, like a flurry of snow. I was on an adventure. In my own attic.