I’ve written before about the disturbing nature of my attic – for example, this blog …
I was in the attic on Monday night, searching for the photo of me with Stripper Santa. I got really freaked out. My panic initially revolved around where the effing hell the Stripper Santa photo had gone. Are you one of those people that if they lose something are incapable of thinking or doing anything else until they find it again? I am. So I was flinging stuff around in an increasingly deranged fashion. (I’m going to be in serious trouble next time Husband looks in there.) After two hours of sneezing and swearing and smashing my arm and almost falling through the ceiling, I finally found the bloody thing. I also discovered lots of freaky stuff, including …
My HSC study notes
Every birthday card since I was born
An E.T doll with battery-operated, flashing eyes
A plastic bag filled with black sand from Hawaii
A June, 1959 copy of National Geographic (coincidentally containing a photograph of a Hawaiian black sand beach)
A Frenz Of The Enz badge
My high school uniform
A replica Crowded House jacket a friend painted for me
A black & white polka-dotted Morrissey Edmiston jacket
Two fossilised shells
A novel I wrote at age 11 called Scamp the Wonder Dog. (“By the same author: The Farnams on Faranite – the story of Charlie, Champ, his wife and their children. Faranite is a planet where one thousand familys emigrat in 2200. When the earth disintergrated.” reads the back flap.)
All my school report cards – primary and secondary
My extensive matchbox collection
Some of first dog’s teeth in a black plastic box
A framed cartoon drawing of a friend I had a secret crush on, tied naked to a four-poster bed (birthday gift)
Fortunately I wasn’t looking for the Stripper Santa photo last night, as I currently require a walking frame after attending a pilates class run by Ghenghis Khan reincarnated as a perky gym instructor called Jackie.
But the freaky nature of the attic usually has something to do with the god-awful mess inside it.
Recently, things have taken on a more sinister cadence.
I was sitting near the attic door the other night when I heard a weird flapping noise coming from behind it. So I did what every modern girl does in such circumstances – I tweeted my terror. I was reassured – via Twitter – that it was probably just a bat and to get over it. Eeeek! A bat! In my attic!
And now, every night, Husband and I are woken around 2am by the sound of gnawing and scrabbling. Sometimes it sounds like it’s in the wall behind the bed, sometimes it sounds like it’s in the ceiling, sometimes the attic.
We’re guessing it’s either a rat or a possum making a meal of the building materials in our house.
Eeeeek! A rat! In my attic!
So Husband has laid a few traps. Hasn’t caught anything yet. And still the gnawing haunts my dreams …
Speaking of scary attic stuff … Did you read Flowers In The Attic when you were a teen? Did it totally freak you out?