author: Nicole J. LeBoeuf

Notes from the author:

I was fascinated with attics as a child. I could think of nowhere better to explore and play. They were mysterious caverns, secret passages, magicians’ towers, witches’ dens. I was blessed with no less than three of them in the house where I grew up. The attic “up top” required a folding ladder to even reach the trap door in the ceiling, and so was of little interest. But the two walk-in attics had potential. The west side attic had hidden areas, accessible only by a small and determined child—I considered them my personal territory. And not only did the east side attic connect my room to my brother’s room—a genuine secret passage!—but its entrance on my end was a door in the back wall of an otherwise ordinary closet. It was wardrobe access to my own personal Narnia.

I was forbidden to play in the attics—no surprises there. They were dark, they were crowded with boxes I was not to open, and they were dangerous places to play. I might puncture myself on the roof nails poking through the wood frame. I might miss my step where there were no floorboards and fall through the downstairs ceiling, as apparently Mom had done once long ago. Besides, shouldn’t I be outside on such a beautiful day? Nevermind if it was August in New Orleans, with both the temperature and the humidity in the upper nineties. Go out and play!

Naturally I sneaked into the attics any chance I got. And I keep having dreams that take place in those attics, or somewhere like them, dreams of play, adventure, deadly pursuit, or refuge.

Dust lay thick and undisturbed on every chest and basket. The only light was what filtered through the air slats in the gables; the only sound was the sleepy commentary of the starlings that nested there. Aside from the boxes holding the artificial Christmas tree and its ornaments, nothing in the attic had been touched in years.

Suddenly light cracked across the floorboards and slapped the sides of the nearest boxes: The trap door had been opened out of season. A head briefly blocked the light. Then the door opened fully, admitting an artificial sunrise and four children with adventure on their minds.

Jenny, of course, was first into the attic. It was her house, after all. She clambered onto the floorboards then turned to aim a shushing gesture at the three who followed her. Her status as hostess lent her a certain authority; certainly she’d been the one to say, “It’s too hot outside; let’s go to my place and check out the stuff in the attic. Of course my mom won’t mind. How can she mind if she doesn’t know? And you’re not going to tell her, Carl.”

Carl was the serious one who believed in rules and order. He was deeply uneasy about sneaking around. Proper parental permission should have been acquired, but with that ship sailed, he contented himself with devising a tidy system for exploration. If they divided the attic into quadrants, he thought, each of them could investigate their assigned area with a minimum of inefficiency. He tried to explain this plan to Jenny, but she only shushed him again.

Behind him, Eddy slinked up onto the floorboards and sidled away from the trap door, considering the dusty treasure trove. He was thinking that among all this junk there must be something they could sell for bubble gum money. Or, rather, something he could sell. He understood perfectly about what Jenny’s parents didn’t know not hurting them, and he thought it probably applied to Jenny herself, too. He kept his eyes open for candidate items small enough to slip into a pocket.

Last came Rebecca, dreamy and unhurried. Rebecca usually arrived last. She tended to speak last, too, and the other three tended to pay attention when she spoke. Oh, they made fun of her, of course—she was a little “out there,” as Carl’s dad gently put it, or as Jenny’s mom liked to say, a few sandwiches short of a picnic, bless her heart. But “out there” was where you found the best adventures....

This has been an excerpt from the Friday Fictionette for June 24, 2016. Subscribers can download the full-length fictionette (1210 words) from Patreon in PDF or MP3 format depending on their pledge tier.

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