“Be really careful, just barely open
the trap-door and take a quick look in.”
I warned them as we walked upstairs
to the landing, where the little set of wooden, ladder-like steps up to the
trap-door of the attic were.
They were only laughing at me, the
“Okay, keep your voices down.”
I whispered, opening the trap-door,
and stepping back to let dad take the first look.
He climbed onto the steps and looked
up through the small opening in the trap door. Then he laughed loudly, opening
the whole thing with a loud creaking.
“What do you think you’re doing?
They’ll kill you!”
I shrieked, shoving him aside and
He sighed and rolled his eyes at me,
before letting mom look. I pushed them both aside and opened the trap-door.
No angels, no haystack, nothing, just
a few cardboard boxes, a conventional, normal attic.
I could have screamed with
frustration. How was this even possible?
Mom and dad walked away, muttering
about how strangely I was behaving. I just stood near the steps, resisting the
urge to go as mad as my parents already thought I was.
And as they walked downstairs, I
heard a noise like a hundred pigeons landing on the pavement, coming from the
With tears of frustration running down my face,
I went to get a bandage for the cut on my head