The Attic

The beam of your flashlight sweeps over the cobwebs in the dusty room, over the trunks, the shelves of books that smell peppery with age. Someone has just blown out a candle. You can smell it. But, you see no one. You hold your breath and listen. Nothing. Cautiously you approach the old desk tucked beneath the rafters. There, beside the still smoking wick of a candle, is an open manuscript…