Mice.

"I am not going into the attic."

"Well I won't do it," I said confidently as we both stood over an old box of mousetraps we found cheap at the mega-store.

"Mel, please. I'll do kitchen duty for a month!" Steph argued, shaking her head slightly at the words.

"But I don’t care about the mice," I moaned. Steph sighed and crossed her arms.

"Two months?" I paused a second, pretending to be considering the deal.

"You make a compelling argument." I grinned. She rolled her eyes as she picked up the crude cardboard box with 'Mouse Trapz' written on the side in bright red lettering, like that of the old cartoons we used to watch as children. She motioned towards the ladder and I began to climb. I doubted it could even hold my weight.

Inside the attic the air was thick with dust, hitting the light as it streamed through the small window that had once been covered with a tattered cloth that hung from the corners of the frame. The air built up deep inside my throat, making it difficult to breathe. That and the odd smell that filled the room, making me want to puke. The room itself was filled with boxes left from our landowner, the same one who refused to help with the mice Steph had been hearing for over two months now. The boxes were labelled as if they were for moving but had never left. One read 'Army Days' in faded ink, another 'Kitchen'.

I turned back down the ladder. I leaned down as Steph carefully passed the box of mouse traps up to me. I began to walk cautiously. The place felt utterly dead. It was almost difficult to imagine mice scurrying around up here, but Steph was convinced. I became distracted looking at an old box of dusty dresses and I tripped over a pile of knee-high shoe boxes, falling onto my hands. Traps flew everywhere. The floorboards creaked from impact, and I let out a small groan of embarrassment.

I raised my head expecting to find yet another pile of dusty boxes, but instead found something that caused my hands to shake and my heart to pound hard against my chest.

There before me, slumped over with its back to boxes and pale dress torn in tatters, was a corpse. I backed up against the shoe boxes. The world around me felt frozen stiff. It was as if it wasn’t the fear keeping me stuck solid in place but a sudden, heavy frost filling every corner of my world. There was no way this was real. An old Halloween prop maybe, or a really realistic life-sized doll. I stared into the hollow eyes of the dead girl who only seemed to be a teenager. Her body had begun to decay and she wore a soft, yellow dress that was coated in pale flowers. Her dress was rugged at the chest though, blood scattering the fabric, long since dried into a crusty brown.

I could hear Steph calling from downstairs, but I couldn't quite make out a word she said. I heard footsteps coming my way, but I couldn't move away. They got louder, vibrations ringing though the floorboards. She spoke, but the words seemed so distant, as if they weren’t even there at all.

"Mel, is that you? What the he-Oh god." I gulped hard, a thick, cold lump in my throat. "Mel, are you okay? Get over here! just... back away!" She was crying. She was next to me, careful not to step on the traps that lay across the floor.

"I just... I just found it. I don't know what to do," I muttered without thought. My breaths became steady but rough and my eyes hadn't moved since they first saw the dead girl, but they moved now to look at my usually calm friend who's eyes were wide and legs knees were trembling.

"What's that?" she questioned under her breath, not meaning for me to hear. She took a few heavy pants, doing her best to find herself in a sea of confusion. "Mel, I think she's holding something. Stay there, I'm going to look."

"Have you gone insane? Call the police!" I frowned, wondering why she even considered it. She cautiously made her way to the side of the body. She didn't stop. She kept going until she was a forearm from the girl's side where a small, steel object was clutched tightly in her hand. 

She reached out her hand hesitantly, it wavered slightly but she tried to keep it steady as she tapped the top of the object, pulling away sharply as if she expected it to come to life. She turned to look at me briefly, and I could see the fear and concern painted across her face. She turned back and wrapped her slender fingers around the string tied to the object, and pulled. The hand followed for a few inches before dropping down against the wooden floor with a hollow thud. 

She swiftly made her way back to the shoe boxes, holding a rusted Yale key. She frowned at it, and I soon realized why. 

"Mel..." She whispered, pulling out her own house key from her pocket. She placed them both onto her palm. They were identical, made for the same lock. Hers was shiny from use with a cat charm dangling from the ring. The corpse’s however, was grimy and tied neatly to a string.

"How did she get our key?" I asked my voice cracking. She shook her head, wordless. 

Just then I heard the old floorboards creak. I turned around, shocked, to see a silhouette marked by the dusty light that streamed through the window. A small key dangled from his left hand, an old army revolver from the other.