Attic spelunker.

Grab a flashlight. You’re going to need it. We are about to venture into the unknown-a haunted landscape of amorphous shapes, shadows and oil paintings of old men that absorb a year of your youth every time you eat a steak and cheese calzone. No, I’m not talking about the Men’s Locker Room of the local YMCA, I’m talking about…[scary music]…the…[violin string plucks]…ATTIC! Sure, being scared of the attic is nothing new, but now that I am a homeowner, with explicit instructions – handed down from upon high by Royale Decree of Wife, mind you – to move about a hundred boxes up there so that we can actually use our basement, I’m seeing the creepiness of attics in a whole knew light. Or lack thereof. What’s worse, our attic comes with one of those insulating box caps that fits snugly over the ladder housing, so every time I want to gain access to that House of Horrors I feel like I’m an astronaut emerging from the vacuum bay of their space pod onto the barren wasteland of Planet Attica. This planet is inhabited by a terrible fungus that bears a striking resemblance to insulation. It also maybe probably definitely has ghosts. Seriously, removing that box cap is like removing the lid off a silver platter which may or may not contain a giant nest of spiders. Maybe instead of this dinky flashlight I should invest in something a little more substantial. Like a flamethrower, for instance.