When I was around 4 or 5 years old my parents moved into a house with an attic. A hateful attic as far as I was concerned. Up until then I had no idea what an attic was. I wish I'd never found out.
Lucky me...I got the room with the door that led to that awful attic. One thing though, I never had the distinct pleasure *written with sarcasm* of visiting that attic. Unless I did and just blocked it out forever.
The house was old with lots of creaks and groans and squirrels rolling nuts around up there. When you are a little kid and you hear things like that you think you did something really wrong and the devil was coming for you. I wasn't old enough to do things to make the devil come after me. That came a few years later. And I might talk about those days in another post in the future.
It didn't take me long to figure out that I needed a light on so I could go to sleep. Those early days scarred me for the rest of my life and to this day I am still very scared of the dark.
When I was eight we moved to another two-story house with a very large attic. All I could think was, here we go again. Are they going to stick me in that room with the door that leads to the attic? Nope, not this time. My older brother was the lucky one and only because that room was smaller than the other bedroom which I shared with my younger sister.
When I married and moved out, my first husband and I lived in an apartment. No attic there, thank goodness. Then we bought a house. A rancher. Again, no attic. I moved into another apartment, got divorced, moved into this house, got married and again no attic here as this house is also a rancher.
I may be afraid of the dark, and attics in particular, but I ain't stupid.
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