In the Eternal Hope of Finding Treasure
by Michelle Ann King
Claire moved aside a stack of mildewed curtains and perched herself on the edge of a battered, ancient suitcase. 'Attics should be caverns of wonder,' she said, 'full of treasures. Hoards of pirate doubloons in old sea chests, dirty paintings that turn out to be lost masterpieces by Van Gogh, mysterious golden lamps full of grateful djinn just waiting to hand out wishes like boxes of chocolates.'
Pete carried on stacking cardboard boxes into a wilting heap. 'Yeah, maybe, if you live in Narnia. In Camden, attics are where you shove all the crap you tell yourself might come in useful one day, forget all about and then leave for your kids to sort out when you snuff it.'
He straightened up and threw his arm wide. 'I mean, look at all this stuff. What the hell did your Dad think he was ever going to do with it? There's enough cardboard to house an army of tramps, a six foot stack of photo albums full of pictures of people who must have been babies when Queen Victoria was on the throne, manuals for video recorders and cassette players that'd be no good to anyone except a museum...it's just junk, Claire. Nothing but junk. The best we can do is drag it out and burn it.'
A thin-legged spider crawled over the bare boards at Claire's feet. She scooped it into her palm and held it up at eye level. 'It's a little kingdom,' she said. 'A kingdom of memories.'
'Great,' Pete said. 'That and a couple of quid will buy us a cappuccino.'
He brushed off his hands. 'Okay, I'm heading back down. I'll call the house clearance people, make an appointment for tomorrow. Then we'd better make a start on the bedrooms.'
Claire let the spider drift down to the floor. It landed on a small green metal watering can with a broken spout. She picked it up and examined it critically. After checking that Pete had gone, she breathed on the side of the can, grabbed a handful of decaying curtain fabric and rubbed the metal with small circular motions.
A lot of grime and cobweb fragments came off but no djinn appeared, grateful or otherwise.
Claire closed her eyes briefly, then put the watering can back down on the floor and followed her husband downstairs.
-end-
Michelle Ann King lives with her husband and stuffed penguin in Essex, England. Her work has appeared at Daily Science Fiction, Untied Shoelaces of the Mind, The Molotov Cocktail and others. Links to her stories can be found at http://michelle-ann-king.blogspot.com/ Contact Michelle.
