Margot bit her lip, then placed the phone on the floor, so that its beam shone toward the ceiling. Then, leveraging both arms, she heaved herself up. The narrow entrance bit into her waist. She squirmed, legs thrashing through empty air, then dragged herself another inch into the attic space, moving her center of gravity onto solid ground. She had to roll onto her back to pull both legs through the opening, then sat for a moment, breathing deeply and scanning the area around her.

The floor had been made solid, as though it were intended for storage, but very little was kept there. Old planks—ones hauled out as they began to rot or crack—had been discarded. Metal brackets had been heaped into a pile from some half-finished repair job. They were all gathering a gentle layer of dust.

Margot got onto her knees. The floorboards groaned beneath her and she hesitated. If the wood had begun to rot…if it wouldn’t carry her weight…

She reached for her light and turned it toward the boards. They were old but showed no sign of dampness or crumbling, even when she pressed her weight into them. Previous generations must have been rigorous enough about leaks in the roof to prevent rot from setting in.

Margot rose, testing each movement before committing to it, until she was standing. Then, with one hand on a beam near her head, she tried to orient herself.

Her parents’ room wouldn’t be far. To her left, she was fairly certain. She crept forward. The aged boards creaked in response but held.

Something scuttled past her foot, and Margot gasped, jolting backward. A small, shiny spider twitched its way past, thread-thin legs propelling it toward the darkness.

Her breath shuddered as she let it out. The light had begun to waver, and for a second Margot feared that the battery might be dying again, but then she realized she was responsible. Her hands were shaking, sending the beam jittering, rough, and confusing.

Be fast. Get it done, then get out.

The hatch was still visible behind her, a square of light in the otherwise oppressive darkness. Margot tried to keep herself oriented with it as she drifted across the floor, the light pointed downward to scan the dust-laden boards.

There.

Her heart skipped painfully. Ahead, a dark stain spread across the wood, thick and seemingly damp, even under the layered dust.

Margot dropped to her knees as she approached it. The stain was large, broader than her torso and nearly twice as long. It created the kind of irregular shape that would come from pouring a bucket of thick liquid on the floorboards and letting it spread.