I look, and there is a round indentation in the wall. It’s not a hole really but more of a dimple. I pick up the sledgehammer and swing again, and again, again, until I’m out of breath and my shoulders and back are aching.

“Ha!” I say when I see I’ve finally knocked a few holes as big as baseballs in the wall. I walk over and pick up a crowbar and begin to remove some of the wall. I make some headway before turning to Evan.

“Your turn,” I say with a big smile, reaching for the cell phone. “Show me what you got.”

Evan hands me his cell and picks up the sledgehammer. “Okay, let me show you how it’s done,” he says, blowing his bangs out of his face. Evan slams the wall over and over, and when he stops to look, he’s made about as much damage as I had. A look of frustration covers his face, and he goes to work again, whacking the wall until he drops the sledgehammer from exhaustion. Big, gaping holes dot the wall under the staircase. I return Evan’s phone to him and go to work on the wall with the crowbar again, revealing old lath and plaster underneath. I work my way down the wall until I’ve created a hole big enough for my body to wiggle through. I grab my own cell from my pocket and turn on its flashlight. I shine it around the dusty space.

“Here goes nothing again,” I say, hunkering my body and stepping inside the wall.

I scan the flashlight around the space, expecting to see a mouse or two, but it is quiet. I squat and again look around the space, this time more slowly.

“What’s that?” I ask, my voice echoing in the cramped quarters.

Evan approaches and turns on his flashlight, too.

There is a small wooden box—almost like a built-in chest—directly under the staircase.

“Can you reach it?” he asks.

I nod and crab walk toward the stairs, finally taking a seat on the floor when I reach it. I try to open the box, but it won’t budge. “Hand me the crowbar.”

Evan extends his body as far as he can and passes the tool to me. I position it under the lid and put my weight on it. There is a loud crack, and the wooden top splits in half. I pull off part of the top, get on my knees and point my flashlight inside.

I scream.

“Mom!” Evan yells. “What is it? Are you okay?”

I look more closely into the box and, against my better judgment, stick my hand into it as if I’m on the old game show Fear Factor. I turn to Evan, holding up the item that made me yell.

“What in the hell is that?” Evan asks. “Gross, Mom.”