In Grandma’s Attic

The dust bunnies jumped as I opened the door and we stared at each other for a solid minute, unable to move until the moment that I screamed.

"WHAT THE F-?"

All at once, they scattered, hopping at incredible speeds. I whipped my head around trying to see where they were going, but there were dozens of them, little bunches of gray fluff with carpet fiber ears and mote eyes, kicking up tiny dust tracks. By the time I grabbed a broom from the hallway, all of them had vanished.

I went and sat down just outside the door to let my heart palpitations subside. Everyone else had left the house about an hour ago to get lunch, but I wanted a moment alone in grandma's house. She was gone, but while her things were here, we could still call it hers.

Going to the attic had been a snap decision. My brother and I had agreed to leave it for last, thinking it would be the hardest to clean, but I wanted to scope it out, just in case it was empty. Nope. Definitely not.

I entertained some possibilities for what I saw: stroke, cleaning product fumes, or late onset schizophrenia, but strokes don't make people hallucinate dirt rabbits, every window in the house was open, and schizophrenics actually believe their hallucinations. I was pretty sure I was wigging out. It didn't take me long to realize that I had to go back. If the room looked undisturbed, I'd call a psychiatrist. If the floor was still covered in puffy little dust tracks... insanity would be preferable. I stood up, gripped my broom like a lance, and opened the door.

Inside were miniscule dots in animal track formation all over the floor and a settling cloud of dust barely an inch high. I got light-headed and leaned on the broom.

"Ok," I said out loud. "Ok." I tried to take a deep breath, but I sneezed instead. I thought I saw something move, but when I looked, it disappeared and I was staring at a space beneath an old, battered chest of drawers. Who knows how it got there, but Grandma had lived here a long time. Someone probably brought it up before I was even born.

I took a few hesistant steps towards the dresser.

"Calm down. They're just bunnies and made of dust, so I'm fine," I said, and then laughed at the absurdity of that statement. As I moved closer, I could sense other little movements, peeking from behind boxes and through the floorboards, but the dresser seemed significant. I felt like they were trying to distract me, so I grabbed the brass knobs of the top drawer and pulled.

Nothing. I took a deep breath and pulled the second. Again, nothing. As I was pulling the third, I heard an unbelievably tiny sound. I believe it's called a wheek. It just was one teeny chirp, but then more followed. They were trying to distract me alright, and it kind of pissed me off. My grandma just died, you insensitive little things! With a feeling of defiance, I wrenched open the third drawer.

Inside was a note written on thin, brown paper. It was written in a hand I didn't recognize, but at the top was the title: Spell of Vanishing (Bunnies).

"Ha!" I snatched it out and smiled. Yes, I was crazy, yes, my grandmother was apparently a witch, and no, I had no idea how to do magic, but I had a solution.

"You're dead, bunnies!" I'd meant it to sound awesome, but really I had just threatened a bunch of bunnies. I heard one sad little wheek come up from the floor. It hung in the air, tinny and forlorn.

I paused. My grandma had had this spell for years from the look of the paper, and had never used it, and if the amount of stuff in her house was any indication, she didn't simply get rid of things because they were inconvenient.

The room was silent for a solid minute before I finally caved.

"Ugh, fine." I said. "Just be quiet and stay out of sight, please. We'll figure something out."