It all started the last time I stayed at my grandmother’s house for the weekend.
Graham Cracker (my nickname for my grandmother) had told me countless times not to ever go into the attic. No exceptions. Of course, being the curious person I was, I could not contain my curiosity anymore, so I wandered into the attic.
It was pitch black up there. Luckily, I had my phone in my pocket, which had a flashlight. I pointed the light toward the darkest corner of the attic. I noticed a big, older-than-Betty-White chest. I dusted it off, and I saw the name “Corleone” engraved on the top. Our family’s last name.
I wonder what’s inside, I thought. The chest was securely locked. Just kidding; I broke the lock by licking it… Weird.