The Attic

One of the few remnants of torture chambers are attics above garages. Think of all the hazards: first, there's the rickety ladder you pull down from the ceiling that folds into itself. Once you get on it, you start to hear all these tell-tale snaps and cracks as you make your way up. 

Then there's the attic itself. No light, except the flashlight you bring with you, or the cracks through a vent in the wall. The attic doesn't technically have a floor (unless you've installed one), so you have to watch your step. Then there's the rusty nails protruding from the ceiling and the layers of dust accumulating on each boxed item. In the summer, it's unbearably hot, and in the winter it's...surprisingly temperate. Must be all that insulation. 

And all the boxes look the same, so you end up checking the same one three times in a row. I will say, I found some random relics. The most useful were the sleds, although I'm sure a doll crib could come in handy at some point. I found my sister's old stuffed animal collection, a bunch of binders from my jr. high and high school years, old VHS tapes that aren't labeled, etc.

My advice to all attic adventurers: be prepared to work muscles that you usually don't use. I found myself in an awkward half standing/ half on my stomach position trying to reach various items. Lunges might been a good warm up to reach things, if you don't think you can trust an uncharted shaky floor. 

Happy History Hunting!
Rhetorically,
Rebekah