Trembling, my hand grips the old, unsteady doorknob and as I turn it, my heart skips a beat. The wobbly door creaks when it opens, and darkness fills my eyes. The smell of must enters my nostrils as a light draft comes up the uneven stairs. The light switch struggles to hold on to the ceiling by one frayed cord. My unsteady hand reaches for the switch, and as I attempt to stay on the laminate floor, one lone light ignites, it is covered by an overload of cobwebs and built up dust. As I look down the old jagged steps the hair on my arms rise. Unwashed barn clothes and broken down boots hang to the right of the steps, straight ahead is an aged shelf that looks as if it could drop at any second, a flimsy rotted handrail barley stands as I glance
