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  • Sara shifted on the worn wooden floorboards, listening to them creak ominously as she tilted the page toward the lamp's light. Her mother came up the stairs to the attic, an old flannel button down rustling as she walked, sleeves rolled up and hanging open to reveal a white t-shirt beneath. Sara glanced at her and then tried to decipher the handwritten letter in her hands.
    “Oh, you found them!” Her mother sank down nearby, resting on her knees on the floor and leaning down, her fingertips just brushing the page as to take hold of it. Sara pushed it into her hands and reached back into the box she had been going through, pulling out some faded black and white photographs. Under the lamplight, they looked strangely altered. These pictures of long since dead family members that no one had any real recollection of.
    She did wonder why we, as people, held onto stuff like this. Wasn't stuff like this likely to haunted anyway, or was that her watching too much Supernatural? Probably the latter, seeing as her mother didn't seem worried (and she thought her beloved tv show was too gory). “How much more is in the box?”
    Her mother's question startled her and the pictures slid easily into the outstretched hand, ready and waiting to take them. Sara shuffled over and pulled the box between them. “Here, have at. They're creepy.”
    Her mom gave her a reproachful look and she knew she was about to get some nugget of wisdom. “Be grateful that we have these things to look at. You can see the family resemblances and get to know your ancestors through letters they wrote.”
    Maybe she just wasn't a history nerd like her mom. She pulled a face a reached for a different box. “I'm good, thanks mom.”
    Her mom sighed and used one of her flannel sleeves to dust off more of the lamp so she wouldn't have to contort in order to use the light and see the pictures she held in her hand. “Aren't we looking for things to sell anyway? I don't think those fall under that category.”
    This time it was her mom that made a face, pressing her lips together tightly. Sara ignored the fact that she'd just had a personal victory of being right and trying to get her own mother back on course in favor for digging into the next box. Children's books—far less creepy and far easier to sell. She held two of them up, one in each hand and drew her mom's attention to them with a small, triumphant smile.
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