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Eric stared at the house. It was more of an old manor than anything else. The front steps creaked, the roof looked like it could cave, and most of the windows (besides the ones in the front) were stained glass. It was a 'fixer-upper', his father always said, and had values beyond other houses. Nonetheless, Eric would have to do something.

Stepping cautiously on the steps, Eric made his way into the old house. He sat on the sofa, which smelt like his mother's perfume. The armchair across from the sofa was his father's, and it carried the lingering smell of his cigarette smoke. Eric inhaled the smells of his parent's house. It smelt... like home.

As a kid, this was the smell he had grown up with; the smell that made sure he knew that his parents were home. He got rid of all of the junk that his parents kept, and he got rid of most of the broken furniture, so what was keeping him from the attic?