It was a cold February morning when I finally decided to
brave my uncle’s wrath and descend the basement stairs, to see for myself what
was making so much noise. There was no sound on the journey down apart from the
creaking of the old stairs. The light switch did nothing. Fortunately, I’d had
the forethought to bring a flashlight. The first thing the beam illuminated was
a large, wooden crate covered in faded writing. I thought I could make out the
words “live specimen.” A thud made me turn and flash the light into the corner
of the room.
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