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.