Jimmy squeezed through the attic crawlspace, coming back fifteen years later into the dusty cavities of the rooftops. The smell was familiar, the dust was familiar. Jimmy sneezed several times to clear both from his nose. His eyes watered, but through the film he was already searching for the spot.
He was certain (well, certain as one can be of a fifteen year old memory) that his treasure-spot had not been discovered. He would have heard about it. People would have come to him, with questions--or accusations. In the musty dark his gaze settled on a slightly darker area cut into the far attic wall. Jimmy was on all fours, he bent his arms and craned his neck to see deeper into the treasure-spot he had crookedly cut into the wall seventeen years ago.
Before.
Jimmy stared into the hole. It was still there. It blinked first.
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