The Lamp in Grandma’s Attic

Welcome back to the adventures of my grandma’s belongings. I hope you’re enjoying us finding dismembered arms and possessed dolls. I’m sure as hell not.

This week though… the story isn’t mine to tell. Everything you read below came out of Neptune’s mouth, word for word. I just wrote it down.


… You know, none of you were there. None of you were there when the cops knocked on the door telling mom there’d been an accident. That we needed to come to the hospital right away. And that when we got there, there was no hope. Mars was DOA. Dead on arrival.  

You weren’t there after either. Sure, you were all at the funeral, but you all saw how that went. Aunt Elise and Mom getting into it, Aunt Elise blaming Mom for getting Mars a motorcycle and having the fucking nerve to call Mars an ‘idiot’ for not wearing a helmet. For fuck’s sake, there’s a time and a place for that kinda bullshit and the funeral wasn’t it. Not to mention he was twenty one. Doesn’t everyone feel a little immortal when they’re twenty one?  

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The Dolls in Grandma’s Attic

It’s not easy sorting through a deceased family’s members things.

Especially when there’s a good chance a lot of those things are potentially cursed and dangerous.

Even more so when the deceased family member in question didn’t sort them in any particular way.  

After last week we’ve all managed to arrange to stay here while we sort through these things. Again, Grandma didn’t sort them in any meaningful manner. We found glass orbs that grow strange plants in the same box we had our old marble runner in, and underneath antique dishes was a detached arm that tried to suck the life out of the dumbass who stole its ring. I can’t say what was going through Grandma’s mind when she stashed these things up here. Maybe there’s a method to the madness. Maybe the least dangerous things are up in the attic and the worst things are out in the barn or cabin.  

Honestly though, given what we most recently uncovered, I’m not even sure if we can rely on that. If Grandma had a way of sorting her things, she took it with her to the grave.

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The Arm in Grandma’s Attic

Trust me, the last thing I wanted to be doing was heading back up to Michigan to go through grandma’s things. But apparently that’s part of the will- specifically, the grandkids are the ones to go through the stuff in her house. Our parents got her money all divided between them, my dad got the most because he was there for her during nursing homes and hospice, my aunt Elise got the least because she’s a bitch.  

Let’s go over who my grandma was.  

Grandma Garnet was, well, a pretty good grandma as far as grandmas go. I never knew her husband, I didn’t know any of her husbands. She was married three times and had seven kids between them. She never got a divorce, she just had bad luck. I know the first one fell off a tractor and broke his neck when she was pregnant with my Uncle Oliver. I really don’t know about the other two, again, all croaked before I was born or old enough to really have memories. But Grandma was good. Made cookies better than any professional bakery, was good at listening when you had a problem, and always knew all the answers on Jeopardy. She probably could’ve won if she ever went on the show, but she never really cared for that. Not like she needed the money either, she was freaking loaded.

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