The blades were rusted
The screeching noise sounds like a banshee cry.
“Put it back! The blades are rusted… Why do you have to be like that?! Looking means looking! With your EYES, not your hands. Why do you touch everything?” I already hear the words in my head, even before she inhales to hiss that answer.
“Because. It´s. INTERESTING!”
“Fine” I can’t hold back and grimace her words. I tell myself to let it go. It is interesting, alright. I turn my back on her and start to look at some old books and newspapers. One says eighteen-seventy-something. „Through the Looking-Glass?” Oh my god… First edition? Can’t be! Can’t be! Did we just hit jackpot?!
“Look! Look! LOOK!”
I turn round and see a… “What´s that?” A huge rusty sword. Crap, she managed to pull one out of it´s sheath. With both hands, she lifts it over her head and rumbles: “There can be only one!”
“Sssssssshhhhh! Are you crazy?! If they find us!” I try to calm her. Shish! I swing my flashlight through the room. Armors, spears, swords, paintings… What is this place, anyway? Old stuff, even older stuff. Seems to be really antique. I grab that book and shuffle it in my bag.
“Are we thieves now?!” She asks. I didn’t hear her sneak up on me.
„Mmmmhnoooo…?” Or maybe yes. I don’t know. Yet. “I don’t want the rats to read it, and then sleep in it.”
“As if! You’d never deny a rat good literature… Unless. Unless it is valuable literature. You’ve found something worth it, haven’t you?” I don’t like how easily she sees through me.
“Everything here is valuable. It´s a weird attic with everything I find interesting… It´s like we´re in my head.” I tell her and smile, hoping she´d be satisfied with that answer.
“I knew it,“ she snorts. “How much?”