The Flowers in the Attic Series: The Dollangangers: Flowers in the Attic, Petals on the Wind, If There Be Thorns, Seeds of Yesterday, and a New Excerpt! by V.C. Andrews

stretched for miles! The farthest walls were so distant they seemed hazy, out of focus. The air was not clear, but murky; it had an odor, an unpleasant odor of decay, of old rotting things, of dead things left unburied, and because it was cloudy with dust, everything seemed to move, to shimmer, especially in the darker, gloomier corners.
    Four sets of deep dormer windows stretched across the front, four sets across the back. The sides, what we could see of them, were without windows—but there were wings where we couldn’t see unless we dared to move forward and brave the stifling heat of the place.
    Step by step we moved as one away from the stairwell.
    The floor was of wide wooden planks, soft and rotting. As we inched along cautiously, feeling fearful, small creatures on the floor went scuttling off in all directions. There was enough furniture stored in the attic to furnish several houses. Dark, massive furniture, and chamber pots, and pitchers set in larger bowls, perhaps twenty or thirty sets of them. And there was a round wooden thing that looked like a tub banded with iron. Imagine keeping a bathtub like that!
    Everything that seemed of value was draped over by sheets where dust had accumulated to turn the white cloth dingy gray. And what was covered by sheets for protection shivered my spine, for I saw these things as weird, eerie, furniture ghosts, whispering, whispering. And I didn’t want to hear what they had to say.
    Dozens of old leather-bound trunks with heavy brass locks and corners lined one entire wall, each trunk stuck all over with travel labels. Why, they must have been around the world several or more times. Big trunks, fit for coffins.
    Giant armoires stood in a silent row against the farthest wall,and when we checked, we found each one full of ancient clothes. We saw both Union and Confederate uniforms, giving Christopher and me much to speculate upon as the twins cringed close against us and looked around with big, scared eyes.
    “Do you think our ancestors were so undecided during the Civil War they didn’t know which side they were on, Christopher?”
    “The War Between the States sounds better,” he answered.
    “Spies, you think?”
    “How would I know?”
    Secrets, secrets, everywhere! Brother against brother I saw it—oh, what fun to find out! If only we could find diaries!
    “Look here,” said Christopher, pulling out a man’s suit of pale cream-colored wool, with brown velvet lapels, and piped smartly with darker brown satin. He waved the suit. Disgusting winged creatures took off in all directions, despite the stench of mothballs.
    I yelped, as did Carrie.
    “Don’t be such babies,” he said, not in the least disturbed by those things. “What you saw were moths, harmless moths. It’s the larvae that do the chewing and make the holes.”
    I didn’t care! Bugs were bugs—infants or adults. I don’t know why that darned suit interested him so much, anyway. Why did we have to examine the fly to see if men in those days used buttons or zippers? “Gosh,” he said, finally disturbed, “what a pain to unfasten buttons every time.”
    That was his opinion.
    In my opinion, olden-day people really knew how to dress! How I would love to flounce around in a frilly chemise over pantaloons, with dozens of fancy petticoats over the wire hoops, all bedecked in ruffles, lace, embroidery, with flowing ribbons of velvet or satin, and my shoes would be of satin and over all this bedazzling finery would be a lacy parasol to shade my golden curls, and keep the sun from my fair, unwrinkled complexion. And I’d carry a fan to elegantly cool myself, andmy eyelids would flutter and bewitch. Oh, what a beauty I’d be!
    Subdued by the immense attic until now, Carrie let out a howl that took me swiftly from sweet speculations and right back to the here and now, which was where I didn’t want to be.
    “It’s hot up here, Cathy!”
    “Yes, it is.”
    “I hate it up here, Cathy!”
    I glanced at