Six months after moving in, she finally checked the attic. It was not the odd squeaks and scurryings which drove her up there, but the repeated leak from the middle of her bathroom ceiling.
She wrinkled her nose. Stale urine and fecal matter. Swinging her flashlight around, she could just make out bits of the apples and lemons that had disappeared from her kitchen last week.
Squeaks, whimpers, pattering feet. The brownies huddled together in the far corner, forsaken, eyes aglow, hugging each other tight.
“You guys like apples? I’ve got home repair issues. Let’s make a deal ….”