I had never been in my grandmother's attic, so I'd no real idea what to expect. But it was clear no one had been there in years, judging by the layer of dust covering everything in sight. The only light came from a small skylight on the right, covered in dirt. It was barely light enough to see by, so Scott switched on the light.

"That's better," He said, carefully stepping forwards.

Indeed, it was. The place was still covered in dust, but at least we could see what was under it. It was full of old objects like lamps, cardboard boxes, an old sofa with the springs poking through the fabric, framed paintings, a rickety old rocking chair, a few mouldy blankets... it looked pretty much the way an attic was expected to look.

"Yes, we can see... but how are we supposed to know where the decorations are?" I sighed. There must be dozens of boxes up here..."

"Maybe she wrote what was inside," Scott suggested. "Let's have a look around."

"Okay."

So we did. The dust was so thick it made me cough when I moved even the slightest thing. And sure enough, the boxes were almost all labelled. Old costumes, which Scott said would be fun to look through at Halloween, old photo albums, used up toys and story books from either my or Mum's childhood... it brought a lot of memories, I had to admit.

"Ah! There we go... "Christmas decorations", look."

We opened it and peered inside. Sure enough, it was full of baubles, tinsel and all sorts of Christmas ornaments.

"Great! Now... how are we going to get it down those wretched stairs?" I asked. "It's a big box and it looks rather heavy..."

"I'll go down first and we'll ease it down."

"Sounds like a plan."

I was just about to pick the box up when I saw something that caught my eye. It was a rather old-looking red leather bound book, embossed with gold. It was beautiful and I barely dared touch it in case it fell apart in my hands.

"Look at this," I told Scott.

He looked and saw.

"Wow, that looks like it's been here for ages."

"There's no title..." I noted, puzzled. "I'll ask Grandma about it."

Carefully, I picked it up and slipped it inside the box of decorations. Then, we proceeded to taking it all down the stairs. Scott went first, holding one side. Slowly, we made our way down. Soon enough, we were back on steady ground. The stairs to the living room were much more manageable, so we went down those much more quickly.

"Oh, there you are," Grandma Velma said. "And you found the decorations, wonderful."

"But we don't have a tree yet," I said.

"Your father and sister are going out to pick one this afternoon."

"This late in the month? All the nice ones'll be gone..." Scott said.

"Oh, they're not buying one," Velma replied. "They're going out to Hollybridge Woods."

Peering into the box, she saw the book I'd found.

"Oh... what is this?"

Scott and I looked at each other in confusion.

"Don't you know? It was in the attic."

"Why, no, I've never seen this book before..." she told us, frowning slightly at the book. "It must have been your grandfather's..."

"I brought it down because I wanted to ask you if I could look at it?"

"Of course you can, dear." Grandma Velma smiled. "Now then, how does hot chocolate and cookies sound?"

"Perfect," I grinned.

While she went to the kitchen, Scott and I sat in the sofa to look at the book. Carefully, I opened it curiously.

"But... it's blank!" I said.

I couldn't help feeling a little disappointed. I loved reading as much as I did writing, and I had imagined a beautiful old book of legends and myths with colourful illustrations... but there was nothing. The pages were, as far as I could from cautiously searching through it, all completely clean.

"So? You can fill it up," Scott said. "Make it a really cool diary, or something."

"It's a bit big for a diary," I said. "But I think I have a better idea..."

I turned to Grandma who was just coming with the chocolate and cookies.

"Hey, Grandma, is it okay if I use this to write in? The pages are all blank."

"Oh, are they?" she asked curiously, peering at the book as I showed it to her. "Why, yes, I don't see why not. I know you'll be more careful with it than Lucas, bless him."

I shuddered at the very thought of my little brother getting his childish hands on this book. He's scribble, doodle and Lord knew what else.

"Yeah, I think you're right," I said.

After dinner that night, I went to my room where I picked up the book from my bedside table (which I'd put there before dinner to avoid Lucas finding it and trying to claim it). My room here was a lot smaller than I remembered, even without Lucas. Probably because I'd been a foot smaller the last time I'd been here. I glanced outside. It had started to snow again. I pricked my ears for signs that I would be disturbed, namely by my brother. But I didn't hear a sound. He had probably gone to play in his room, because he wasn't going to sleep with that nap he'd had.

Grandma had converted grandpa's old office into a guest room, so we both had our own. I'd appreciated that, though I wasn't crazy about the faded pink wall paint and dolls she'd left in the corner. She probably remembered Mum's requests for privacy at that age, I thought with a smile. Or else, Mum herself had reminded her. Either way, I liked having my space.

I thought back to the events of the day, namely my reunion with Scott. I wasn't proud of it, but I hadn't given him much thought in the past three years. I couldn't really understand why... we'd always gotten along... maybe I'd just been so caught up in my life in London I hadn't really tried... And I'd never even expressed how impressed I was by his transformation, which was true. I didn't know anyone else who'd done it. And he did look a lot more comfortable in his skin.

I'd always told him I didn't care about the way he looked, but obviously, he had. I suppose he couldn't be blamed, given the teasing and jeering I'd witnessed. One winter, he'd even been bombarded with snowballs and I'd covered him as we hurried away. Our parents had had very firm words with theirs after that, and he'd been left in peace. For a while, at least.

I heaved a sigh. I really had to work on the way I treated him. I hoped I hadn't hurt his feelings. He'd seemed fine all day, but in three years, people changed. He could have gotten better at hiding his emotions. I dropped onto my bed, pulled a pen from the small drawer , then propped the book on my legs, and began to write.

I'd been thinking about what I'd write in the book all day. It had to be good, or it would make the book drop to being a simple notebook. But I had a pretty good idea in mind already, so the words came easily, flowing like a black river on the faded paper. There was nothing I liked more than hearing the scratching sound of the pen on the paper, feeling my ideas form clearly in my mind, the simple peace of this moment. I lost track of time, space and everything else but the story I was building in my mind.

Soon, I had completely forgotten where I was, and almost who I was as well. I barely remembered I was lying on my bed, I was so lost in the stream of words. I loved that feeling, which always came over me when I wrote. I could picture the story as clearly as if it were happening right before my eyes. I was so engulfed I didn't think anyone or anything could have pulled me out of it.

Writing on this old book was even better than I'd imagined. It was like a writer's dream. I felt like Frodo depicting the story of the Ring, or magicians writing in their spellbooks. I'd almost asked for a quill, but decided against it for fear of getting ink smudges all over the pages. I could stay like that for hours, and never one moment feel bored.

Eventually, naturally, my tiredness got the best of me. My writing slowed, though I recognized the signs in time to avoid writing nonsense or leaving a long trail of ink like I sometimes did on modern paper when I was sleepy. I let out a yawn and glanced at my clock. It was almost one in the morning! Had I really been "gone" that long?

I eventually fell asleep, with the open book as my pillow, the smell of leather and old paper filling my nose. I didn't see the bright stars outside, the brilliant almost-full moon which made the snow outside glisten and glow a blueish colour. The only lights outside came from the street lights and the occasional Christmas lights. And I didn't notice the slight shift in the air, one I would soon never forget.