The Interpretator, Part Two

It was a shame the woman (it had to be a woman - no self respecting man I know would write like that...and the legible handwriting was a pretty clear clue, too) hadn't given much hint as to where the hat was.
But I had an advantage. She was a parent. Parents always hide things in closets. Sometimes the attic, but seriously, no one likes going in the attic, and she was probably afraid of spiders or something, so she probably put it in a closet; likely hers.
That's how my parents were.

So, I was digging around: I found all sorts of things - unpaid bills, Christmas cards separated into two piles, some hole-filled clothing that someone must've meant to fix, bank statements, and some stuff that convinced me most everyone's more kinky than they let on. Man, you just never know someone till you dig through their closet.
But there was no hat. At least, there were hats, but I couldn't find a way to make any of them dangerous. The closest I got was, I looked dangerously queer wearing them. I guess that's something. Maybe they were concerned about the kids cross-dressing or something. Who the hell knows?
I took one last look at the closet.
Yep....
It was a closet.
Odd corners and all. Full of junk, like a closet. Maybe more dented than some - one of the corners looked like it'd been poorly repaired - but, hey, not everyone's an expert.
Ah, maybe they sold it.
So I went downstairs to my couch. And sat. If closets were only full of junk, then I guess couches were only good for sitting. Nothing interesting was going to happen tonight. Same as ever.


I'd been counting the specks on the ceiling. It wasn't one of those sprayed on ones that some houses had, but nonetheless, there were quite a few spots. Must come with having kids. It wasn't entertaining. It beat TV. I was just counting again, even assigning constellations, when something occurred to me. The bedroom, and closet, were directly above this room. There were no odd corners here. In the closet, of course that'd happen on the one side, since there's always some machinery or odd angle in the attic, but on the side where the load-bearing wall was, if there was something there, it should continue down to the ground, unless it was done as some sort of post-modern commentary on the structure of houses, and society, and the family in general. I doubted it was. Unless the whole point of it being hidden away and never seen by anyone was...
No, that was dumb. How many frustrated postmodern architects were there, anyway?
I would check out the closet again, because there was something odd about that angle.