The Attic Thief

(Note: This is in no way a reflection of my actual family.)

Living with someone who has a phobia is always bound to result in some interesting stories. Living with a family overrun with phobias is something else entirely.

Oh, some phobias are common enough. A lot of people suffer from claustrophobia, the fear of enclosed spaces, or acrophobia, the fear of heights. Other people are affected by less common fears such as coulrophobia, or the fear of clowns. However, not even those will do for my family. My cousin suffers from hippopotomonstrosesquppedaliophobia, or the fear of long words, and my brother is terrified at the thought of peanut butter sticking to the roof of his mouth, a condition known as arachibutyrophobia. We don’t talk about it much, however, since my grandma has phobophobia, or the fear of phobias.

Despite all of this, I’m still not sure how to classify what my Aunt Margret has. For years she has been convinced that a burglar has taken up residence in their attic and is using it as a stash for his stolen goods. Honestly, I’m not sure what caused her to come to that conclusion. I don’t know that I’ve ever even heard the roof squeak when I’ve been over at their house. Nevertheless, Aunt Margret is convinced. Any time anything goes missing--be it a spoon, a piece of clothing, or a homework paper--it is immediately labeled as a result of “the attic thief.” When the missing item turns up, Aunt Margret’s comments range from “I guess that thief didn’t want it after all” to “Well, wasn’t it nice of him to return that.”

All in all, my family just puts up with it. After all, she is hardly the only one with an odd quirk, and it’s a lot easier to just agree with her than it is to try to argue with her. Still, I will admit to chuckling behind her back. My cousin Dave and I have even talked multiple times about sneaking up to the attic to see for ourselves what is up there. We never have, however, because we both know how much trouble we’d be in if we were found out. No doubt, Aunt Margret would go into hysterics at the supposed “danger” we had put ourselves in.

Despite all of this, however, I am not aware of a single time Aunt Margret has called the police on their supposed attic thief. Granted, she insists that everyone sleep with their doors locked “just in case he decides to come poking around.” What’s more, I think my cousin Beth has even started to believe in the tales of Aunt Margret’s attic thief. However, I am still not aware of Aunt Margret calling the police even once to get rid of this burglar who has taken over their attic. She probably thinks it’s “too risky,” that he’ll take one of them captive if he hears the police coming.

Still, I suppose Aunt Margret’s fear is harmless enough. Aside from a remark now and then, the day goes on as usual; and unlike Uncle Bill’s estiophobia, it is not likely to cause someone to call the police about some lunatic in their yard. But maybe you should ask the neighbors about that one.