"So, what happened to the arm?"
"Oh, rats." Max replied non-plussed.
I hesitated. I didn't really want to know, but I was curious. That was why I got the goat, after all. Anyway, to my eternal regret, I questioned Max. He inferred he would show me what he meant.
I asked. He didn't mean he would have rats chew of my arm. That, at least, was a relief.
But I digress... Max, huge ring of keys in hand, stepped forward and began to unlock the door. After 15 minutes, the door opened before us, dust and decay and the smell of imprisoned clowns (Those were already there. Creepy bastards) drifted into the hallway. There was a table set up in the middle of the room, that was new. On it, a pile of books, and beside them, a small mound of what looked like chewed book parts. There was a giant rat seated next to the books, looking very full, with a small torch taped onto its back.
"What have you done this time?" I asked.
Max grinned widely, pointing at the scene.
"Literature!" He exclaimed.
I waited. He repeated, slower and with emphasis:
I took the keys from Max and left the attic. Doing up the locks, I headed out to try and buy some explosives.