The Key

by Mark Wesley

  Unaware to the three pirates, a policeman had taken note of their appearance and general disposition and decided to investigate the situation.

  “What are you gentlemen up to over here?” the police officer asked, standing behind the men.

  All three whirled around to face the policeman. “It’s none of your concern,” Grackle replied.

  “Everything that happens on these streets is my concern,” the policeman corrected, looking the men over. “Where are you three from?”

  “Nowhere important. Just let us handle this little thief.”

  “A thief? Well, thieves are my concern. So, if you have a complaint, you’ll need to address it to me.”

  “We don’t have time for this.” Grackle looked over at his companion and gave him a little nod. With that, the man pulled out a black, shiny rock and handed it over to the officer.

  “A ruby? Are you trying to bribe me?”

  “It’s not a bribe, Officer, just a present. Look . . . ,” Tike persuaded, pointing to the item.

  Ruby? Timothy queried. It’s just a black rock.

  “Look at that . . . ,” the officer said, wide-eyed as he stared down at the piece. “It sure is pretty! My wife would like that.”

  Timothy noted a slow change in the officer’s demeanor. His eyes began to open wider as his pupils expanded. The officer gazed at the rock with an unusual intensity, gripped by wonder and amazement.

  “It’s so beautiful,” he added without a blink.

  Confused, Timothy said, “It’s just a dumb old rock.”

  “See, the boy is not well,” Tike offered.

  “Old rock,” the officer laughed. “This here is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “See. The boy is not well and needs our help.”

  “I guess he’s not all there, is he?” the officer joked.

  “Yes . . . I think you’re right. And for your help, that ruby is all yours.”

  “You know what . . . ? You guys are all right.”

  “Yes, officer. Now why don’t you let us handle this boy?”

  “I am going to leave you to your business. Excuse me, gentlemen.”

  The officer replaced his billy club back on his hip, tipped his hat to the men, and walked away.

  “What a fool,” Grackle said as he turned to Timothy. “Now we’ll have that key.”

  I’ve got to get out of here, Timothy thought.

  The Anchor’s grip around Timothy’s collar was too strong to be overpowered. However, the boy had learned several tricky maneuvers in wrestling—none legal during a match—that could be useful on even the most powerful opponents.

  Do it, Timothy convinced himself. Do it now. He reached up and fished for the Anchor’s pinky finger. With all his force and speed, the boy pulled up on the little appendage, bending it backwards until a “pop” was heard. Like David striking Goliath, the Anchor found himself subdued by a little boy.

  “Aghhh,” he screamed like a frightened child, releasing his grip as he cradled the injured extremity.

  Freed, Timothy’s intuition guided him to the smallest and skinniest of the three. With his elbow stuck out like a dagger, the boy fiercely plunged it hard into the man’s chest, knocking the feeble creature back off his feet.

  With two of the men incapacitated and an open path, Timothy was able to escape. Running down the street, he found the corner and chose a new direction. The boy zigzagged quickly through the crowds, further extending the distance between himself and the pirates. After gaining some ground, Timothy stopped to catch his breath and determine whether he was being followed. Slightly hunched over and panting, he looked back along the route he’d just run.

  “Outta the way,” a man erupted, shoving the boy into another pedestrian.

  “Watch out,” a woman exclaimed as Timothy stumbled into her.

  “Sorry, sorry,” he offered, realizing a busy sidewalk was no place to rest.

  This way, a silent voice whispered in his mind.

  Timothy turned to find a dark alley that seemed a secure hiding spot to slip down. Behind a stack of wooden barrels, in between the filth and muck littered on the alley floor, the boy found a seat where he could rest his lungs. Shaking with hunger and worry, Timothy took deep breaths to slow his pounding heart.

  What is happening? his mind shouted. I just want to get home.

  Hidden behind the shadows, a voice gently called out, “Do not be afraid, Timothy.”

  “What?” Timothy replied, trying to discover who had spoken. “Who’s there?”

  “I am a friend, Timothy.”

  Out from the dark corner in the alley, a small figure no larger than a hefty feline appeared. A tall, pointy red hat opposed the long white beard about the figure’s cheerful face. A green shirt covered his torso, which was held tight by a leather belt and brass buckle. Brown pants and white boots covered his lower appendages.

  “Who are you?” Timothy asked as he sat confused.

  “My name is Jacob. I am a friend of your grandfather’s and I have been watching over you.”

  “No. I mean what are you . . . ,” Timothy retorted, still befuddled by the creature’s appearance.

  “Oh . . . yes . . . you’ve never see my kind before. I am a gnome.”

  “You can’t be. Gnomes aren’t real.”

  “I can assure you, Timothy, we are real.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Timothy proclaimed, looking about in an attempt to decipher what was happening. “None of this makes any sense.”

  “Yes. I can see how all of this is very confusing, but time is short, and I must get you back home before they find you.”

  “Who?”

  “The men who are chasing you.”

  “Those filthy men?”

  “Yes. Those men are pirates out to get that key your grandfather gave you.”

  “Why?”

  “That key has magical powers, and they want it.”

  Timothy removed the key from his pocket and looked at the uninteresting item.

  “What? This?”

  “Yes. It has very powerful magic. You must put it on now.”

  “Why?”

  “As long as you wear it, they cannot see it with their magic. But, every time you use it, the way you accidently used it to get here, the key briefly glows bright, letting them see exactly where you are.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Timothy exclaimed. “My grandfather said it was his old house key.”

  “Of course. It is not your fault, and we haven’t time to place blame anyway. We must get you back home and make sure the pirates cannot find you.”

  “And how am I supposed to do that?”

  “You must go back to the train station and use the key in the bathroom door. The one you came through to get here.”

  “But that door doesn’t have a keyhole.”

  “It doesn’t need one. Just hold the key up to the door and you will see where it goes.”

  “But you said they can find me if I use it?”

  “Yes. This is why you will need to destroy the door back in your home that led you here.”

  “And how am I going to do that?”

  “That is up to you, Timothy. Use whatever you can find, but you need to destroy that door immediately when you get home. It will break the path the pirates have found.”

  “This is ridiculous. Why don’t you just take the key? You know more about it than I do.”

  “I cannot. I am not allowed. I am not even supposed to be helping you now.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You cannot imagine the kind of trouble I would be in if my elders found out I had interfered or that I revealed myself to you,” Jacob added with a smile.

  “Revealed?”

  “Oh yes. Our existence is m
eant to be secret. We are not allowed to show ourselves unless under severe circumstances.”

  “And they would consider this one of those circumstances?”

  “I believe my elders would not. But I do. So, I have come to help.”

  “Then get me home and take the key. That will help.”

  “No more time to talk. I cannot stay any longer. You must run as fast as you can back to the train station and get home. As soon as you travel through the door, do as I told you and destroy it. You must destroy it right away, so they cannot find you.”

  “So, I’m just supposed to hold the key to the door and a key hole will appear?”

  “Yes. And do as your grandfather told you; wear the key always. Tell no one about it. Your grandfather will come home soon. Just be patient and wait for him. Now, I must leave you. I have outstayed my welcome.” Jacob silently stepped back into the shadows.

  “Wait!” Timothy called. “What if I can’t destroy the door or the key won’t work? Jacob?” There was no answer from the darkness.

  Timothy stood and walked towards the spot where Jacob had been standing. The shadows just behind, outside any light that made its way into the alley, drifted into a blackness the boy’s eyes could not penetrate. Timothy waved his hand through the void and into empty space.

  Where did he go?

  “There is no time, Timothy. You must go now,” Jacob’s voice called out as if carried on the wind.

  Shocked with disbelief, Timothy paused momentarily as he mulled over his situation. Standing there thinking, a cold chill crept up his back. They are close.

  Timothy leaped to action as he realized there was no more time to think. Weaving in and around pedestrians, he ran all the way back to the station. Standing before the doors where he had been rudely ejected earlier, the boy hesitated and looked for the officer who had expelled him.

  I don’t see him.

  Pushing open the glass entrance, he maneuvered through the crowd of people; before he knew it, he was face to face with the bathroom door again. Timothy looked cautiously in both directions to see if anyone was watching. Everyone seemed to be moving to his or her own beat, focused on their own schedules. No one so much as batted an eye or glanced towards the boy.

  Timothy pulled the key from his pocket, hoping against all odds that it would work. I must be going crazy, he thought, realizing the absurdity of the situation. There was nowhere for the key to fit. But as Timothy held the key up to the door, a narrow, slim slit appeared just under the handle.

  What is this?

  As the key got closer, the slit widened and began to look more and more like a perfect fit—a narrow opening with a small circular gap at the top. Timothy placed the key inside and gave it a quarter turn, pushing the door open. This time there was no bathroom inside, no men washing up or travelers bustling about—just empty darkness. Weary, he had no remaining strength to think over his choices.

  Home, he wished, stepping into the abyss cautiously, like a fawn entering an open field.

  The obscurity swept back about him as the feeling of being sucked through a tunnel took over. As quick as the sensation had started, it was finished. The blackness was replaced by light and Timothy found himself returned to the recreation center. He was exactly where he had left, in the supply room. However, the lights had now mysteriously returned to their normal working order. Reaching out and taking hold of the handle, Timothy found the door was no longer locked.

  The building held an eerie stillness that inhabits all old and empty structures. For some reason, everything felt different now. Like a visitor in a foreign country, Timothy had a feeling as if he didn’t belong.

  The door. He suddenly remembered. I have to destroy it.

  Not sparing another moment, Timothy ran through the locker room to the hall and down a corridor where a fire hose and axe sat behind a glass window. Written on the case was:

  IN CASE OF EMERGENCY: BREAK GLASS

  Enthusiastically, Timothy picked up the small, metal hammer that hung by a chain next to the window and sent it smashing into the glass. A loud ringing suddenly erupted throughout the building. The boy, dumbstruck, had not realized the fire alarm was attached to the glass.

  Good. Help is on the way.

  All that motivated him now was what Jacob had told him. I must destroy the door.

  Timothy ran back down the hall carrying the axe. Raising the blade high overhead, Timothy powerfully pulled it down to let the metal edge cut hard into the wood. Again, he raised the blade and again pulled it down, slicing into the door. Quickly, like a lumberjack laying waste to a tree, Timothy chopped at the door, turning the sturdy structure into mere toothpicks. After several minutes, all that remained were the hinges with bits of loose wood hanging by screws. Timothy dropped the heavy tool and leaned back against the wall looking at the pile of debris he had just created.

  I hope he was right, Timothy thought as he remembered what Jacob had said about wearing the key. He pulled the old key out of his pocket and rehung it around his neck.

  Walking through the building to the front doors, Timothy found they had been locked and would not open. Standing there, looking out the thin windows, he could see a fire truck and police car racing up through the parking lot. A wave of relief washed over him.

  Good. I am safe.

  Timothy found himself unexpectedly sitting in the back of a police car. The firefighters and police did not meet him with the empathy and protection he had originally anticipated. They hadn’t come to the rescue, but instead to arrest him. Timothy looked more the vandal than the victim, having set off the fire alarm and smashed a door to pieces. The explanation the boy gave was obviously quite ridiculous.

  As he sat there, watching through the window, his mother pulled up to the front of the recreation center. She doesn’t look happy.

  With a hurried and marginally disheveled look, she approached the fire and police chiefs who stood together. Timothy watched as the three exchanged opinions, clearly noting his mother’s use of the theatric when necessary or appropriate. It was a skill she’d learned and used quite effectively in courtrooms.

  “Come on, Timothy,” the police chief said as he opened the door to the police car. “Your mom is going to take you home now.”

  “Yes, sir,” the boy politely answered as he climbed out of the vehicle.

  Before he even had a chance to stand, his mother called out, “Let’s go, Timothy.” She waved an arm to motion him over to her car.

  HIs head lowered, Timothy walked the short distance to his mother’s vehicle as the firefighters and officers looked on. “You stay out of trouble,” the fire chief exclaimed, clearly displeased with the boy’s behavior.

  Waiting in the car, Timothy watched as his mother had a few final words with the men before returning.

  “Well, they are not going to press any charges,” she said, getting herself buckled in and starting the car.

  “Charges?”

  “Yes. What did you think would happen—breaking into the rec center and tearing down a door?”

  “I didn’t break in—”

  “Yes. I know. You said you were locked in, that you were being chased? The only problem, Timothy, is there is no evidence of any men being there. Let’s hear what really happened.”

  “I was being chased and I had to destroy that door.”

  “Really? So, then who was chasing you?”

  “Pirates.”

  “Pirates?” she exclaimed. “Do you hear yourself?”

  “I know how it sounds, but you have to believe me—really; it’s the truth. Granddad gave me this key as a birthday present and these pirates want to take it—it has magic powers.”

  “Oh. This is starting to make sense now. Your granddad was involved. Another one of his stories.”

  “No! It’s real.”

  “OK,” she s
tarted. “Let me restate your claim to make sure I am hearing you clearly. Your grandfather gave you a present—a magic key. Pirates chased you into the recreation center because they want this magic key. Then they magically disappear without a trace while you retrieve an axe and chop down a door.”

  “No. Not exactly. They didn’t chase me into the building. I was already in there.”

  “Oh, yes. Sorry, I forgot. You were locked in there with these pirates.”

  “No. I was locked in the supply room.”

  “Why were you in there?”

  “I was chasing a bird and the door got locked behind me. I thought the key might open the door. That’s when I got transported to the past and those pirates started chasing me—”

  “Timothy, stop,” his mom interrupted, ending the boy’s wild story. “I don’t think you realize how impossible and made up your story sounds.”

  “But, it’s the truth!”

  “Look,” she interrupted again. “I have not known you to tell lies. But, your story is purely ridiculous.” Taking a deep breath, she calmed herself and took on a more lawyerly tone. “This is really simple—if you’re telling the truth, then you can show me this key and prove what you’re saying. Or . . . you’re making up some fantasy, for—I don’t know why—and there will be consequences.”

  Timothy wanted to show his mom the key. He wanted to prove that he was not lying. But now, put on the spot, he knew he could not. Using the key to show his mother its magic was too risky. The thought of the pirates and of Jacob’s warnings were still fresh in his mind. Though he greatly disliked it, he knew nothing else could be done to prove his innocence.

  “So, Timothy . . . what do you have to say? Do you have proof?”

  “No. I guess I can’t prove it.”

  “Then—case closed,” she exclaimed, tapping her open palm down onto the steering wheel like a judge hammering her gavel. “The only thing now is to discuss the sentence.”

  “Sentence?”

  “Yes. Your punishment. Shall we say one, two, or maybe three months?”

  “I guess two sounds fair,” Timothy accepted.

  “OK. Two it will be. And we’ll have to include some chores, I think.”