The Key

by Mark Wesley

  Chores, Timothy thought forlornly. I do most of the chores anyway.

  “Do you agree?” his mother asked.

  “Yes, Mom. And chores.”

  “Then let’s say nothing more.”

  Driving home, Timothy looked up through the large pecan trees towards the stars and wondered silently. What has my grandfather given me?

  6

  The Chase Continues

  A month had passed without any appearance of the pirates, Jacob, or Timothy’s grandfather. The boy had been diligent about wearing the key at all times, under his shirt, pressed up against his chest.

  Grounded, he was confined to his house before and after school. Each day when he arrived home, he anxiously waited for his grandfather’s return. Staring out his bedroom window, Timothy watched the birds flapping about, the squirrels digging small holes throughout the yard, and cars that drove by.

  He found it difficult to relax; his thoughts annoyed him like a swarm of bees buzzing about. As if a weight about his neck, the key hung heavy on his conscience.

  Granddad, Timothy silently pleaded, you need to come back.

  Hung from points about a wooden ship, ropes wrapped around metal cleats securely held the vessel to a dock. With each gentle nudge of the sea, the ropes twisted and creaked softly. The mast stood tall as the deck lay empty, void of any inhabitants. Instead, tucked within the old and elegant sailboat, a dark and illustriously carved cabin housed the crew, who now huddled around their master awaiting orders.

  A thin and frail figure, whose appearance greatly underestimated her true strength and ability to move men, was garbed in dark robes. All that protruded out about this eerie wardrobe were her graceful fingers and stark white face that flaked all over. The oil paint had long since dried and now barely hung about her cheeks, chin, and forehead. A slender crack crept down from her hairline, traveling through one eye, leaving it empty—a hollow pit—then, continuing downwards, it stopped just under the curve of her chin. She was not human, but instead a child’s toy that had been brought to life. Made of wood, cloth, and thread, her every action was motivated by a thirst for beauty and to feel love once again.

  “We must get that key,” the figure avowed.

  “But how?” Grackle questioned. “We have no way of finding them now. Those earth-dwellers removed all our breadcrumbs. . . .”

  “I agree, Captain,” Tike offered. “The gnomes really messed us up. Those little meddlers went around and disarmed all our beacons. Unless the boy uses the key or stops wearing it . . . we have no way of finding him now.”

  “You should have hidden them better,” the figure scowled as one of her wooden fingers eerily pointed towards the rickety man. “Maybe I should teach you a lesson.”

  “No, Mum. Please, I will do better.”

  “You all have failed me,” she spat, waving her finger towards them all as each man ducked or cringed when the protrusion pointed their way. “But . . . there is one last trick I have.”

  “What’s that?” Grackle asked. “What have you got cooking?”

  “There is one bit of black magic we have not used.”

  The wooden witch set about gathering items that hung on various hooks throughout the cabin: a large bowl, small box, wooden spoon, rusted compass, and finally a tiny glass vial filled with ash.

  “Bring over that cabinet,” she commanded.

  Several of the men grabbed the item and drug it over to the center of the room.

  “Now fetch me a pail of seawater.”

  One of the pirates ran out to the ship’s deck, tossing over a pail to fetch the required amount of seawater while the witch stacked the bowl atop the small cabinet. Placing the compass inside, she precisely ladled out the needed amount of seawater, pouring each spoonful in the bowl and drenching the rusty item.

  “Where’s the map?” she asked, pointing to Tike.

  “It be right here . . . , right here in me coat.” The scrawny man pulled out the requested item and showed it to all. Slowly, the witch extended her thin and lengthy arm outward towards it, finally pinching the map with her fingers.

  “Now we just place this in the water. . . .”

  The paper map floated atop the salty liquid as it slowly began to take on and absorb the water.

  “Now just a little dab here.” The witch dusted the ash over the small box. “And a little here,” she said, dusting more into the bowl. “There. That should do it. They will now be joined.”

  Before placing it into the cabinet, she traced out a name into the powder atop the box with her finger: Hornigold.

  “What now? What’s supposed to happen?” Tike asked.

  “We wait,” she answered, “we wait.”

  Sitting in his bedroom staring out the window, Timothy spotted an old friend returning home across the street—a girl, several years his elder, who was known for being a bit rebellious. Jane was once part of his little gang of friends, playing as rough as any kid in the neighborhood. She could wrestle in the dirt, climb trees, and get into various kinds of mischief as children will do. However, with age, the childish games together had dwindled in number and the two friends grew apart. She had moved on to high school and the cars, parties, and friends it brought.

  I wonder what she got, Timothy thought as he watched her pick up a plain box sitting on her front porch.

  Jane eyed the address and recipient’s name.

  Is she coming over here? Timothy watched Jane carrying the box toward his house. I think she’s coming over here.

  The boy leaped from his seat realizing she was about to knock on his door. He ran into the bathroom and looked himself over, noticing a few strands stuck up askew in various directions.

  I’ve got to fix those, he thought, dabbing a bit of water on them and patting each strand flat.

  Knock, knock, thumped the sound from the front door.

  The boy ran downstairs, anxious to greet Jane.

  “Hello,” the boy greeted her, slightly out of breath from the run.

  “Hey Timothy.”

  “How’s it going?”

  “It’s going good,” she answered, nodding her head with a fragment of a smile.

  For that brief moment, looking over at Jane’s green eyes, Timothy completely forgot about the key and any other worries that had been hanging about. The new streak of blue that ran through her hair caught his attention as he could not help but stare.

  “And you?” Jane added, breaking Timothy’s gaze. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “Me? I am doing really good,” Timothy answered then repeated his first questions. “How are you?”

  Jane smiled as Timothy blushed slightly. “I mean—well, you’ve already answered that. I meant, what brings you over?”

  “Oh yeah,” she offered, holding up the box. “So, I got this delivered to my house, but . . . I think it’s for you.”

  As Timothy reached out and took the parcel, a sudden, brief sensation rippled through the boy’s body like a shockwave. It’s warm, he thought as a blink of darkness filled his body.

  “You OK?” Jane asked.

  “Yeah. I’m fine,” Timothy answered, shaking off the funny feeling. “Just got a little dizzy . . . must be something I ate.”

  “OK. Thought you might fall over for a second.”

  “Yeah. Me too,” he agreed, looking down at the address only to see indiscernible scrawling. “You sure this is for me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Does it have my name or something?” he questioned, turning the box over and inspecting each side.

  “It says your name and address right there,” she said, pointing to the writing.

  “Where?”

  “Right there, silly,” Jane offered, forcibly pointing to the inscription.

  “But that’s just scribbling.”

  �
��Seriously?”

  “You can read that?”

  “Yeah. You can’t?”

  “No,” Timothy added, squinting his eyes as he peered at the writing. “I can’t make out one single word.”

  “Very funny”.

  “No, really. I am not joking.”

  “So. What? You don’t want it?”

  “I mean . . . no. But are you sure that says my name and address?”

  “I’m sure, Timothy.”

  The boy shrugged his shoulders, slightly raising one hand in acceptance. He did not want to argue and instead was more interested in talking with Jane.

  “There it is,” the wooden witch cried out, noting a faint glow about a unique piece of the map. “Go now! Hurry, before we lose it.”

  Located at one of its corners, a key with various inscriptions and symbols danced around a star boldly labeled “N” in gold lettering, distinguishing North. The writing changed both in form and meaning, only understandable to the trained reader.

  “How?” Tike asked.

  “Into the cabinet,” the witch ordered with an evil sneer as she pointed to the small door about its base.

  “Into that?” Grackle questioned.

  “Yes. Before it’s too late.”

  Tike opened the door as the three other pirates stared inside, seeing only a dark and empty chasm. The box had disappeared, leaving nothing but a deep and hollow vacuum that devoured all light and sound.

  “Hurry, you fools; the magic will not last but a moment.”

  The men got on all fours and uncomfortably crawled into the abyss, disappearing one by one.

  Down the street from Timothy, the pirates inched out from a child’s wooden playhouse. The men squeezed themselves through the small opening and found they were in a backyard littered with toys—dump trucks, dolls, and various other playthings.

  “Which way?” Grackle demanded as he kicked several items out from underfoot.

  “Just a moment,” Tike answered, fishing for his compass and looking to see where the needle pointed. “That way.”

  The pirates quickly approached Timothy’s house, moving like rabid animals, not concerned in the least with stealth or appearances.

  “Hornigold,” Tike rasped, catching the boy’s attention.

  “Who is that?” Jane questioned as she saw the scraggly man approaching.

  Timothy’s eyes locked on the assailant with intense foreboding. He knew what had found him, and what it meant. “Come on,” Timothy instructed, grabbing the girl and pulling her inside.

  “What is happening?” Jane questioned as Timothy shut and locked the front entrance.

  Without an answer, the boy pulled Jane through the house to the rear door. Oh no, he thought, as he saw another one of the pirates walking up to the back door. “This way!” Timothy exclaimed, flipping the lock and pushing Jane to the stairs that led to the second story of the house.

  As the two reached the top of the steps, Timothy gazed back down to see the front door swing open, breaking the lock from the frame. The Anchor stood at the entrance, sneering up towards the boy.

  “Outta my way,” a young man shouted, moving around the Anchor and into the house.

  His face was cratered with battle wounds and littered with unkempt facial hair, while his teeth were blackened with stain—only a bit of white to be seen. His clothes were filthy and damp, all of which made him appear worn with age like a crusty old rag.

  Timothy leaped into the room, allowing Jane to close and lock the door behind him. “Who is that?” Jane asked.

  “Give us the key,” one of the men shouted as their heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs.

  “Timothy, what is going on?” Jane asked again as she saw the look of concern on the boy’s face.

  “It took us a while to find another way here, but now we have you,” the man called from outside the door.

  The key, Timothy thought, anxiously pacing about. But how did they find me?

  “Don’t make us hurt you, Hornigold. Just give us the key and we’ll leave you alone.”

  The doorknob to the room began to jiggle as the pirate struggled to push it open.

  “Who is that, Timothy?” Jane demanded, wide-eyed as she stomped down one foot, putting a period on her sentence.

  Stopping, Timothy looked at Jane and answered, “Bad men.”

  “What are they doing in your house?”

  “They . . . they . . . ,” Timothy paused, unable to come up with an excuse. “It’s hard to explain.”

  The knob again twisted about as the pirate continued to pound on the door.

  “Open up Hornigold. Or . . . we can break it down.”

  “I am not Hornigold!” Timothy shouted as he desperately thought about what to do.

  “Why are they calling you Hornigold?” Jane demanded.

  “They’re confused.”

  Jane turned her attention towards the door as she shouted, “I am calling the police! You’d better leave this house right now!”

  “I don’t think that’s going to work, Jane,” Timothy countered.

  The pirates pounded heavily on the door, thrusting their shoulders into the solid wooden barrier as cracks began to appear about the frame.

  “We have to leave, Jane! We have to leave now,” Timothy insisted, making his way to the window. “Come on, we’ll climb down.”

  Looking through the glass out to the lawn, he saw another man, scraggly and disheveled, peering up at him, ready to pounce. We can’t go that way.

  “What’s wrong, Timothy?”

  “You have to trust me, Jane.”

  “Trust you?”

  Timothy removed the key from around his neck and walked over to the closet. Holding the key in his hand, Timothy reached out to put it into the door.

  “What are you doing, Timothy?”

  “It’s our only way.”

  “What is?”

  “Out of here.”

  “How? That’s the closet.”

  “Trust me.”

  As the key got closer, the keyhole began to change shape, matching the key’s size and characteristics.

  Seeing the mysterious transformation, Jane asked, bewildered, “What is happening, Timothy?”

  Timothy placed the key within and opened the closet door.

  “You must trust me, Jane.”

  Again, Jane tried shouting at the men outside the room. “The police are almost here. You’d better get out of this house right now!”

  “Jane! Please. We have to go before they break down that door.”

  “We can’t hide in the closet!”

  “We’re not going into the closet. Now take my hand.”

  “You’re not making any sense, Timothy.”

  With a large crack, the frame of the bedroom entry broke into pieces, sending the door swinging open. There, standing in the opening, a rumpled man peered into the room, holding out his hand and pointing towards Timothy.

  “Stop right there, Hornigold! Don’t take another step,” he grunted.

  “JANE,” Timothy yelled as he reached out and pulled her towards him. “COME ON!”

  Timothy leaped into the void, pulling Jane with him.

  “Where did the boy go?” Grackle asked.

  “He went through that door,” Tike replied, pointing to the closet.

  “Go ahead. Get out the key,” Grackle commanded.

  A belt cinched around Tike’s waist contained a metal loop that held many keys clanking in unison.

  “Hurry up,” Grackle barked.

  “I’m trying, I’m trying,” Tike defended.

  The emaciated man retrieved one of the many keys and held it up, looking it over. “It’s this one,” he added.

  “No time to waste,” Grackle said. “Use it.”
/>   The four pirates leaped into the emptiness after Timothy.

  Having been sucked through the dark, Jane and Timothy found themselves thrust into a small apartment, staring at a plump, balding man standing over a cast iron skillet full of eggs cooking. His large belly was partly exposed, the upper torso covered by a thin, white undershirt. Sweat had beaded up around his forehead as he stood over the crackling eggs that he mixed with a worn, wooden spoon.

  With one cheek raised and eyes cocked, the man’s face launched into a caricature of someone puzzled. “Can I help yous guys?” he asked in his thick Brooklyn accent.

  “Sorry,” Timothy attempted to apologize for the intrusion. “It was an accident.”

  “An accident? How’s hidin’ in my closet an accident?”

  “We weren’t hiding, sir. We just . . . ,” Timothy found he did not have the appropriate words to describe the truth of the situation. “We’re actually leaving.”

  “Timothy, what is happening?” Jane questioned.

  Timothy looked over at the girl, reaching out to her and pulling her towards the front door. “Let’s go, Jane.”

  “It’s locked, yous dopes,” the man exclaimed as Timothy began to fumble at the handle. The boy slid off several chain locks that kept the exit secured. Opening the door, he and Jane proceeded down the stairs at an agile pace. They descended to the streets below and left the man dumbfounded, staring after them in confusion.

  “What is going on?” she tried again.

  Ignoring the question, Timothy looked in both directions, attempting to decide which way to go. “This way,” he answered, tugging at her arm.

  “I am not going anywhere,” Jane said angrily as she yanked free from Timothy’s grip. “Now. Tell me what is happening.”

  “OK,” Timothy finally answered, looking towards Jane’s bewildered face. “Those men are pirates and they want this key.” He held up the key.

  “That doesn’t make any sense, Timothy.”

  “I know, but we’re not safe yet. I just need you to trust me for now,” he insisted.

  Shaking her head, she heaved a heavy sigh. Jane momentarily gave Timothy her conviction, allowing him to pull her along. The boy ran down the street, rushing off in one direction along the sidewalk. Weaving between people, they turned left at the corner, running to the next intersection. Thinking they had made adequate progress and feeling they had lost the men, Timothy continued on, zigzagging through the cars to the other side of the street.