The Key

by Mark Wesley

  “Find the chest. In the attic.”

  “Where are you, Granddad?” Timothy called out.

  “The small wooden chest. Look inside.”

  “I don’t understand, Granddad. You said you were safe.”

  “They found me,” his grandfather answered with gravity. “You must make sure they do not find you—or the key.”

  “How? What happened?” Timothy asked as unease crept up and began to fill his bones.

  No response came. The room sat empty, void of sound or movement.

  “Granddad,” the boy quietly whispered.

  A breeze hurried in as it spun about carrying with it the words, “Find the chest. Keep the key safe.”

  The back door was suddenly thrust open as his grandfather’s final words sped out the exit, pushing open the screen door with them. In silence, the rickety screen flapped slightly, then slowly was pulled back closed by the spring at its top.

  Timothy froze in confusion, collecting his nerves.

  What chest? he questioned. Then he remembered. The attic!

  Quickly, the boy turned the knob on the stove to the off position and rushed out of Jane’s front door in a state of frenzy. Leaping across the street, he ran up the steps to his house and pushed open his front door. Scaling the inside stairs, Timothy arrived at the second-floor hallway and looked up to see the thin cord that fell from the ceiling. Reaching up, he grasped the cord and pulled it down to drop the attic ladder.

  The hope that had filled his body moments earlier was now replaced with a sense of excited worry. Climbing the rickety wooden ladder, the boy found himself surrounded by stacked and disorderly items. Rummaging about moving boxes, broken lamps, an old crib, and several blankets, he finally located a small wooden box held closed by a flimsy metal latch.

  Opening the lid, Timothy found three items inside—a journal, a very small book no larger than a slice of bread, and one piece of paper that read:

  If you are reading this, I have entrusted you with a very powerful and magical item. I have also entrusted you with the safety of my family.

  Inside this chest, you will find a book of secrets I have learned along the way and my personal journal.

  Both will help you navigate this magical and hidden world. Both will also help you keep my family and the key safe.

  I wish you fair winds and following seas.

  Timothy took out the small book, opening the front cover, and thumbed through the pages. He realized that the little manuscript was littered with simple, indiscernible riddles.

  What does this mean? he thought as he read one:

  A paper once folded and soaked at its crease

  Then buried underfoot will make you less steep.

  To kneel would be foolish, stumble or fall.

  Here you must stand, sober and tall.

  Timothy then opened the leather-bound journal, unable to make out the sloppy cursive writing within. I can’t read this. It’s horrible handwriting. How does he expect me to understand any of this?

  Trying to make out any of the words, he noted a bit of scribbling on the first page that appeared to spell out:

  Put key in chest lock

  OK. Let’s give it a try.

  Leaning over, as to not take off the key, Timothy followed this simple instruction. However, nothing happened.

  What am I supposed to do?

  The eerie cry from his granddad still possessed the boy’s ear. He could not shake the rushed feeling that motivated his every decision.

  I can’t just sit here . . . I have to try something, Timothy argued as the urge to act spurred him on.

  The boy continued to flip through the pages, trying to make out any piece of information. A line, previously nondescript, called out to him:

  Stand on . . .

  The image of standing on the chest while using the key popped into Timothy’s mind. It can’t mean stand on the lid?

  The thought seemed too ridiculous to be accurate. It must mean something else, Timothy tried to convince himself. But I have nothing else to try.

  Closing the lid, Timothy stood on the chest and removed the key from around his neck. Bending over, he reached down and placed the key in the keyhole. In a flash, the entire attic was consumed by an intense light as Timothy was sucked through the keyhole like a vanilla shake being sipped through a straw. In the brief dance, all the items that had been moved about were reshuffled back to their original resting places. A slight moment passed as a calm stillness possessed the attic. The stale smell of mothballs and cardboard hung about. It appeared as if nothing had ever been disturbed. Then, in a final and sudden bolt, light shot from the keyhole, grabbing the book and journal that lay on the floor and sucking them inside as well.

  Dressed in a clean shirt and jeans, Jane came down from her room. She noticed the front door cracked open. Why’s that open, she thought.

  “Timothy?” Jane called out.

  Rushing downstairs and into the kitchen she saw the charred eggs cooked in the pan as puffs of smoke drifted into the air and filled the kitchen ceiling. “Timothy!”

  She stepped out of her house and onto the porch, looking about in the early morning air. “Timothy? Timothy . . . ,” she called, only slightly projecting her voice out into the breeze.

  Looking across the street, she saw the boy’s front door wide open. He must have gone home.

  Barefoot, the girl crept over to Timothy’s house. She stopped at the front door, anxious about stepping inside—the thought of chasing pirates still among her worries.

  Examining the interior, she looked up towards to the top of the staircase and saw the attic ladder Timothy had pulled out.

  What is that about?

  Driven by curiosity and fear, Jane allowed herself to enter the home and work her way up to the ladder.

  “Timothy, are you up there?” she whispered.

  Receiving no response, Jane cautiously climbed the steps to take a look. Peeking through the small opening, she peered into the dark attic. She saw many items stacked and covered, noting that nothing looked disturbed.

  He’s not up here, she thought, climbing back down.

  Where is he?

  About the Author

  Mark Wesley was born in Houston, Texas, but now resides in Austin. He graduated from Texas State University with an Undergraduate Degree in Mathematics and Physics and added his Masters in Sociology and Education soon after. He has been working with children for the last 20 years teaching, coaching, running afterschool and summer programs, mentoring, tutoring, and more. Mark currently teaches public school elementary and junior high students. In his spare time, he enjoys sailing, backpacking, and traveling the world on various adventures. Mark has a love for writing and telling stories, and has been entertaining children with his tales for years. His newest adventure includes spending time with his wife Kathryn and baby daughter Finley, and finally putting one of his stories down on paper.

  Connect with Mark and find out more about his other works or Origins of Magic by checking out his Facebook or website (oomseries.com).