The Prophecy

by Jeffrey M. Poole

  ***

  Steve sighed. How much longer was this drive going to last? When he had looked at the map to plot their course, he still couldn't see how it could last twelve hours. The starting point and ending point were in the same state for crying out loud! They had passed Boise several hours earlier. Now they were on a straight stretch of SR-55, in the middle of nowhere, with nothing to see. The steady humming of the SUV’s tires on the asphalt was beginning to make him drowsy.

  Sarah had gone to the library to check out several audio books. Steve had to admit, it was a good way to pass the time. Provided that they were murder mysteries, and not romance novels. Although he’d deny it under the most heinous of tortures, some of them weren’t too bad.

  This novel, however, was boring beyond belief. The story was very slow to start. He had believed (prayed!) that the pace would pick up, but after three cds, it was apparent that it wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. And what was with the narrator? Flat, emotionless, unenthusiastic voice that could put even the most caffeinated person to sleep in just a few minutes. Which moron listened to her and thought, “Gentlemen, here’s an idea, let’s have her make an audio book”? How many accidents was this lady responsible for, anyway? **Groan**. Seven more CDs to go.

  Steve glanced over at Sarah. She was staring idly out at the passing scenery. She clearly wasn’t paying attention to the book anymore, either. Time for Plan B. He reached behind his seat to pull out a bag of beef jerky, procured at the last gas stop they made. Knowing his wife could never resist her favorite road trip snack, he tore off the top and opened the bag. A split second later, Sarah's head snapped around.

  “You sneak! When did you get that?” Sarah was trying to act insulted that he hadn't offered it to her the instant he had bought it, but she knew Steve liked to surprise her. If her playful tirade of insults would have lasted any longer, then she would have ended up spraying jerky everywhere. Happily chewing away, the boring audio book was promptly ignored, which might be due to the fact that Steve had surreptitiously turned the volume down.

  “What do you think we'll find up there? Run-down house, trash everywhere, junk cars in the yard…” Steve was drawing himself a pretty good mental picture of this when Sarah finally swallowed.

  “Hon, I don't think they were rednecks.” She stifled a giggle. “Maybe an outdated house in need of a new paint job, and a couple of pink flamingos in the front yard.” She grabbed another piece of jerky. “I'm curious about the land, though. According to your map, their tract of land extends well into the forest. The land is probably worth more than the house itself.” She bit off another piece of jerky.

  “I wonder what type of people they were,” Steve mused, clearly not on the same page as she. “I don’t understand why they wouldn’t want to have contact with their family.”

  “Maybe they wanted to, but didn’t know how to.” Sarah was still chewing on her jerky. “Maybe your dad and his parents had an argument, and your dad decided to sever the relationship. That’s what I think happened.”

  “Dad never talked about his parents,” Steve said. “Every time I tried to bring the subject up, and wonder why we never went to visit, or why they never visited us, he always said he had no desire to see them. Never said what he had against them. I wish I knew. Sad way to live, if you ask me.”

  Sarah nodded. She bit off another piece of jerky. “Let’s listen to some music, ‘k?”

  Two bags of jerky, four music CDs, and a hasty overnight stay at a run-down motel later, they pulled in to a Coeur d’Alene gas station just off of I-90 to verify the directions they were given. Steve got out of their Santa Fe and headed inside. Sarah decided the station looked nice enough to get out and use the restroom. She passed her husband and headed to the back of the store. The attendant was studying the map.

  “Holt Lane. Hmmm. Your map says it’s off of French Gulch St. Haven’t heard of that one, but if your map is correct, then go out to that stop sign and hang a right. Keep going until you hit Harrison. Turn right. Harrison will turn into French Gulch. It should be on your left.”

  Steve thanked the attendant and got back in their car. Sarah returned several minutes later with a fresh, cold bottle of water and they were on their way.

  They found Holt Lane without any problems. The street ended in a cul-de-sac, backing up against the forest in all directions but the east. There were three houses that met their gaze. All of them, Steve thought joyfully, were large manors with well kept grounds. A fourth driveway could be seen, only it had locked gates securing the entrance, with the private road disappearing off into the woods Steve looked at the first house on the left.

  “439 Holt Lane. Look at the size of that sucker! It’s gorgeous!! That’s gotta be worth at least a half mil, easy!”

  Sarah looked at the large, Tudor-style manor. “That’s a beautiful house. They all are. Great neighborhood. Lots of land around. Forest for a backyard.”

  Steve had unfastened his seat belt and was reaching for the ignition when Sarah grabbed his hand.

  “Umm, wrong house. We’re looking for 419 Holt Lane.”

  Steve looked over at the next house on the right. “Hey, fine by me! That one is even bigger.”

  Sarah, however, was looking at the gated driveway. She pointed to it. “I think that’s ours.”

  “Huh? How can you tell? I don’t see an address.”

  Sarah unbuckled her seat belt and got out of the SUV. Walking over to the gates, she moved some of the brush aside, revealing a tarnished brass plaque set into the brick wall.

  “See? 419. This is it.”

  The gates were old, thick, and very formidable. They were set into solid brick foundations and, Steve was willing to bet, would be able to withstand any attempts of forced entry. A large, weathered lock kept the gates chained securely together.

  Steve got out of the car and started trying the various keys he was given. After a couple of attempts, he found the correct one and pushed the gates open. Belying their rusty appearance, the gates effortlessly opened, smacking into the brick wall with a resounding clang. Ahead of them, the driveway stretched on for about a hundred yards before disappearing into the forest, curving off to the right. It looked as though someone had cut a swath right through the middle of the trees, clearing just enough room for a car to squeeze by. Steve glanced at the other driveways. The houses at the end of each were situated about fifty feet away. He looked back at the gate and chuckled.

  “What's so funny?” asked Sarah, once he was back in the car.

  “I keep expecting to see a green van with a great big dog in the back seat.”

  Sarah stared blankly at him.

  “You know, like Scooby Doo. Are we going to find some type of mystery that needs to be solved? This is how they always seem to…” He trailed off after noticing his wife’s look, which clearly said, ‘You’re a dork.’ in any language. “Right. On we go.”

  Steve nudged the car through the gates and drove slowly down the lane. After they rounded the bend, it took a full ten minutes of driving (at ten mph - for some reason Steve couldn't bring himself to drive any faster) before they passed what could only be referred to as an authentic fruit orchard. They slowly drove by apple trees, pear trees, apricot trees, and several Sarah couldn’t identify. At last, the trees cleared and their newly acquired house came into view. And what a house it was!

  The manor was roughly 12,500 square feet, three stories high, and built in the early 1900's (by none other than Steve's great-grandfather, Luther, which he would not discover until much later). The house sat on a huge tract of land, with the forest encroaching from the north and west. Steve was not an architect, so couldn’t pinpoint what style the house was built to conform to, but it did look part Victorian, part Mediterranean, and it even had a medieval feel about the place. That turret on the western side of the house, for example. He blinke
d. No, that wasn't a turret. More like a round anteroom off of another room. The second and third stories also incorporated the same design as the first floor, so it certainly could be mistaken for a turret.

  Flagstone decorated the base of the house, extending halfway up the second floor. Situated on the northern side of the house was a detached garage with enough room for four full-sized RVs with room to spare. The southern side of the house contained the beginnings of an immense Victorian garden that wrapped around the western side of the mansion, stretching all the way up to the edge of the forest. A small, gurgling creek wound through the gardens before returning to the forest at the northwestern perimeter of the property.

  “You know, I would prefer it if you could pull all the way up to the house. I really don’t want to walk the rest of the way in.” Sarah was smiling, shaking her head. She was anxious to check out their new-found fortune. Steve had stepped on the brakes the moment their new house had come into view as they were still a good hundred yards away.

  “Sorry. Just taking it all in.” He drove to the front of the house and parked their car. Look at that garage! Room for all of your toys. That’d be an apt description for a real estate listing, he mused. Sarah was out of the car first.

  “This thing is a mansion! Omigod! It's enormous!!” Sarah was slowly turning in place, trying to take in as much as possible. It was then that she looked to the south of the gigantic manor and saw the gardens. Her gardens. “Look at that! Do you see the gardens? Let’s go check it out! Please??”

  “Knowing you and gardens, that could take a while.” Steve immediately sidestepped to his left about three feet in order to avoid the imminent hit. “Tell you what, as soon as we’re done checking out the inside, we’ll look around the outside. Okay?”

  “As long as you promise to not rush me.”

  Steve smiled. “Deal.”

  They both approached the front entry. Steve dug out the keys again and started going through them.

  “Got it. Shall we?”

  Sarah smiled as her husband held the door open. However, Steve had a change of mind when, instead, he decided to be the first one in. Sarah nodded, saying nothing. She was rather glad he had gone first. What if something jumped out at her? Besides, it was best to let him walk through any cobwebs first.

  Steve and Sarah Miller stood in a foyer the size of their first apartment. The first thing he noted was how everything inside looked as though it belonged in a museum. There were several cast iron coat racks to the left of the main doors; a huge mirror with a carved, mahogany frame was directly on the right. Two sets of staircases, one on the left and the other on the right spiraled up and joined together on the second floor, and then continued as one up to the third floor. A fireplace was just visible through a set of double doors on the left side of the room. It was so big that the two of them could have stood in it without hitting their heads. The right side of the room also contained a set of double doors, but those were closed.

  Both of them hadn’t moved more than a few feet from the front door.

  “How in the hell did they keep a house this big clean?” Steve wondered, looking around.

  Sarah didn’t have to think of the answer. “Easy. If you can afford a house this size, you hire maids.”

  “You have a point.” Steve walked over to a narrow table that was just below the mirror. He ran his finger along it. “Do they still have maids coming to take care of this place? No dust.”

  “Do you usually go into someone’s house and check for dust?”

  “Hey, I’m just saying that this room isn’t dusty­.”

  “Well, you don’t know how long it’s been since your grandparents were here, do you?”

  Steve admitted that he did not.

  Together, they walked through the ground floor, going from room-to-room. Steve started a mental list to keep tabs of everything they had come across so far: foyer, kitchen, dining room, formal dining room, sitting room (Sarah’s term for the round anteroom), two rooms that could pass for studies or offices, three bathrooms and a laundry room. There was no way they were going to be able to remember everything they had found. Ascending to the second floor, they started looking around. They found a well-stocked library, three guest rooms, two more bathrooms, another sitting room and a hobby room (Sarah discovered several sewing machines, an actual spinning wheel that looked as though it would still work, large stores of fabric and yarn, and great quantities of blank parchment).

  The third story had enormous vaulted ceilings spanning the entire floor. This level yielded what could be described as an observatory (a large, powerful telescope had been set up in the “round room”), a huge sitting area with numerous bookcases lining the walls, an enormous bathroom, and a massive set of carved doors leading into the late Simon and Grace’s personal bedroom. The vast doors were wide open.

  Steve moved closer to inspect the unusual doors. The door frames stood at least fifteen feet tall and had hand carved dragons, fairies, swords, and other symbols covering every square inch of the surface. The doors also had carvings covering the entire surface area. Whereas the frames had multiple figures carved onto the surface, the doors themselves depicted one carved relief that spanned both doors. It was a scene of a valley, with mountains to the north, a sea to the east, with a multi-turreted castle to the northeast bordering the coastline.

  “Someone sure had plenty of time on their hands when they carved this.” Steve ran his hands along one of the swords carved into either side of the frame. “This has got to be the coolest looking door frame I’ve ever seen. Have you ever seen anything like this?”

  “No, I haven’t. Something this intricate, this detailed has got to be documented somewhere.” She leaned forward and peered closer. “We could do some research online when we get a chance. Remind me to take a couple of digital pics for later.”

  Steve and Sarah walked through the doors into the master bedroom. This room, along with every other room they had explored thus far, conformed perfectly to the antique motif of the rest of the house. Paintings, tapestries, bookcase-lined walls, large comfortable-looking armchairs, and even a fireplace a shade smaller than the one on the first floor met their eyes. Everything seemed to be in its place.

  Sarah walked over to the nightstand on the right side of the bed and picked up a small, leather-bound book.

  “What do you have there?” Steve inquired.

  “Looks like some type of diary. A journal, maybe.” She flipped it open and read the inscription on the inside cover. Or at least tried to.

  “I can’t make this out. Take a look.” She offered him the book.

  Retouk e R’Tal dedonde lu manis er’ fasim olande djeren – Kri’Entu er’ Ny’Callé

  Steve was perplexed. “What language is that? It’s not Spanish.”

  “It’s not French either. I can’t make out any words at all.” Sarah looked as stumped as he was.

  He started to flip through the book, fearing it was all written in this unknown language, when he chose a random spot near the middle of the book and stopped. It was clearly written in English. He read aloud to Sarah.

  “’We finally located the manuscript in Capily. I’m anxious to start reading about Volan’s legendary travels, but Grace is anxious to return. The Nayan is very eager to see the manuscript, and I believe Grace would like to share the discovery with her.’” Steve closed the small book. “Capily? Where’s that? I haven’t heard of it.”

  “Me either. Probably somewhere in Europe.” Sarah looked thoughtfully at the journal, then at Steve. “You ought to read that. It might help you to get to know your grandparents better. Maybe find out why they wished to seclude themselves up here all the time.”

  Steve frowned. “Isn’t that a violation of privacy? I don’t want to pry into their lives. I wouldn’t want someone I don’t know reading my journal.”

  “Hon, they were your f
amily. You’re the self-appointed family historian. I’m sure it’s okay. Besides,” she pointed out, “I don’t think they would care. They’re dead!”

  Steve finally conceded the point and slipped the journal into his jacket pocket. They continued to look around the master bedroom before returning to the ground floor. He didn’t know about Sarah, but he was starting to have second thoughts about putting this place up for sale. This wasn’t the dump he figured it would be. Everything they had discovered thus far had been tasteful and elegant, indicating subtle wealth everywhere he looked. This was the home of a very civilized couple that enjoyed a comfortable lifestyle, surrounding themselves with unique possessions that interested them. Besides, the house was freakin’ huge!

  With each passing moment as they explored the manor he was starting to visualize both he and Sarah living there. In fact, he was already mentally claiming the study/office on the northern side of the first floor for his own when Sarah spoke.

  “What are you smiling at?” Sarah’s question yanked him back to the present. She had been watching him, trying to figure out what was going through that head of his. Just then, Steve’s cell phone started ringing. He unclipped his cell from his belt and checked the caller ID.

  “It’s your sister. Wonder why she didn’t call you?”

  “She probably did. My cell is charging.”

  “Probably ought to go outside. Better signal.”

  Sarah nodded. She took the cell and headed outdoors.

  “Seester!!”

  Steve shook his head and chuckled. Hearing Sarah call her sister that always made him smile. Sarah and Annie were as close as sisters could be, which meant this call could last quite a while. He sat down on one of the couches in the sitting room and pulled the journal out of his pocket.

  Outside, Sarah had wandered (deliberately) over to the gardens while chatting with her sister.

  “Omigod Annie! You should see this place! The house is beautiful! Not at all what I expected! The grounds are gorgeous! And I wish you could see this garden! I think I'm in heaven!” Sarah sank blissfully down onto a stone bench in the middle of a group of hydrangea bushes.

  “Do I really have to hear this?” Annie sounded jealous. “You get this fabulous mansion for free, along with your dream garden, and now you gotta brag about it?”

  “You better believe it! I so wish you could see this with me!”

  “Where's Steve?”

  “Oh, I left him in the house. I think he's probably looking around. Annie, I don't want to sell this place.”

  “Then just tell him. Steve's a reasonable guy. I'm sure he'd understand.”

  “You didn't hear him. He truly sounded like he didn’t want this place. Almost like he was offended that he was given it”

  Annie rolled her eyes. “Yeah, tough break.”

  Back inside the house, Steve was flipping through the journal when a sentence caught his eye.

  We’ll place the necklace in the safe…

  That got his attention. A safe? In this house? He stood up and walked to the living room with the ridiculously large fireplace. He scanned the room. Where would somebody hide a safe? Where else! Behind a painting! He practically ran to the closest painting and tried pulling it away from the wall. He promptly succeeded in knocking it off its holder. The gigantic painting fell noisily to the ground with a loud crash. A plant stand, complete with an exotic-looking plant, were also knocked over in the process.

  Sarah came sprinting back into the house. There was her husband, down on his knees, hastily scraping spilt dirt back into the base of a large potted fern.

  “Fifteen minutes! I leave you alone for fifteen minutes and you already break something! What did you do?”

  A five-year-old child caught with their hand in the cookie jar couldn’t have looked guiltier.

  “Umm, well, the thing is…”

  Sarah looked at the blank spot on the wall. Her gaze traveled down until her eyes rested on the painting and the fallen plant.

  “What were you doing? Don’t tell me you were looking for a hidden safe.”

  “Actually, I was. Get a load of this.” Steve showed the journal entry to his wife.

  Sarah was silent as she studied the journal. Steve noticed with satisfaction that his wife’s head was slowly swiveling about as she took in the layout of the room.

  “See? That’s what I was doing! I was checking to see where they might have hidden a safe.”

  “Okay, for the sake of argument, let’s assume there is a safe somewhere in this house. Do you actually think it would be hidden behind a painting?” Sarah paused. “They have safes that are hidden in the floor, you know. For that matter, they’ve hidden safes behind panels, bookcases, etc. We could search for days in here without finding any traces.”

  Steve looked thoughtful. “Remember those two rooms on this floor that could pass for offices? Let’s check there. Umm, I’ll take the one on the left; you take the one on the right.”

  “Sounds good. I don’t want to waste too much time on this, though.” Sarah thought a moment. “Let’s give it about ten minutes, then go on to something else. We can always search later.”

  They split up, Steve going to “his” office and Sarah to hers. Where to start? There was a mahogany desk on the far wall, bookcases everywhere, several plants, and he counted five paintings on the wall. Oh, and in the corner to the right of the desk was a statue of some mythological creature. Steve had to delve into his fantasy encyclopedia to come up with the name: griffin. A creature with the head, wings, and forelegs of an eagle, and the rest of the body resembling a lion. Cool!

  He went to the desk first and rifled through the drawers looking for any clues that might indicate the location of the safe. Nothing. He checked the paintings, carefully this time, and discovered bare walls behind them. He eyed the bookcases. There were five of them that were all filled with huge, musty tomes that looked as though they’d fall apart if he so much as touched them.

  He moved to the first bookcase when he stopped and listened. There was a faint humming noise that hadn’t been there before. He pivoted in place, trying to pinpoint where it was coming from. The odd thing was that it sounded like it came from everywhere in the room. Not a loud, unpleasant noise, but a constant soft, musical humming.

  Was this noise in all the rooms? Steve started moving toward the door when he froze. The humming had stopped.

  “What the hell?”

  Steve spun around and eyed the room again. He still couldn’t determine where in the room the sound was coming from. Eager to see if it would start up again, he stood in front of the same bookcase and waited. Sure enough, the humming returned.

  “Where in the hell is that coming from?” Steve spun in place again. Nothing out of the ordinary. He took a step toward the bookcase and cocked his head toward the books, fully expecting the humming to increase in volume. It didn’t. He experimentally took a couple of steps back and the humming ceased. Bemused, he stepped forward again, and the humming started. Back, and it stopped. Started, stopped. Stopped, then started. Stopped again.

  Sarah came around the corner and started to enter the room when she saw her husband. She stifled a laugh. What was he doing, the Hokey Pokey??

  Unable to refrain any longer, Sarah burst out laughing. “What are you doing?”

  “Hey, don’t laugh! Check this out!” Steve stepped towards the bookcase. The humming started.

  Sarah stopped laughing and cocked her head. Was someone humming?

  “What’s that? Where’s it coming from?”

  “I have no idea. It seems to be centered on this spot. If I move from it, like this…” Steve stepped away from the bookcase. The humming stopped. “See? It stopped. And if I go back, it starts again. What do you think?”

  “Something is reacting to your presence. But what?” Sarah looked around the ro
om. Nothing was out of place and there didn’t seem to be anything in the room that had an electronic brain.

  “Here, you stand here and let me see if I can tell if anything changes.” Steve stepped back to get out of the way as Sarah took his place. Both of them froze as they realized that the humming did not resume.

  “What the hell?” both said, in perfect harmony.

  Sarah stepped to the left and motioned Steve to join her. He returned to her side and was shocked to discover that the humming had resumed.

  “It’s you! Not me, but you! This is really spooky!” Sarah’s eyes had widened until they were the size of saucers.

  “Okay, I’m gonna move around the room. Something is making that noise. Stand over by the doorway and see if anything changes.” Steve walked the length of the bookcases on the far wall.

  “The STATUE!! Stopstopstop!!! Look at the statue!!” Sarah was practically jumping up and down as she gestured wildly at the stone statue of the griffin, whose eyes were glowing green.

  Steve froze in place as he looked at the statue. The griffin’s eyes were definitely glowing. The eyes grew brighter as he ventured closer. Stepping directly in front of the statue, the griffin raised its right foreleg, revealing a button that was recessed into the pedestal it was standing on.

  Steve was silent as he stared at the button. “Oh well, what the hell.” He pushed it.

  The front panel of the pedestal swung open. Inside the hidden chamber was a brass container the size of a shoebox, several stacks of papers, a small pewter box, and several sacks of an unknown substance.

  Steve reached in and pulled out a sack. The weight of the bag surprised him. He opened it and let out a shout.

  “Holy cow! It’s gold! This thing is full of gold coins! Not American. Or European. Ummm…” he picked up a coin and squinted at it. “I have no idea where it’s from. Some marks on the front and a picture of a griffin on the back. That’s odd. It kinda looks like that griffin,” he said, pointing to the griffin standing on the pedestal.

  “Do you think that’s real gold? What are in the other ones?” Sarah asked, pointing to the other two sacks.

  Steve reached in and pulled out the other two. He opened one and pulled out something that shimmered in the light.

  Sarah took the object from Steve. “What’s this?”

  “No clue. There’s about half as many of these as there are of those.”

  Sarah studied the object. It appeared to be made of some type of crystal, and was practically transparent with a slightly smoky color to it. The crystal was shaped roughly like a coin, but had (she counted) nine sides to it. She couldn’t make out any markings on its surface.

  “Another type of currency?” Sarah wondered aloud. Then with a sudden jolt of realization, she looked at Steve. “Hon, this is the safe. It has to be! Think about it! A sack of gold coins and a sack of these things. What’s in the last one?”

  Steve opened the bag to reveal… marbles. Smoke-colored marbles. Steve pulled one out and almost dropped it.

  “It’s vibrating! This thing is vibrating! And it’s warm, almost like it’s generating its own heat!” He handed it to Sarah.

  As she studied the marble, Steve pulled out the small pewter box and opened it. The object inside reminded him of those old skeleton keys you’d find in those big, ancient houses. However, this key didn’t appear to be made of metal. It looked like it was made from another type of crystal. A deep, vivid dark green colored crystal. He had to admit, it was the prettiest key he’d ever seen.

  “Hey, forget about that marble and take a look at this!” Steve passed the key to his wife.

  Sarah took the key out of the box and ran her fingers along the surface.

  “I’d love to see what this opens.” Then Sarah fell silent as she thought for a moment. “Actually, there’s only one possible door that this could unlock.”

  “Hon, maybe you’ve noticed, but we checked out the house. There’s no green, crystal doors in there.”

  “Steve, think about it!” Sarah sometimes had to explain the obvious to her husband. “Of all the rooms and doors we saw in that house, do any of them stand out to you?”

  Steve detected the I-can’t-believe-you-haven’t-figured-this-out-yet tone from his wife and decided not to make too much of an issue out of it. Yet.

  “If you’re going to tell me we saw a green door and I don’t remember it, then I’ll personally run out to Walgreen’s and pick up some ginkgo.”

  Sarah sighed.

  “The master bedroom. With the huge, carved doors? Remember them? I’ll bet this key is for the lock on those doors.”

  “Well, maybe you’re right” Steve admitted, “but if that key is for those doors, then we don’t need it. The doors are unlocked and open, remember?”

  “I remember.” Sarah’s curiosity had been piqued. “But I still want to see if this key does fit those doors and why it needs such an unusual key to lock them.”

  “Okay, I’m game.”

  Steve put the sacks back into the safe, closed the panel, and followed Sarah out to the foyer.

  They started climbing stairs.

  “Hon, I’ve been thinking…”

  “What would you think…”

  Both of them laughed as neither one heard what the other said.

  Steve smiled. “You first.”

  “Okay. I’ll be honest with you. I really like this house. I don’t want to give it up. I think we should keep it.” Sarah gave her husband her best attempt at her Bambi eyes. Steve, staring straight ahead, didn’t notice.

  “Well, that makes what I was going to say a lot easier. I don’t think we should sell it, either. There’s something about this place. I’m seriously starting to consider relocating here. I know it’s a resort town, but hey, we don’t have any family in Twin Falls. And I can finally start up my own business.” He paused. “I’m getting way ahead of myself. Why don’t you want to get rid of it?”

  Sarah simply stared at her husband. “Did you not see the garden?”

  They reached the top floor and proceeded to the master bedroom. The doors were massive and looked as though they weighed a ton each.

  “Okay He-Man, close ‘em up.”

  Steve eyed the doors. “Yeah, sure. Give me a minute.”

  The doors were much easier to move than he had anticipated. They smoothly slid into place and with a resounding clang, both doors were closed.

  Sarah approached the doors and ran her hands over the picture that was carved onto both of them. She took out the key and automatically started moving toward the doorknob, only no doorknobs were to be found.

  Steve blinked. “No doorknobs? Now what?”

  Sarah, too, was studying the doors. This key couldn’t be for a set of doors without doorknobs. Maybe she was mistaken. She was about ready to tell Steve she was obviously wrong when she noticed the carving of the castle. It was carved with exquisite detail, including the drawbridge and windows. One window didn’t have a regular, rectangular window, but had what appeared to be a hole. A key hole.

  “Hon, I think we have a winner! Look at this window on the castle!”

  Without waiting for his reaction, she inserted the key into the opening and turned.