The Old House

“How did she get this address?” Michael thought as he slammed the mailbox door shut, jumped back into his truck, and angrily threw the large envelope containing divorce papers onto the passenger seat. One month ago, he’d recently moved from Mesa Arizona to Sedona Arizona towards the end of summer. He couldn’t remember giving his wife the address.

Driving up the long driveway to his new home, Michael couldn’t help but feel sad. At 38, he couldn’t envision himself with anyone else but her. Jessica meant the world to him but they had a lot going on. Between being married right after college, trying to get pregnant naturally, his unstable jobs as a freelance writer, and now the renovation? Everything was just too much for them. He drove around the circular driveway, turned off the truck, stepped out and, reached for the envelope. Hesitating for a moment, he noticed the corner of the envelope felt as if something hard was in it. He felt around the corner of the envelope again. “A key to what?” Puzzled, he stuck his hand in the envelope and pulled out a key with a silver chain on it. His heart dropped. It was the key his grandparents gave Jessica the day they got married. The silver, beautifully engraved family heirloom had been passed down from generation to generation, just to be mailed in an envelope with divorce papers. Breathing in deeply, he slowly exhaled. He shook his head. Michael was not ready to let go. He dropped the jewelry back into the envelope. He walked around to the back of his truck, grabbed his sledgehammer, and unloaded the rest of his tools. Walking up the pathway, he paused a moment to take in the view of the mountains. Realizing the hard work that awaited him, he refocused. It didn’t take long for him to get started.

Michael swung the sledgehammer creating a rhythmic sound as he tore into the main wall of the library at the back of the house. It was recently inherited from his grandparents who passed away just a few years ago. First his grandpa passed, and not even a month later, his grandma passed away. He remembered when he was younger how full of life they were. Summers were full of adventure whenever he visited. Hiking, camping, boating, swimming, skiing, parachuting... He’d never forget the scavenger hunts in the mountains searching for rare rocks, and how every adventure seemed so real. Oh, how he missed them. Not only did his grandparents leave the house to him, they also included $20,000 to renovate it. It needed a lot of work. He’d thought of selling it and making a fortune but he decided to keep it. The house always had a certain mystical feeling. There always seemed to be more to the house than what was physically seen. Just like his grandparents, he thought. Till this day, he never knew how they always had so much money. His family never talked about it. It was almost as if his grandparents, and the house was hiding something.

Grunting and groaning, Michael slung the sledgehammer over his shoulder, heaving it forward and tearing into the drywall. The repetitive, destructive movement was exhausting, yet Michael worked hard to speed up the demolition process. He planned to have the renovations completed by next winter. He’d never make it at this rate. In order to keep his inheritance, Michael had to sign documents in the will, promising to renovate the library first.

Taking one small step to the right, Michael swung the sledgehammer again. “TING!” It sounded as if metal slid down the wall. Wiping the sweat from his forehead with his dusty work glove, and letting out an irritating sigh, he laid the sledgehammer on the old wooden floor, and began to break off the remaining pieces of drywall. Throwing several pieces to the floor, Michael squinted, as the sun reflected light off of the object in the wall and into his bright hazel eyes. Squinting again, he moved in closer and noticed a small metal box with a silver lock on it. His thick black eyebrows furrowed while leaning into the hole he created. He immediately jumped back as a black furry spider jumped onto his T-shirt. Jumping and cursing, he nervously brushed his chest and, finally stomping his foot on the already lifeless spider. He let out an uncontrollable shudder, alerting his eyes again to the box in the hole. What was in the box? He reached again into the drywall, the reflection from the sun now gone. He blindly felt around to the left. Nothing. He felt around to the right. Still nothing. Come on, it has to be there, he thought, while blindly waving his ungloved hand into the wall. Mumbling to himself, he cupped his hand around a square box. He tugged a little, careful not to drop it between the wooden boards that surrounded it. Although it was small, it was heavy.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of it. Sitting in an old patio chair with his feet on the table, he peeped over his dusty work boots while flickering the top to his lighter, click, ignite, flip, repeat… he studied it. The silver box had an engraved open book on top surrounded by flowers and leaves. The silver lock that held the box shut, had the same design. Vintage, sleek, yet mysteriously beautiful. The pattern seemed familiar. Why would his grandparents hide a locked box in the wall? The contents must be very valuable to be stored in such an elegant antique box. And when did they have the time to do it? The library had been the same since he was old enough to remember. The more important question is where was the key? Michael immediately looked up at the sky as if being awakened to reality. He sat up, dropped one foot down from the table, and then the other. Mind racing, Michael, ran to his truck!

Back in the library, key in hand, the envelope fell to the floor. Michael reached for the box. The adrenaline was almost too much. His hands trembling, he reached up and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Trying to slow his breathing and maintain composure, he grabbed the silver lock and with his other hand, tried to insert the key. It did not fit! He tried again, flipping the key around. He heard the clicking sounds as he turned the key in the lock. Each click made a different sound. It was as if he’d opened a heavy metal safe door. Then there was silence. The key would not turn anymore. The lock did not budge. Michael removed the key, and pulled down on the lock. Klunck! The lock dangled from the box. His heart now racing, his hands still shaking, Michael clumsily removed the lock. He took a step back from the table and carefully leaned back while stretching his hands and using his fingertips to lift the lid back. The smell of rich leather filled his nostrils as he eyed the contents. A little black book.

The book was surrounded by gemstones. Amethyst, jasper, onyx, and many others Michael and his grandparents studied. However, he didn’t remember finding any of these on the scavenger hunts. His chest still heaving as his heart continued to race, he lifted the book slowly. He studied it. The book was small enough to fit into his hand. The pages were uneven as if it were hand-made. He held his breath. The front page looked newer than the rest of the pages in the book. The handwriting looked familiar. It was titled, “The Cargill Family.” Cargill was the last name of his grandparents. Michael felt a cool breeze sweep against the back of his neck. He shuddered as he read the small print beneath. “For Michael MacMillan.”

The drawing on the next page was also familiar. It was a drawing of the library before he started ripping the walls out. He carefully flipped through the rest of the pages. They all seemed to be drawings, and a few were maps. He stood from the patio chair and entered the side door to the library. He studied the drawing, and then looked around the library, studied the drawing again, and then noticed that the rug he was standing on was not in the drawing! Michael’s heart jumped and immediately started pounding fast again. There in the drawing was a small square trap door. Placing the little black book on the table, Michael pulled the old rug back away from the floor and stood staring at the trap door. Sweating and shaking, Michael grabbed the handle and pulled open the door to reveal a spiral cement staircase. His eyes tried to adjust to the darkness beneath him. “Michael!” “Michael!” The faint sound of someone calling his name seemed to come from the bottom of the spiral stairs. Trembling, Michael immediately slammed the door, creating a billowing puff of red dust. His face was as white as snow.