THE CURSE OF THE HIDDEN TREASURE

Chapter 1: The Box

Evan stood motionless, his eyes glazed with tears as he watched the casket begin its descent into the earth. The wind was biting, chilling him to the bone, but he barely noticed; all he could feel was the ache of loss in his chest, an emptiness that seemed to grow deeper with every inch the casket sank beneath the surface. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be, he thought. Not for his dad, the fearless explorer, a man who had once seemed untouchable.

Around him, a solemn crowd had gathered, all dressed in black, their expressions somber. He could make out the murmurs of his mom standing a few paces away, holding his twelve-year-old sister, Lila, close. Lila’s shoulders shook, but their mother kept a calm composure, her face almost unreadable. Her boyfriend stood by her side, a tall, stern figure with a face Evan had come to resent. In the distance, the priest recited verses, his voice drifting through the air like the wind that rustled through the tall oak trees surrounding the vast estate. Somewhere nearby, Evan felt the comforting squeeze of Max’s hand on his shoulder, his best friend standing by him like a shadow, offering silent strength as he fought back his own tears.

The field where they stood was part of his father’s property, a sprawling land complete with gardens, winding paths, and a mansion designed to look like an ancient castle. Evan’s dad had loved that house, often calling it his “fortress,” and now, it was more than ever a place filled with echoes of his presence.

Evan’s mind drifted back to a time long ago when he and his dad had shared endless adventures on these grounds. Before the divorce, before the distance. His father would return from his latest expedition and sweep Evan off his feet with tales of ancient civilizations, hidden temples, and treasures lost to time. He’d spend hours showing Evan the maps he’d drawn, tracing out the pathways, reliving each step of his journey. And Evan would listen, wide-eyed, believing every story, every wonder his father described. He remembered their small “explorer club” rituals—how his dad would hand him a compass and say, “An explorer always knows his direction, Evan.” And together, they’d venture out to “discover” new things on the estate, Evan clutching the compass like a lifeline.

But as the years passed, his father’s absences grew longer, and those shared moments became rare. His mother would often retreat to their room in frustration, her voice rising in heated arguments about how he spent more time in jungles and deserts than at home. Eventually, the arguments faded, replaced by a cold silence that lasted until the day his father left for good. And after the divorce, his father vanished from their lives, their “club” meetings became mere memories. Until now. A part of Evan wished his father had spent more time at home, time that might have healed their family instead of tearing it apart.

The priest’s words faded, and Evan’s attention returned to the crowd around him. His grandmother stood silently near the edge of the crowd, clutching her handbag tightly, her face etched with sorrow. Beside her was Aunt Celia, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, occasionally glancing over at Evan with an expression of sympathy. He could tell that everyone felt the weight of his father’s passing, but none could feel the emptiness in his chest, the void left by the stories he’d never hear again.

As the ceremony concluded, the guests began to disperse. Evan’s mother gave him a brief, uncertain look as if trying to gauge his emotions, then walked back to where her boyfriend waited. His sister Lila hesitated before turning to join their mother, glancing at Evan with wide, teary eyes.

“Are you okay, man?” Max’s voice was low, and his eyes were gentle, the same soft brown eyes that had seen him through countless school days and difficult moments.

Evan managed a weak nod, though the weight in his heart remained. “I guess. I just… I thought he’d always be there, you know?”

Max patted his shoulder. “Yeah, I get it. He was… different. Not like anyone else’s dad. Like, he’d come back and have these insane stories. You always looked up to him.”

“Yeah, I did.” Evan’s gaze dropped to his hands, clenching and unclenching as he struggled to process the loss. “And now he’s gone.”

As he turned back to look at the now-covered grave, Evan saw the figure of a woman in her fifties or sixties approaching him. She was tall, with graying hair pulled back in a neat bun and sharp eyes that held a certain wisdom. She wore a dark, formal dress and held a small, polished wooden box in her hands. This was Ms. Hargrove, the house manager who had served his father for as long as Evan could remember. She was as much a fixture in the mansion as the stone walls themselves, often carrying herself with an air of dignity and grace that seemed almost out of place in the modern world.

“Evan,” Ms. Hargrove said, her voice warm but formal. She gave him a slight nod. “Your father left something for you.”

Evan looked down at the box she held out to him, his heart thudding as he reached for it. The polished wood was cool beneath his fingers, and he noticed a brass latch on the front. His initials were carved carefully into the top—E.W., along with a faint outline of what looked like a compass. This was no ordinary box; it was something his father had made sure he would have, even in his absence.

“Your father… he wanted you to have these,” she continued, a trace of emotion slipping through her usual composed expression. “He said that these items were meant for you and that you’d know when the time was right to open them.”

Evan swallowed hard, trying to suppress the growing knot in his throat. He managed to nod, feeling both curious and apprehensive about what might be inside. This was one last gift from his father, a connection that he hadn’t known would be there.

Max’s eyes widened as he watched Evan take the box, leaning in to whisper, “That looks ancient. Like, proper explorer’s stuff.”

Evan shot him a slight smile, despite the heaviness that lingered in his chest. “Yeah… it kind of does.”

Ms. Hargrove gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder. “I’m sorry for your loss, Evan. I know how much he meant to you.” With that, she turned and started back toward the mansion, her footsteps fading into the sounds of nature around them.

As he held the box in his hands, Evan’s mind whirled with questions. Why had his father wanted him to have these things? And what lay hidden inside this box?

“Open it, dude,” Max urged, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“Not yet,” Evan replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even know if I’m ready.”

They walked back toward the mansion in silence, Max beside him like an anchor, as Evan turned the box over in his hands. For now, he’d wait to open it, to uncover whatever remnants of his father’s legacy lay hidden within.

But deep down, he knew this was only the beginning.