The Seven Keys

Birdie

 Birdie

    For the first 15 years of my life I had been perfectly normal. Well, as normal as you can be when you live on an island off the coast of Australia. Or when your family owns four dogs, a cat, a gecko and a turtle, a dozen fish, a small pony, and the occasional injured wild animal. Despite this my life had been normal, compared to what was about to happen.

     Snap. I close the book with a sigh, it had been a good one. I look over at the clock next to my bed. It reads 8:35, I still have plenty of time to start another book before I have to go to bed. Hopping off the bed I walk across my room to my desk, piled high with books. But when I get to my desk I realize that I have read every book that I have there. “Crap” I say under my breath. I  will have to wait until we go to the mainland to get more books. I have read every book in the tiny library on the island. “Mom I'm out of books!” I shout. No reply. I look at my crowded bookshelves, but I don’t want to read any of those books again. Maybe my mom has something I can borrow. “Mom! Can I borrow one of your books?” I still don’t get a reply. I decide that she must be out. I’m sure that she wouldn’t mind if I took one of hers.

       I hed to my parents bedroom, just down the hall from mine. I push the door open softly, realizing too late that they might be sleeping. The room is empty. I walk across the carpeted room to the bookshelf. Most of the books there are plants and animals, not things that I want to read about. The few fiction books that are there I have already read. I am about to turn away, thinking that I could read one of my younger brother, Blaze’s books, when I notice something that I have never seen before. Tucked into the corner of the shelf is a slim black book. As I take I take it off the shelf I find that it’s old dusty cover doesn’t have a title. A mixture of nerves and curiosity fills me as I gently pull back the cover.

        The book wasn’t really a book at all, it is a box. The inside is lined with red velvet. I pull back the cloth, my curiosity mounting. There, lying against the velvet was a beautiful skeleton key. It was long and slender and a burnished silver. I look around suspiciously, suddenly not wanting to be found. When I confirm that I am alone I gently take the key out of the box.

        My head explodes in pain and I hear indistinguishable voices in my head. I gasp and reach reflexively for my head, dropping the key in the process. The pain in my head subsides and I slide against the wall breathing heavily, trying to comprehend what just happened to me. I look down at the key by my feet and feel drawn to it. Despite what just happened to me I lean over and gently pick it up. Nothing happens. I stand up and shove it into my pocket. Then I place the book back on the shelf, careful to make it look like it did before, for some reason I don’t want anyone to know what I have found. I leave the room, the books forgotten, unknowing of how much this small key would change my life.