I opened the trunk, see, and there were only keys in it. Great-grandpa’s trunk from the attic, the one Mom said he brought home from England after the war, that had all kind of scrolled brasswork and such all over it. I finally opened the trunk and all that was in there was keys, all tied up in a velvet sack.
Counted them – there were sixteen. Most of them were skeleton keys, the kind that fit a lock in an old door. Like you’d see in a ’30s black-and-white movie.
There were a couple that looked like they’d open a padlock – like on a treasure box or something.
And one, a tiny key, looked like it could open a jewelry box. I liked that one the best. I didn’t know why then, but I found out later. Much later, I found out it was a magical key.
Mom said I could keep them. So I put the keys in the bottom drawer of my desk, in the little velvet sack they came in.
That’s how the adventure started.
About this post: What a great image! Sixteen keys. Of course, one of them has to be magical!