Skeleton Key, part 1
Half-way through the month and here's the first creepy story, broken in half for easier reading.
Title: The Skeleton Key
Word Count: 4686
Rating: R, for violence
Original story - please do not copy
The room was pleasantly arrayed, as least in Mr. Cobb’s opinion. It was a comfortable study, neither too large nor too small, and artfully adorned with objects no one but he himself would consider an honor to look upon. The dark mahogany paneling and rich gold, brown, and royal blue tapestry highlighted the guns, knives, daggers, spears, and other assorted weaponry hanging on the walls. There were even a few ordinary-looking tools, carefully polished but still of average interest. He nodded to himself and adjusted the dapper little bowtie at his throat. While Mr. Cobb was dressed rather formally to meet and impress a visitor, he had left the room as is. Nothing in the room was ordinary save his presence. Like his suit, these objects had been selected to clothe the room for a reason. Each item had been used by a person of courage to perform an extraordinary act of bravery. Mr. Cobb, an avowed coward, lovingly tended every one, hoping someday they would reveal to him the source of the inestimable valor that had wielded them so it could rise within his own heart. In his mind, the room fairly pulsed with courage, and he could think of no better place to meet a stranger.
A soft knock on the thick wooden door preceded his housekeeper’s entrance. Behind her was the expected visitor for the day. While he rose in greeting, he did not come around from behind the antique wooden desk and offer a handshake. The woman might deserve the genteel custom, but Mr. Cobb hesitated for anyone to feel his sweaty palm or tremulous grip for fear his cowardice would betray him. The suit was his armor of confidence and the room his stronghold. Even so, he experienced great anxiety when meeting new people, but it was the only way to ensure the validity of the objects he coveted.
“Please,” he said, bowing slightly while he gestured a hand toward the chair opposite him on the other side of the desk, “have a seat, madam. May I offer you a drink?”
The woman slowly lowered herself into the wing-backed chair and sagged against one of the sides. “Nothing, thank you,” she said softly. “Just give me a minute to catch my breath.”
He did not miss the housekeeper’s look of concern, but he waved her off nonetheless. It was time to start the meeting, and the faster it began, the faster it would end and the woman’s obvious exhaustion and illness would no longer be his concern.
When the door closed and they were alone and both seated, he reintroduced himself as he had over the phone.
“I am Mr. Cobb. I understand you have an object to be evaluated. While I am delighted you called, I am still a little unclear who recommended me.” Her features could have matched the paneling for color, were it not for the paling influence of her ill health. Mr. Cobb nervously adjusted the cuffs of his shirt under his suit coat sleeves. “You do not seem well, Mrs.” He paused.
“My name really is Smith,” She sighed and wiped a hand across her brow as she straightened up and slid forward in the chair. “No one told me your information, Mr. Cobb. I know who you are and what you collect because of what I am going to sell you.”
Mrs. Smith pulled an old Sucrets lozenge tin from the recesses of the stained leather purse on her lap. She clutched it tightly for a moment and then laid it on the blotter atop the desk. “The price is $8200.”
It was not the largest sum he had ever doled out, but it would definitely be the largest for the smallest object. Mr. Cobb reached for the tin but ceased all motion when she held up a quick palm of warning.
“Don’t touch it,” she said.
“It is that delicate?”
“It’s that dangerous. Use gloves.”
“I see,” said Mr. Cobb gravely. He lost no time in securing his safety with two white cotton gloves for the pending examination. “You can confirm the item was used bravely in defense of another or in an act of heroism?” He opened the tin and frowned. “Is this a joke, madam?” he asked as he upended the box and a small object fell into the empty palm of his other hand.
It was a small item - quite dirty-looking when compared to the whiteness of the gloves - and hand carved from a substance akin to ivory or bone, the shape of which reminded him of old fashioned keys from centuries past.
He looked up at Mrs. Smith in askance.
“When I was a child,” she began, sinking back in the chair, “I dreamed of being special. Saving my family from danger and death, making enough money to deliver my family from poverty - there was no end to my fantasies.” She sighed heavily. “They never happened. I graduated from high school and worked my way through nursing school, and ended up with a doctor who trusted me. He introduced me to hospital staff who could further my education and I showed promise with lab work.” She smoothed her short-cropped and tightly curled hair, which was strikingly silver at the temples. A small satisfied smile released some of the age and worry from her features. “I’ve worked in labs for many a year, Mr. Cobb. I was grateful for the opportunity.” Mrs. Smith swallowed hard and seemed to shrink into herself when she stared at the key in his hand. “Five years ago, I found that.” She paused and pursed her lips in thought.
“A skeleton key,” Mr. Cobb prompted as he set the tin down.
She shook her head. “It isn’t made of bone.”
“Simply a name to describe its shape, not its composition. However,” he said as he turned it over and touched it cautiously with shielded fingers, “how do you know it isn’t bone?”
“I found it in a beaker of hydrochloric acid.”
“Ah.” He frowned. “Someone meant to destroy it.”
“Yes. I couldn’t understand why until I rescued it and touched it later with my bare hand.” She shivered. “It unlocked something inside me.”
“Bravery?” asked Mr. Cobb hopefully.
Mrs. Smith met his eyes with an unfathomable look. “I told you I had fantasies about being special. I wanted to save people, my family. Once I touched that thing, I could see the future, Mr. Cobb. I knew when phones were going to ring, stoplights were going to change, mail was going to come, and what horses would win the race. I thought my dreams could come true. They did.” She removed a handkerchief from her purse and dabbed her eyes and nose with it. “I dreamed the hospital had a fire. It did. But because I saw it in my dreams and knew what the fire would do, I was ready. We saved everyone. No one was hurt.”
Mr. Cobb did not point out her handkerchief was now blotchy with red marks. He didn’t mention the small spot of blood below her nose. Instead he concentrated on her words.
“That was very brave of you!” he exclaimed.
“I was fired. They thought I had started it.”
He blushed with embarrassment. “My apologies. That was unfair of them.”
She shrugged. “I dreamed of other accidents and tragedies. I warned my children and grandchildren. They laughed, until the first one of them died. Five funerals now and they don’t come around me. No calls, no nothing.” Her large brown eyes were clouded with anguish. “I tried so hard. No one listens. My children won’t look at me and the babies just cry when I’m near. It’s been a year since I’ve seen them. They figure if I’m not around, nothing will happen.” She dabbed her nose again. “I’ve seen it. They won’t outlive me. They won’t believe me.”
Mr. Cobb stroked the key absently as he revisited her statements.
“It unleashed your secret desire to be a hero”
“But I didn’t save anybody.”
He waggled a finger at her. “The hospital?”
She nodded. “True. Even so. Here’s my last chance to save someone.”
“Who?”
“You,” she said, now holding the handkerchief to her nose and pinching. It came away with a larger stain. “I dreamed about you on Monday. There was so much blood.”
“Amen to that,” he said absently, staring at the handkerchief. “I mean, go on.”
“I had to warn you. I had to see you. I saw you in my dream. I saw you pay me.”
A frown appeared and he put the key down and interlaced his fingers. “And you would sell me this warning for $8200?” His lip curled slightly in distaste. “I had forgotten there was a price for your story, Mrs. Smith. A sum for an object that can unlock my secret desire, perhaps?”
Mrs. Smith rested her head against the chair’s upright back. “The warning is free. I just need you to lock up that key and keep anyone from getting it. For that I should pay you, but I have nothing left. Money doesn’t mean much, not compared to family.” Her voice trembled slightly. “Fantasies can’t hug you.” She closed her eyes briefly then focused back on him. “I dreamed you wrote a check for $8200. I thought it was for me. I could be wrong. It doesn’t always show you everything, just what it wants to.”
She sighed again and closed her eyes. “So much blood,”
Mr. Cobb had had enough. “I refuse to be blackmailed into purchasing an item with such a skeptical tale. You, madam, are a fraud. I was nearly taken in, but the Cassandra syndrome is just too much to swallow. You are a charlatan.” He put the key back in the tin with shaking fingers and snapped it close. “Please leave and take this with you,” he said, holding it out to her.
She did not move.
He pushed a button and the housekeeper appeared within five minutes, a bit flustered and her face flushed.
“Wake her up,” Mr. Cobb demanded. “I want her to leave.”
To her credit, the housekeeper waited until the police and ambulance arrived to deal with the body before she threw up, and even then, she had the courtesy to use a proper receptacle rather than the study rug. Mr. Cobb was most appreciative and gave her the evening off.
*-*
The man across the desk from Mr. Cobb held out a hand and accepted the check. His face betrayed no emotion whatsoever as he read the sum of $8200.
“Indeed,” he intoned. “This will cover her expenses. You have an excellent understanding of the costs of our services, and I am grateful you called to take care of Mrs. Smith. Most generous of you, considering her impoverished state.”
“She is dead, sir. She died in my home. There was an item we were discussing and she gave it to me for safekeeping. She trusted me. I felt I had an obligation to see to her needs,” said Mr. Cobb.
The man looked slightly hopeful. “And the rest of her family?”
“I am only moved to finance Mrs. Smith’s service. Not the rest of her family’s interment.” He eyed the funeral director with the same distaste he felt for the situation. “Good day, sir.”
Title: The Skeleton Key
Word Count: 4686
Rating: R, for violence
Original story - please do not copy
The room was pleasantly arrayed, as least in Mr. Cobb’s opinion. It was a comfortable study, neither too large nor too small, and artfully adorned with objects no one but he himself would consider an honor to look upon. The dark mahogany paneling and rich gold, brown, and royal blue tapestry highlighted the guns, knives, daggers, spears, and other assorted weaponry hanging on the walls. There were even a few ordinary-looking tools, carefully polished but still of average interest. He nodded to himself and adjusted the dapper little bowtie at his throat. While Mr. Cobb was dressed rather formally to meet and impress a visitor, he had left the room as is. Nothing in the room was ordinary save his presence. Like his suit, these objects had been selected to clothe the room for a reason. Each item had been used by a person of courage to perform an extraordinary act of bravery. Mr. Cobb, an avowed coward, lovingly tended every one, hoping someday they would reveal to him the source of the inestimable valor that had wielded them so it could rise within his own heart. In his mind, the room fairly pulsed with courage, and he could think of no better place to meet a stranger.
A soft knock on the thick wooden door preceded his housekeeper’s entrance. Behind her was the expected visitor for the day. While he rose in greeting, he did not come around from behind the antique wooden desk and offer a handshake. The woman might deserve the genteel custom, but Mr. Cobb hesitated for anyone to feel his sweaty palm or tremulous grip for fear his cowardice would betray him. The suit was his armor of confidence and the room his stronghold. Even so, he experienced great anxiety when meeting new people, but it was the only way to ensure the validity of the objects he coveted.
“Please,” he said, bowing slightly while he gestured a hand toward the chair opposite him on the other side of the desk, “have a seat, madam. May I offer you a drink?”
The woman slowly lowered herself into the wing-backed chair and sagged against one of the sides. “Nothing, thank you,” she said softly. “Just give me a minute to catch my breath.”
He did not miss the housekeeper’s look of concern, but he waved her off nonetheless. It was time to start the meeting, and the faster it began, the faster it would end and the woman’s obvious exhaustion and illness would no longer be his concern.
When the door closed and they were alone and both seated, he reintroduced himself as he had over the phone.
“I am Mr. Cobb. I understand you have an object to be evaluated. While I am delighted you called, I am still a little unclear who recommended me.” Her features could have matched the paneling for color, were it not for the paling influence of her ill health. Mr. Cobb nervously adjusted the cuffs of his shirt under his suit coat sleeves. “You do not seem well, Mrs.” He paused.
“My name really is Smith,” She sighed and wiped a hand across her brow as she straightened up and slid forward in the chair. “No one told me your information, Mr. Cobb. I know who you are and what you collect because of what I am going to sell you.”
Mrs. Smith pulled an old Sucrets lozenge tin from the recesses of the stained leather purse on her lap. She clutched it tightly for a moment and then laid it on the blotter atop the desk. “The price is $8200.”
It was not the largest sum he had ever doled out, but it would definitely be the largest for the smallest object. Mr. Cobb reached for the tin but ceased all motion when she held up a quick palm of warning.
“Don’t touch it,” she said.
“It is that delicate?”
“It’s that dangerous. Use gloves.”
“I see,” said Mr. Cobb gravely. He lost no time in securing his safety with two white cotton gloves for the pending examination. “You can confirm the item was used bravely in defense of another or in an act of heroism?” He opened the tin and frowned. “Is this a joke, madam?” he asked as he upended the box and a small object fell into the empty palm of his other hand.
It was a small item - quite dirty-looking when compared to the whiteness of the gloves - and hand carved from a substance akin to ivory or bone, the shape of which reminded him of old fashioned keys from centuries past.
He looked up at Mrs. Smith in askance.
“When I was a child,” she began, sinking back in the chair, “I dreamed of being special. Saving my family from danger and death, making enough money to deliver my family from poverty - there was no end to my fantasies.” She sighed heavily. “They never happened. I graduated from high school and worked my way through nursing school, and ended up with a doctor who trusted me. He introduced me to hospital staff who could further my education and I showed promise with lab work.” She smoothed her short-cropped and tightly curled hair, which was strikingly silver at the temples. A small satisfied smile released some of the age and worry from her features. “I’ve worked in labs for many a year, Mr. Cobb. I was grateful for the opportunity.” Mrs. Smith swallowed hard and seemed to shrink into herself when she stared at the key in his hand. “Five years ago, I found that.” She paused and pursed her lips in thought.
“A skeleton key,” Mr. Cobb prompted as he set the tin down.
She shook her head. “It isn’t made of bone.”
“Simply a name to describe its shape, not its composition. However,” he said as he turned it over and touched it cautiously with shielded fingers, “how do you know it isn’t bone?”
“I found it in a beaker of hydrochloric acid.”
“Ah.” He frowned. “Someone meant to destroy it.”
“Yes. I couldn’t understand why until I rescued it and touched it later with my bare hand.” She shivered. “It unlocked something inside me.”
“Bravery?” asked Mr. Cobb hopefully.
Mrs. Smith met his eyes with an unfathomable look. “I told you I had fantasies about being special. I wanted to save people, my family. Once I touched that thing, I could see the future, Mr. Cobb. I knew when phones were going to ring, stoplights were going to change, mail was going to come, and what horses would win the race. I thought my dreams could come true. They did.” She removed a handkerchief from her purse and dabbed her eyes and nose with it. “I dreamed the hospital had a fire. It did. But because I saw it in my dreams and knew what the fire would do, I was ready. We saved everyone. No one was hurt.”
Mr. Cobb did not point out her handkerchief was now blotchy with red marks. He didn’t mention the small spot of blood below her nose. Instead he concentrated on her words.
“That was very brave of you!” he exclaimed.
“I was fired. They thought I had started it.”
He blushed with embarrassment. “My apologies. That was unfair of them.”
She shrugged. “I dreamed of other accidents and tragedies. I warned my children and grandchildren. They laughed, until the first one of them died. Five funerals now and they don’t come around me. No calls, no nothing.” Her large brown eyes were clouded with anguish. “I tried so hard. No one listens. My children won’t look at me and the babies just cry when I’m near. It’s been a year since I’ve seen them. They figure if I’m not around, nothing will happen.” She dabbed her nose again. “I’ve seen it. They won’t outlive me. They won’t believe me.”
Mr. Cobb stroked the key absently as he revisited her statements.
“It unleashed your secret desire to be a hero”
“But I didn’t save anybody.”
He waggled a finger at her. “The hospital?”
She nodded. “True. Even so. Here’s my last chance to save someone.”
“Who?”
“You,” she said, now holding the handkerchief to her nose and pinching. It came away with a larger stain. “I dreamed about you on Monday. There was so much blood.”
“Amen to that,” he said absently, staring at the handkerchief. “I mean, go on.”
“I had to warn you. I had to see you. I saw you in my dream. I saw you pay me.”
A frown appeared and he put the key down and interlaced his fingers. “And you would sell me this warning for $8200?” His lip curled slightly in distaste. “I had forgotten there was a price for your story, Mrs. Smith. A sum for an object that can unlock my secret desire, perhaps?”
Mrs. Smith rested her head against the chair’s upright back. “The warning is free. I just need you to lock up that key and keep anyone from getting it. For that I should pay you, but I have nothing left. Money doesn’t mean much, not compared to family.” Her voice trembled slightly. “Fantasies can’t hug you.” She closed her eyes briefly then focused back on him. “I dreamed you wrote a check for $8200. I thought it was for me. I could be wrong. It doesn’t always show you everything, just what it wants to.”
She sighed again and closed her eyes. “So much blood,”
Mr. Cobb had had enough. “I refuse to be blackmailed into purchasing an item with such a skeptical tale. You, madam, are a fraud. I was nearly taken in, but the Cassandra syndrome is just too much to swallow. You are a charlatan.” He put the key back in the tin with shaking fingers and snapped it close. “Please leave and take this with you,” he said, holding it out to her.
She did not move.
He pushed a button and the housekeeper appeared within five minutes, a bit flustered and her face flushed.
“Wake her up,” Mr. Cobb demanded. “I want her to leave.”
To her credit, the housekeeper waited until the police and ambulance arrived to deal with the body before she threw up, and even then, she had the courtesy to use a proper receptacle rather than the study rug. Mr. Cobb was most appreciative and gave her the evening off.
*-*
The man across the desk from Mr. Cobb held out a hand and accepted the check. His face betrayed no emotion whatsoever as he read the sum of $8200.
“Indeed,” he intoned. “This will cover her expenses. You have an excellent understanding of the costs of our services, and I am grateful you called to take care of Mrs. Smith. Most generous of you, considering her impoverished state.”
“She is dead, sir. She died in my home. There was an item we were discussing and she gave it to me for safekeeping. She trusted me. I felt I had an obligation to see to her needs,” said Mr. Cobb.
The man looked slightly hopeful. “And the rest of her family?”
“I am only moved to finance Mrs. Smith’s service. Not the rest of her family’s interment.” He eyed the funeral director with the same distaste he felt for the situation. “Good day, sir.”