Key, cont.

When I got home, I popped a frozen dinner in the microwave and sat down to contemplate my mysterious new key. I was hoping that it simply wanted a quiet place to tell its story, but it still refused to communicate.

The microwave beeped and I set the key on the table, only to snatch it back, startled, as the insistent buzzing began again. It didn't want to reveal its secrets, but it also didn't want me to let it go. I huffed at it in frustration and shoved it back in my pocket, only digging it out again when I was settled with my mostly warm dinner. I turned it over and over in my hand while I ate, searching for any mark or stamp I may have missed, but the key was as much an enigma at the end of my meal as it had been at the beginning.

After dumping the dinner tray in the trash and my fork in the sink, I rummaged around in the junk drawer for the roll of twine I'd only just remembered stashing there. I cut a length and threaded the key on, tying it around my neck. I kept the twine long enough that I could examine the key, even while wearing it. And that's when it finally began to communicate, albeit so subtely I would've missed it, had it not tickled so much.

At first I thought it was just the normal movement as your average pendant, but then I noticed that I could turn around while standing perfectly straight and still feel the key skitter across my skin. So I took my shirt off and bent slightly to let the key dangle away from my body, where it buzzed faintly in protest, then rotated slowly around it. I'm sure I was quite the sight: a full-grown, half-naked man bent awkwardly at the waist, body orbiting a dangling key as if engaged in some sort of geriatric waltz, but it told me what I wanted to know. They key pulled in only one direction.

West.

The Key

I love finding lost keys. Doesn't matter what kind. House keys, padlock keys, desk keys, even music box keys, as long as they're lost, they call to me. And, when I find them, they tell me their stories.

All except one.

It all started the day a friend asked me to help him replace some drywall in his house. I could hear the key the moment I walked in the door. It was one of the most insistent callings I'd ever experienced, the drone so loud that I had trouble concentrating on the conversation I was trying to have. Fortunately, my friend was oblivious to both the call and my distraction. He simply handed me a hammer and pointed to a section of wall. To my immense relief, I found this to be where the noise was loudest. I struck at the wall with a ferocity that surprised both of us, but my friend simply left me to it.

Each blow widened the hole and increased the volume of the buzzing until I thought my teeth would vibrate out of my head. Then, I saw it: the faint, golden gleam of the key. I reached in, grabbing it from its hook.

Silence. I breathed a sigh and held the key, waiting for it to reveal its secrets to me, as every other lost key I'd ever found had.

It refused.

"What?" I whispered at it. "All that ruckus and now you've got nothing to say?"

Silence.

I studied it. It was like no key I'd ever come across. It appeared to be pure gold and the bow was crafted of filigree so fine it seemed it would shatter at the slightest touch. The blade, on the other hand, had teeth so wickedly sharp that it appeared the key had fangs. My curiosity was piqued in a way that was entirely new to me. I squeezed the key until it bit me, but it remained stubbornly quiet. There was nothing to do except pocket it and promise myself I would unravel its mysteries at the first opportunity.