This is a relatively short story, that will only have about seven, eight chapters, maybe more. But nonetheless enjoy it.
Ever so long, I stared at that key. It itself forestalled what it had unlocked. The black, indescribable tattoos on its body were not known to me, still; even after sleeping it over, still, it had not yet been revealed to myself.
I dragged the tips of my fingers slowly down it, feeling the markings of some eldritch, archaic artist. This key, odd as it was; was aesthetically pleasing.
For some time after, after touching its surface for the most innumerable of times: I sighed, out of complete irritation.
"You are quite the oddity, Key. But not for long, though. Only so many locks can remain in the house, and I have counted; five, only five locks remain untouched, unsoiled."
I was undeterred by the first lock not opening, the lock being the one to my bedroom door.
"Four left. Your time draws near its end." I left what was then my failure, my first failure of today.
I walked for what had seemed like ages gone by, traversing through the endless corridors and hallways of my home. And after searching for what was only minutes but had felt like years, I found it; the door to my library.
"Even if it is not this door, even if you do not want to open it," I said, holding this beast of a thing up to my eye level.
"You can not hide your other for long, your soul mate of a lock."
I lowered it down into the keyhole, but it would not even enter that lock's refuge.
"Damn. But no matter," I whispered, gripping the key even tighter in my palms.
"Three locks still remain. How long can you prolong your inevitable fate for, you simple minded Thing?"
This time, but with undeniable purpose, I quickened my pace, walking more briskly through my halls, and into the kitchen. Bland white, plastered upon every surface, except my tiled floors. The kitchen itself was very fashionable, though; I spent no expense ensuring the aesthetic and sentimental value of this place of culinary arts.
I approached the tallest cabinet, nearly out of my reach. The cabinet contained all of my spices, numbering into the hundreds, of various spices and additions such as Rosemary, Saffron, Juniper Berries, Anardana, Ajwain. The cabinet was nearly out of my reach, despite being only six feet, four inches on its elevated level. The difficulty in it being that I was only shyly an inch over the five foot mark, and my arms were relatively short compared to the rest of my body.
But still, I tippy-toed upward, balancing on one leg while extending my arms and fingerd as far upward as they could possibly go. Then, my fingers suddenly hit a stopping point. I peaked up, and the key was pressed against my fingertips and the wall. I slid the key upward, and forced the tip of the key into the lock, and it stayed for a moment.
"Ha! I got you, you little bastard."
It slid halfway in, as my heart rushed;
And then it stopped. Nothing less, nothing more.
"Damn it! I still have two more locks, how long can you keep this up?"
I ran to the utility room, the door actually within the walls of my kitchen itself. I open wide the door, twisting the knob in anger. I forced the key into the lock, and it had went in all of the way. I stopped in my tracks, staring at the knob as light perspiration slowly dripped down my face. I twisted the key slowly, unbelievable slow.
And it jammed. It turned barely a millimeter.
I screamed utter profanity into the house, hands covering my face with my palms.
"I've one more lock, you simple minded thing. One more lock. You've no where to possibly hide now."
This final lock was to my cellar door, outside in my garden. I made way to the backyard, which the entrance to was just outside my kitchen. I swung open the door, taking a slow and painful walk to the side of the house.
And there it was; the gateway leading into my basement. It was old, older than myself, even though I was relatively young. The door was decaying: termites were eating its inner, it could not be closed all the way, always having to remain ajar, as the lock had been jammed, and as so, I could never find the key for it. And since this Key was found out beneath the earth in my garden, near the cellar door, it is now only logical to have come to realization, that this Key most likely belongs to this door. And if it belongs to this door, which it does, it will unlock another mystery here; what is inside it. I hadn't bothered to call in a locksmith to find out the contents of my basement. But I will know now, just what is hidden beneath the dark crevices of my home.
"You've thought you've been so clever, haven't you?"
It wasn't; it played a decent enough game, with me. But man always topples over beasts, over simple things like objects and primitive ideals.
I slid the key slowly, watching it with lustful eyes. My hands shook slightly, more than last time, but it was not extremely noticeable. The tip of the Key had reached that hole for which it so rightly belonged; the moment, after long weeks of searching, it had finally come to an end.
The Key was now halfway in, and I was physically and undeniably excited now. Like a child, who overcame a tough obstacle in a game of his.
And the Key could not be pushed further.
"Damn you! God fucking damn you!"
I planted my foot into the dead oak wood with extreme force, and without surprise, my foot went right through the weakened door. I was fuming with rage by this time, my heart rate and breath rate increased dramatically.
And then, as quickly as my anger came, it went.
"I'll keep searching. There are other locks on this planet. The Key belongs to one of them."
But now, I was struck with a thought; go back to the original spot in which you found the Key. It must have a message with it.
And I did. I left the spot still unburied, as it had been that way for a week. It was a patch of grass torn into the earth, now a ten inch hole in the ground. I quickly dropped to my knees, the key gently laying upon the grass. I dug rapidly, throwing dirt left and right, getting deeper every second.
Night had finally fallen. Behind me, I had set up a floodlight, as to illuminate my excavation. By now, with only my two hands as tools, I dug four feet into the ground. My hands and knees and fingers were bleeding, nails coming off their fleshy-latches, exposed to the cold air of the night.
And then, my heart dropped. A grime ridden piece of paper was found.
I wiped the dirt away from its surface, climbing out of the hole, and putting it up to the flood light. It took less than a second of examining it; I was able to make out just exactly what it was. And a sense of horror overcame me over this realization.
They were pictures and blueprints.
Of my house.
It was the next day. I was visually blasted by the sun being shone directly into my face. I had fallen asleep under the stars; and that was perfectly find with me. Next to me were the pictures, which were of my fully furnished house, and basic plans and blueprints of the house's interior, which was the location of the rooms and what not.
Shamefully, I stood up, groggy eyed, sore, with mechanical movements. My bones creaked with every moment, and with the hot sun giving a feeling of unbearable warmness within my skin, I felt like I had the flu.
I sat down inside the air conditioned house with my finds, after I showered and ate breakfast. I turned the television set on low while I sat in my living room, for background noise, as I laid out the photographs, house plans, and the Key across the coffee table in front of me.
"Why were you buried so far above these, key?" I asked it.
"For you to find." I imagined it replying.
Closely, I examined the photographs first. They were quite old, maybe about forty or fifty years, approximately. The house has relatively not been changed since I bought it, just when I had turned shy of eighteen, five years ago.
"The garden looks untouched."
And it was. Nothing was in it; it was just a small field of grass, with one large oak tree in the exact center. Other examination of the photos brought nothing of light to the mystery of this key.
The stack of photos numbered in at about twenty five, and the blueprint was but one. I brought the blueprints to eye level, blocking out the television screen from my vision, eight feet in front of me.
Everything seemed in place: in accordance to their positions from the entrance door, the living room, which I sat in right now, was the first thing you would walk into if you were to enter this home. The kitchen was to the northwest from the door, through a doorless doorway from which the living room lead. To the northeast from the door, was the lavatory. On the right side of the restroom, were to guest bedrooms, always unused, but always well lit inside.
Nothing was out of order. Utility, master bedroom. It was in place.
"Unless..." I thought.
I remembered those 'spot the difference' games that I love playing, often on posts from my favourite image boards. What this was, was a copy of the house blue print's; I have the newest ones available made to date. This one was yellowed with age; and without a single doubt in my mind, this is the original. I laid it neatly down over the table, and sought out in my garage, the newest blueprints to the house; ones that were locked within a steel box. Unlatching it, I scavenge through useless junk to find what I was searching for. The plans were neatly rolled as if it were a magazine.
And back into the living room, some children's cartoon displayed upon the television screen. I sat down on my recliner, and moved up closer to the coffee table. Simultaneously, I held them both together, the new ones in the front, the old ones in the back, and I held it up to the light shining in through the large living room window.
Upon the old prints, there was a room, right in to the bathroom.
In the walls.