The Key

I was seven years old when I first noticed the key. It hung in a picture frame above the mantle, catching the light in a way that made its surface shimmer with a faint rainbow glow. I couldn’t help but stare at it, mesmerized, wondering what it unlocked. When I asked my grandparents about it, they spat on the floor, their faces twisting in disgust.

"Find something else to worry about," they said, dismissing me sharply.

It always struck me as strange—that they would keep something in their home, prominently displayed, yet speak of it as if it carried a curse. But what did I know? I was just a kid.

Sometime later, I asked my father about the key. “It’s just some old family thing. It doesn’t even work—probably for some door that doesn’t exist anymore.” He gave me a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t waste your time thinking about it.”

Then he went back to reading the paper as if the key—and everything tied to it—was nothing more than a relic of a past better left forgotten.

I knew there was more to it than that, but no one would tell me, so I had no choice but to drop it.

My grandparents lived far away—like, a different country far—so I didn’t see them often. This meant I didn’t see the key much either, and it wasn’t hard to forget about it. But two years later, when they passed away, I found myself standing in front of the mantle again, staring at the key. Now that I was taller, I could see markings on it, like engravings, that I hadn’t noticed before.

I thought I had only been staring at the key for a minute or two, but the clock in the great room started to chime. It had done so just before I started looking at it, which meant I’d been standing there, transfixed, for almost an hour.

"Your uncle used to call it a lotus flower," my father said when he saw me staring.

"A lotus flower?" I asked, not knowing anything about Greek mythology at the time.

"Yes," he explained. "It’s a flower that traps people in a place. The flower causes people to think that only moments have passed, but in reality, months or even years go by."

“It sounds like a fitting name for it,” I said.

“It does.”

“Do you think I can have the key?” I asked.

“Absolutely not. That key is more trouble than it's worth. When you're older, I’ll tell you about it.”

I was disappointed to hear that. Given how little everyone seemed to care about it, I didn’t think anyone would want it.

Years passed, and I eventually stopped asking about the key. Life went on, and like most things from childhood, the memory of it faded into the background. It wasn’t until I was in my twenties that the key returned to my life in a way I couldn’t ignore.

My uncle had vanished without a trace—no note, no explanation. One day, he was there; the next, he was gone. The police looked for him for weeks but found nothing. It was like he had simply stepped off the face of the earth. My father, visibly shaken, was left to handle my uncle’s affairs—and that included inheriting the key.

I hadn’t thought about it in years, but when I saw my father holding it, a familiar unease crept over me. He looked at me with that same tight-lipped smile from years ago, but this time, there was no dismissing it. The key was now in his possession, and whatever secrets it held were closer to being uncovered.

My father and I sat in the quiet of the living room, the key resting on the table between us. Its rainbow glow was faint in the dim light, but it still held the same eerie allure I remembered from childhood.

"I think it’s time I tell you the truth," my father said, his voice heavy. He took a deep breath and stared at the key as if gathering the strength to speak.

"That key... it’s been in our family for longer than anyone can truly remember," my father began, his voice quieter now, almost reverent. "It’s passed from one generation to the next, like some cursed inheritance. For as long as it’s been around, there have been whispers about what it unlocks. Some say it’s the key to a treasure, riches beyond our wildest dreams, hidden away in some forgotten corner of the world. The kind of treasure that could change lives—make us kings if we found it."

He paused, his brow furrowing as he spoke. "But others believe it’s just an old relic tied to nothing more than a story. A myth our ancestors created to explain its existence, a way to justify why we keep passing it down. They say it’s nothing—just a meaningless trinket with no real power, and yet... it lingers."

His eyes darkened as he continued. "And then, there are those who think it’s far worse than either of those things. They believe the key doesn’t unlock treasure—it’s meant to keep something sealed away. Something dangerous. Something that should never be disturbed. The kind of thing that could unravel everything we know if it were ever let loose."

He paused, rubbing his hands together, his eyes far away. "Your grandfather... he was a smart man. When he inherited the key, he promised that no one in our family would go mad trying to find out what it unlocked. So he destroyed every scrap of information tied to it—all the notes, the documents, everything. At least, that’s what he thought. But your uncle... well, he found something somewhere. Some old papers, rumors maybe, enough to get him obsessed. He waited patiently for years, biding his time, waiting for the day he could get his hands on the key."

My father leaned back in his chair, the weight of the conversation etched across his face. Shadows seemed to deepen the lines of worry there. "Like I said," he began slowly, "no one knows for certain what that key unlocks. But your uncle... he believed with all his heart that it would lead to something magical, something extraordinary. He thought it would be his ticket to a world beyond anything we could imagine."

He shook his head, his voice growing quieter. "There’s no proof, but I’m convinced his disappearance is tied to the key. He’s not the first, either. Others in our family—those who were drawn to it—have vanished too, like they were swallowed by the mystery they were chasing."

“I don’t believe that key leads to anything good. I think the key itself is evil.” He looked at me, his eyes pleading. "Please... I’m begging you. Don’t let the key get to you. Don’t give it any thought. It’s more trouble than it’s worth. I don’t want to lose you like I lost him."

“If you and Granddad hate the key so much, why don’t you just get rid of it?” I asked.

My father let out a long sigh. “Fear,” he admitted. “Everyone knows I don’t believe in magic, ghosts, or any of that nonsense... but the truth is, that’s just a lie I tell myself. There’s something strange about that key. You can try to get rid of it, but it always finds its way back—back to you or someone else in the family. And the worst part? Bad luck will fall on whoever tries to throw it away.”

“I see the way you look at it," my father said quietly. "I saw your uncle look at it the same way. I don’t know if it calls to you or what, but whatever it is... it’s not normal. And I know you feel it too.”

My father didn’t say anything more about the key after that. For the next several years, it remained tucked away in a frame, hidden against the back wall of the attic, buried beneath a pile of old boxes.

Just before my fiftieth birthday, my father passed away. My mother had passed a few years earlier, so I inherited everything. I’d like to say I’d forgotten about the key, but it was one of those things that lived rent-free in the back of my mind. I was eager to see it again, so you can imagine my surprise when the lawyers handed it over to my cousin instead.

I didn’t know this, but the key was automatically passed down to the oldest living family member. At that time, it was her—my uncle’s daughter. She was much older than me, and we barely knew each other. I wasn’t sure how she felt about the key, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious.

To this day, I feel horrible about how excited I was when I found out my cousin had passed away. We barely knew each other—practically strangers, really. But that doesn’t excuse the joy I felt. It was at that moment that I realized I had a problem. For years, the key had been living in my mind, and I’d spent countless hours wondering what it unlocked, if there was indeed something special about it, and whether it would ever reveal its secrets to me.

A man arrived at my door to deliver the key. At first, I assumed he was a lawyer, but he explained that he was from a company that ensured the key was always passed to the oldest living member of the family. Along with the key, he handed me a letter—one from my uncle, meant to be delivered if I ever inherited the key.

The letter read:

Dear Nephew,

I write this to share what I’ve learned about the key. I became obsessed with it when I was a boy and gathered what knowledge I could over the years. First, only certain members of our family can use the key. You’re one of them—I know because I’ve heard how you can stare at it for hours without even realizing it. That means you can sense the world it could lead you to.

Second, the key doesn’t unlock a treasure trove of riches, as many have hoped. Sadly, I believe it might be more about keeping something dangerous sealed away, though I can’t be certain. Worse still, the key seems to be weakening. I know you’ve seen its glow, but if you look now, the light is much dimmer than when you first saw it. That’s a problem, though I don’t know how to fix it.

I also found that the key can only be used at certain times of the year. Sorry, that makes it sound like it’s bound to business hours, but that’s not what I mean. It can only be used on two days: the winter and summer solstice.

Finally, I believe I’ve figured out what the key unlocks. This may take some time to process, but I think it unlocks your... pause for dramatic effect... your soul. Or something close to it, at least.

I know all of this sounds difficult to believe, but if you’re still interested, follow the same clues I did. First, examine the markings on the key. Then, get an X-ray of your skull, particularly your forehead. After that, you’ll know what to do if you're still interested in pursuing the keys' secrets.

I did exactly what my uncle recommended. I spent weeks examining the key, though to me, it felt like only minutes had passed. I became so familiar with its marks and grooves that I could practically draw them in my sleep.

Then came the next step: the X-ray. The doctor’s brow furrowed in confusion as he put the films up on the light. There, clear as day, were markings etched into my skull—identical to the ones on the key. I instinctively reached up, pressing my fingers hard against my forehead, and felt indentations that I had never noticed before. My skull was engraved, and a chill ran down my spine.

I got a copy of the X-ray, and it didn’t take long for the markings to start making sense. They resembled hieroglyphics, but as I continued studying them, I became convinced they were telling me that my heart was the lock. The key, it seemed, was meant to stab directly into it.

It sounded impossible. The key was longer than most but not nearly long enough to reach my heart—unless I used something else to pierce my chest first. I spent months thinking about it, trying to rationalize the impossible. In the end, I decided against the idea of killing myself. There had to be something I was missing.

So, when the winter solstice came around, I grabbed the key and held it tight, waiting to see if something would happen. The marks on the key started to glow, all but one. the day passed and I don’t know how but I hadn’t met all the requirements.

It didn’t take long for me to come to a conclusion: I needed a child. I was in my sixties, far too old to raise one properly, but that didn’t stop me. I was determined to bring a child into this world, knowing full well that I wouldn’t be around for long.

I found a young woman in her twenties, desperate for money. At first, she was appalled when I offered to support her in exchange for children, but as her situation worsened, she eventually accepted. And then something strange happened when the children were born—yes, children. Twins, a boy and a girl. Suddenly, I stopped caring about the key altogether. My focus shifted entirely to my kids, and the key was forgotten, buried in the back of the attic for years.

That is, until the other day. I turned eighty-six, and the doctors told me I had only a few months left. Today is the summer solstice, and for the first time in years, I held the key in my hand. All the markings lit up in a way I’d never seen before, and from the tip of the key, a thin spike shot out—long enough to reach my heart.

I know I’m going to disappear. There will be no trace of me left, except for this letter. I don’t know where I’ll go, or if I’ll live long enough to see anything when I get there. But I’m writing this note for my two children because I never got to tell them in person about the key they’ll soon inherit.