Chilled to the Bones

Chilled to the Bones
143 Pages
Krullstone
ISBN B01LWRSC9E

Flopping down on the dirty floorboards, she ran her hands along the antique’s smooth, uneven edges. It was an old Revolutionary War trunk that bore a metal label with the year 1776 and Robert Townsend I inscribed on it. This trunk was way old; it had belonged to her great-great-grandfather to the umpteenth degree. The magnitude of her discovery was almost unfathomable.

Overcome with elation as the discovery bubbled on the verge of hysteria, Dealer glanced around to make sure she was alone. Her find was worthy of Sherlock Holmes, and it had apparently been hidden in her family’s farmhouse for centuries.

Brushing away the dirt and grime that covered the chest, she realized that it was locked. For a moment, discouragement settled in — but just for a moment. Her eyes scoured the fairly large space for some type of tool to open it. Dusty, faded orange-colored draperies as thin as paper allowed light to filter in.

Empty bottles sat on a shelf, the resultant artwork probably long gone. Boxes and long-forgotten personal treasures littered the corners. Dealer ran her hand along the unpainted wood, dirt and dust collecting under her fingernails, where a once-used roll-top desk stood. It was littered with pieces of fabric and paints, colored pencils with leads worn down to nothing, an old pin cushion, it’s sawdust insides spilling out its seams — and an old metal letter opener. It was Dealer’s best bet for breaking open that lock.

Determination wasn’t enough. She knew nothing about locksmithing, and the lock was stiff and slightly oxidized. Decoding the levers with a letter opener would be impossible. She gave up and sat back on her legs to think of another solution. The trunk was a family heirloom so taking a hammer to the lock was not an option.

Slowly Dealer worked to unfold her tingling legs. There had to have been a key. Where was it? She went back to her mom’s desk and sifted through the debris. The feel of the dust made her skin crawl with frustration. She couldn’t find a key. All manner of trinkets, pieces of wood, bits of candles, and colorless ribbons were strewn in the drawers. The bookshelf held even more unorganized junk. There were old papers and books piled in confusion. Moving aside a book on photography, Dealer had a thought. Her mom always kept special things — Grandmother’s cameo, her first baby tooth, Dad’s college graduation ring — in her glass button jar. But where was it? It had been years since she’d seen it.

Just out of the corner of her eye Dealer spied a woman in black lace gliding by the Revolutionary War Trunk, the hairs on the nape of Dealer’s neck stood up, she turned to look at the woman but she had vanished.

Linda Lee Kane

About Linda Lee Kane (Fresno, California Author)

Linda Lee Kane

I have a Master's in Education, PPS in counseling, School Psychologist, and a BS in Communicative Disorders.

When I'm writing for adults or children, the war between my days and nights is often reflected in my books. Although the tendency to acknowledge the light and dark sides of life is disguised in my work, it's there, lurking, just out of view.

I live between the sea and the valley where I write, paint, play with my grandchildren, three dogs, and six horses.

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