The Mysterious Key | Mystery & Crime Five Minutes Stories

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The Mysterious Key 

Investigator Evelyn Carter sat in her office late one fall evening, the downpour tapping against the windows in a consistent mood. It had been a calm day, the sort where the telephone never rang, and the case documents stayed immaculate. She wasn’t grumbling — following quite a while of exhausting examinations, it was a welcome quietness. However, as she gazed at her jumbled work area, something was absent. That need to get a move on, of direction, that accompanied a decent case. The sort of case that caused her to feel invigorated.

She looked down at the manila envelope that had shown up an hour prior, its items still unopened. No bring address back. No letter. Simply a little, discolored key settled inside.

She got it, turning it over in her fingers. It was old — too old to even consider being from a cutting edge lock, and positively not something that would fit in any of the commonplace locks she experienced in her profession. The key was metal, worn smooth from long stretches of purpose. The teeth were spiked yet exact, as though planned with cautious aim. A number was carved into the side — 12.

No note. Not a really obvious reason. Simply the key.

Evelyn wasn’t new to secrets. She had settled her reasonable part of astounding cases throughout the long term, yet this was something else. Something… individual. A test, maybe, or a test. She felt the recognizable draw of interest fix in her chest.

She might have effectively excused it. All things considered, there were a lot of cases sitting tight for her consideration — missing people, taken things, misrepresentation. However, there was something about this key, the manner in which it appeared to murmur in her palm, that bothered her.

The downpour outside became stronger, as though encouraging her to act. She stood up, slipping the key into the pocket of her jacket, and snatched her sack. She didn’t know where this was driving, yet she knew one thing without a doubt: she needed to find out.

Hours after the fact, Evelyn remained before an old, feeble structure on the edges of the city. It had been deserted for quite a long time — simply one more failed to remember remnant of the endless suburbia. Its once-stupendous stone outside was currently broken and shrouded in ivy, the windows blocked, the entryway drooping on its pivots.

The location on the envelope had driven her here.

She moved toward the entryway carefully, her faculties on guard. The key squeezed against her leg in her pocket, as though it were a weight pulling her nearer to the unexplored world. With a full breath, she hauled the key out and inspected it again. The number “12” gazed back at her, yet she had no clue about what it implied.

A delicate snap reverberated through the unfilled road as she embedded the key into the lock. It turned effectively, and the entryway squeaked open with a moan, uncovering a faintly lit lobby past. The air possessed a scent like residue and mold, however there was something different — a weak hint of something she couldn’t exactly distinguish.

She ventured inside, her strides stifled by the thick layer of residue that covered the floor. The lobby extended before her, and she could feel the heaviness of time pushing down on the walls. The spot had a scary quietness to it, like it hadn’t been contacted in years.

Her hand brushed the edge of a wooden rail as she rose a limited flight of stairs, the means squeaking under her weight. At the highest point of the steps was an entryway — shut, yet at the same not locked. A basic metal handle, discolored and matured, however with no keyhole.

Evelyn faltered. The key hadn’t driven her here. She had not a great explanation to accept the entryway would open, yet something in her stomach told her this was the spot.

She put her hand on the handle. Incredibly, it turned effectively, the entryway opening up on quiet pivots.

Inside was a room, little and jumbled with old furnishings, boxes, and dissipated papers. Be that as it may, what grabbed her attention was a solitary thing sitting on the work area in the focal point of the room: a blurred photo, outlined and somewhat to one side. Evelyn strolled over and got it.

The photo was of a young lady, grinning, her hair long and dim, her eyes brimming with life. She was remaining before a house — a house that seemed as though the one she was remaining in at this point. In any case, it was the date composed on the rear of the photo that made her blood run cold.

 

November twelfth, 1983.

Her brain dashed as she attempted to get a handle on everything. Why had somebody sent her this key? Why had they picked her, everything being equal, to tackle this riddle?

Evelyn put the photo back on the work area, her fingers waiting on its edge. There must be something else to this besides an old photo and an unwanted structure.

As she went to leave, something on the work area grabbed her attention — a little, complicatedly cut wooden box. It was no bigger than a gems box, and its surface was worn smooth by time. She lifted it and saw that the top had been left somewhat partially open. Inside, settled among velvet covering, was a key. A subsequent key, indistinguishable from the one she had gotten before.

Her heart skirted a thump. She saw now. The main key had made the way for this room. The subsequent key… it was the way in to anything that mystery lay concealed inside this spot.

The heaviness of her revelation hit her like a wave. She realized she wasn’t simply settling a case any longer. She was being driven some place — some place profound. The key was an actual item, however an image of something a lot more prominent.

Evelyn turned the second key over in her grasp. The number scratched into it was unique. 13.

The secret had just barely started.