They didn’t know what they’d find when they started pulling up the floorboards in the old house they were renovating. Not that anyone would normally expect to find anything unusual really. Certainly, you’d expect to find dirt, dead bugs, and the like. And, then there is the uncommon but explainable. A coin or a poker chip that a child wedged into a gap in the air duct, listening to it roll between the joists, gone from them forever.
Fortunately, for Norman and Sarah what they found wasn’t from the incredibly creepy side of the spectrum either. They escaped the shock and the horror of pulling up the floor of their recently purchased fixer-upper and finding a mummified body. Thankfully. Word would get out, and no one really wanted to be the owner of The Haunted House on Walnut Street, former residence of a deranged killer. No, thank you kindly. Bad investment.
What they did find was unexpected, but it was neither creepy nor mundane, explainable.
Working the crowbar, old planks creaking, groaning, straining, snapping, the music of The Doors cranking out of the boom box, the sweat stinging his eyes, Norman understandably didn’t notice it immediately. When Sarah came in and handed him the bottle of water, he turned and noticed the glint just barely poking out from under the edge of the floor.
“Mmm. Thanks,” he said. “What’s that?” He pointed and they walked over together. He squatted and reached down and pulled out a heavy metal container. They noticed immediately that it had not a spec of dust on it anywhere. It was ornately inscribed with pictures and what looked to be writing, though what the pictures could be of and the writing might say, neither of them had a clue.
Copyright © 2014 Eric Schweitz
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