The gate stood hidden in the overgrown hedgerow. It had taken
Charlotte all morning to find it even though it was clearly marked on
the map of the property. The map was from fifty years ago when
Breckenridge Estate had been a well-kept holding. Now it had been
allowed to fall into a state of sad disrepair. But she had known that
at the auction last week.
After the auction an old woman had found her, said she was
the last of the Breckenridge's to have owned the estate, gripped
Charlotte's hand painfully and whispered to her that she must not unlock
the gate in the garden.
Why? Charlotte had asked. The last of the Breckenridge's had replied that the gate led to a bad place, a bad place indeed.
Obviously old age had caught up to the woman's mind. And yet here Charlotte stood, the ring of estate keys in one hand, hesitating.
Charlotte shook her head, chiding herself for entertaining thoughts of spooks and other worldly specters. She found the rusted gate key on the ring and fit it to the lock. It turned begrudgingly, squeaking in protest.
Once she had it unlocked, she hesitated again. She couldn't see through the gate for the overgrowth of hawthorn shrubs. What was the old woman worried about?
She wouldn't know unless she opened the gate and walked through.
As she was about to do so, she stopped. Maybe, she thought, some things are meant to be locked away and never revealed. There could be nothing on the other side of the gate but old oak trees and blackberry thorns. Or there could be something dark enough to make an old woman seek out the new owner of her ancestral estate and warn her not to tamper with it.
Maybe some secrets are meant to be secrets.
Charlotte carefully refit the key in the lock and turned it counter-clockwise. As the bolt engaged again, the rusty key snapped in two. The head of the key was left in the lock. Charlotte had no way of opening the gate now, even had she changed her mind.
Yes, she decided to herself as she smiled and turned away from the garden gate. Some secrets want to be left alone.
Why? Charlotte had asked. The last of the Breckenridge's had replied that the gate led to a bad place, a bad place indeed.
Obviously old age had caught up to the woman's mind. And yet here Charlotte stood, the ring of estate keys in one hand, hesitating.
Charlotte shook her head, chiding herself for entertaining thoughts of spooks and other worldly specters. She found the rusted gate key on the ring and fit it to the lock. It turned begrudgingly, squeaking in protest.
Once she had it unlocked, she hesitated again. She couldn't see through the gate for the overgrowth of hawthorn shrubs. What was the old woman worried about?
She wouldn't know unless she opened the gate and walked through.
As she was about to do so, she stopped. Maybe, she thought, some things are meant to be locked away and never revealed. There could be nothing on the other side of the gate but old oak trees and blackberry thorns. Or there could be something dark enough to make an old woman seek out the new owner of her ancestral estate and warn her not to tamper with it.
Maybe some secrets are meant to be secrets.
Charlotte carefully refit the key in the lock and turned it counter-clockwise. As the bolt engaged again, the rusty key snapped in two. The head of the key was left in the lock. Charlotte had no way of opening the gate now, even had she changed her mind.
Yes, she decided to herself as she smiled and turned away from the garden gate. Some secrets want to be left alone.
