There, she saw it, the source of the whispers. It was an old battered up trunk. The leather straps looked worn, and a couple of the holes were broken. The metal was all rusty, and the corners looked moth eaten. She wiped away some of the dust, and got a mouthful of it in the process. Shaking her hand to rid the of the foul stuff, she tried to make out the peeling, faded gold letters on the side:  R J L.