Chapter One: The Long Lost Key and Memories

I had done the one thing my mom had told me not to do. I started panicking. It was a common occurrence for me to panic, but what I was panicking about, ironically, was what was supposed to heal my anxiety. The thing is, I have a severe case of Post - Traumatic Stress Disorder. My father had died in a car accident after dropping me off at school one day. I witnessed the car being hit by another that was speeding, send my family's Hyundai Elantra flying in cartwheels and crashing into a tree. My father was instantly killed by the impact. By the time the doctors and the police came, my dad was stone cold. My school was in a lock-down, but I kept on clinging onto the window and crying. I attended his funeral. Then I got the early signs of PTSD about a month later, but it is diagnosed only another month after. It has been half a year since the crash and it was spring. Her doctor told her that what kept her anxiety, stress and her disorder going was what reminded her of her father. My mom has tried everything, from stashing away photos to burning some of dad's clothes and belongings, but I still kept grieving, even more with reminders of him gone than there. My therapist suggested we move. And that's where the trouble started.

We boarded a train the next morning. I had packed most of my stuff, including my clothes, books and violin materials. I also packed my box of treasures, which was a small cardboard and colorful box I used to store foreign coins, key chains and rocks (I collected those). I also took a rose quartz and gold bracelet I snuck away from mom. It was a present from my dad to her on their 5th anniversary, when I was about 4 years old. The memory was clear in my head: mom opening a box, trying it on, looking twice as beautiful as normal. I had to leave as much as I was taking, mostly my dad's collected antiques and photos. The only present from him that I'm taking for me is my violin. I can't live without music. I play everyday. It's the only thing that kept me sane. I started when I was eight. I learned new songs every week. But I couldn't go to lessons anymore, I was so scared to show up and just break down in front of the instructor; he is one of by dad's best friends, and they are often mistaken for the other. I just kept to my small bedroom for months on end, playing the same, sad piece over and over again. I eventually came out, but I looked like a rabbit that hasn't slept in an eternity, like a street dog that hasn't eaten in a long time. My mom took a less harsh blow, but was sad all the same.

The train's whistling still echoed in my ears long after the train had started moving down it's tracks. I looked out the window into the gray, plain landscape of Auburn, Nebraska, which until now was my home. The rain pattering against the pane reflected my feelings of being melancholic, lonely. In a way, I felt happy to leave the place; I would be able to forget the place, all of the friends I lost because of my disorder, and just the memory of dad dying. I eat a bit during the trip but sleep for most of it, seeing visions of green leaves ripping apart.

As the train slowed down and came to a stop at a nearly deserted train station, we grabbed our suitcases and walked down onto the platform. Our footsteps echoed clearly as I followed my mom, walking briskly. We caught a taxi when we stepped out into fresh air of a small town and drove off to our new home. I hadn't bothered to look at signs on the station and never exactly knew where I was going to live.

"Ivy, come down! Dinner is ready!"

I jerked up from my small bed that I managed to set up in small room and looked around, memory of our arrival coming back. I had dozed off after dragging my feet up the creaking stairs to the second floor and plopped down onto the mattress of my new twin - sized bed and dozed off. My room was small and looked more like an attic than a second floor bedroom; some of the floorboards were loose, and I had to learn that fact the hard way; the paint on the walls had peeled; the large window that overlooked a meadow and a forest had a splintered windowpane; and there was dust everywhere, as if nobody has lived here in years. I had managed to unpack some stuff before flopping onto the mattress.

I hurry down the stairs and sit down at the rusted kitchen table. We ate in silence, my mother an I, until I felt overwhelmed because of the pressure hanging in the air.

"Why did we have to move?!" I cry out in pain, making my mom startled at my abrupt change in language and tone.

I sit back down and cough, surprised at how I lost control of myself. But instead of scolding me, she remains quiet At a subconscious level, I know she feels my pain and understands my train of thought.

"Can't we at least renovate this place? It stinks here!" I block my nose and wave the other hand under it, emphasizing the puke - creating smell.

And then I see my mom's face lit up, and a strange sound escapes off her tongue and through her cracked lips. I realize that it has been that long since the last time she laughed.

We started the next morning at the crack of dawn. It was raining, but we didn't care, since we stayed inside most of the day. I'll tell you one thing: There were a lot of boxes moving around, a lot of mom sweeping and wiping corners and walls. The next day, after we had unpacked everything, we headed into the small town nearby, which was only a ten minute walk away from our house, but ten minute was plenty to get your feet cold from the snow that the rain had turned into slush. We bought some paints, soaps and a new vacuum. I painted my small room's walls in a lush pastel green and lined it with stickers of birch trees, as well as packed the fridge with newly bought food, polished and stabilized the floorboards, and dusted shelves. While dusting an old bookshelf I came across a small unlocked box. Out of curiosity I opened the box and saw an antique bronze key that most likely belonged to the previous owner. Still, it was very pretty. My dad would've liked it. Then I started thinking about to what the key could open. Brushing a tear away, I was about to get back to work when I noticed a yellowed folded piece of paper that was lying on the bottom of the box. I carefully picked it up and opened it, careful because the paper was thin and fragile. There were a bunch of strange looking runes on the top of the page. Then there was a poem written in a messy, and way too loopy, cursive that I managed to decode. This is what it said:

A land of smaller people

Has grown to make itself stronger,

But they will soon need a stomper's help

To let them stand for a century longer.

For a new enemy amongst snow shall arise,

And ripped leaves will litter the ground,

A traitor amongst friends will hide in disguise,

But a new meaning for things will be found.

The poem did not have a date or signature. I then noticed a small symbol in the left - hand bottom corner a leaf taped to the page, and the letter T scratched into it. I recognized the mark. It was a similar one as the one on my biology textbook, but the leaf on this one was real. The author of my textbook suddenly flew out of my mind. Professor Bomba, I believe. I don't see how the T ties into this puzzle, but another thought hits me, this house, at some point, had belonged to Professor Bomba. I looked up at the walls an imagined dead skin and feather of animals and bug hanging off string. I looked around at the walls and imagined maps lining them, and stacks and stacks of paper trying not to topple off the desk that my mom now uses for her business job.

"Yvonne!"

"Yes?"

"Are you okay there?"

"I am! There is just *cough* so much dust!"

"It's okay honey, we're almost done."

"Kay mom!"

I quickly put the note and the key in the box and bring it up to my room and put it carefully into the big chest of my belongings under my bed. I then hurry down into the back garden where mom is trimming up some weeds from bushes covered in a small layer of snow. I offered her some help and we get the job over with quickly. Dusk has covered the sky with it's blanket if blue, purple and final streaks of yellow. We have been working all day today and I felt tired and numb from the frost. Mom had gone inside to prepare our second dinner in our new house. The work was pretty much done, now we needed to buy more things to fill up the deserted halls and rooms.

I use this chance to run upstairs to my bedroom and take out the chest with the key. I hadn't gotten a good chance to explore while cleaning and repairing, but I did now. Placing the key in the back pocket of stretchy jeans and the note in the other, I walked off into the clearing. I then felt a strange warmth and buzzing in my back pocket. I pulled the note out and noticed that the leaf's veins and T were glowing. I kept on walking and noticed that as i walked in a certain direction the glow intensified, as if leading me somewhere. To try out my theory, I turned around and started walking away. The leaf, as I thought, glowed fainter and fainter. I turned back around and started forward, now running, and the glowing intensified by so much so quickly that I was almost blinded when I came across a small shed. It was black and brown, and had loose panels, slick with frost and splintered wood all over. It was also crooked, and the doorway was even a proper rectangle. But what I noticed as I came closer to it is that it had a keyhole. I slowly pulled out my key a nearly placed it in the keyhole when I heard my mom's calls, echoing easily amongst the still forest.

"Dinner time!"

I sighed and left, but on a happy note I had an idea to continue exploring tomorrow.