Chapter 2 – Chap 2

–

“Girls! Breakfast!” Uncle Curtis calls as my tired eyes adjust to the sun which shines off the lake and into our room.

Natasha is already up and pulling her socks on; her morning tradition. I roll out of bed and groggily walk over to the bathroom to freshen up before breakfast.

–

Laid out on the table for us is toast, sausages, eggs, and bacon. Natasha grabs a plate and begins serving herself as Uncle Curtis places down a jug of juice.

Upon seeing him, last nights memories dig at my brain.

The nails; who did they belong to? Why were they tied into a bag? Who created this treasure hunt?

As Uncle Curtis pulls a chair out for me, I notice something else.

His gloves; he always wears them. I’ve never seen him without them – at family events, when he greeted us yesterday, and now, making us breakfast; he wears the same patchy brown leather gloves.

I thank him as I sit and begin to serve myself. As I take my first few mouthfuls, I admire the tall grandfather clock that stands by the table. Uncle Curtis sits down with us, picks up some toast, and begins to butter it.

“How did you sleep, girls?” his voice is burly yet quiet. It is the voice of a man who once commanded a room but now opts instead to blend into its walls.

“We – uh, we slept okay. How did you sleep, uncle?” I reply, receiving a nod in agreement from Natasha.

“Just call me Curtis, dear. Uncle makes me sound… old”, his voice trails off before bursting into life, “but I did sleep well indeed! How about you, little one?”

His eyes rest on Natasha who quickly looks at me.

“She doesn’t really speak”, I say.

Uncle Curtis continues staring at Natasha, “why don’t you speak little one?” He rests his forearms on the table, leaning in closer and narrowing his eyes, “Are you hiding something?”

She stares nervously back at him before her eyes dart back to meet mine; a quiet call for help.

“She – ” I begin, but Uncle Curtis raises his hand to silence me.

“Let her answer”, he murmurs. His eyes are filled with curiosity.

Natasha’s gaze flits to meet his. She is completely still. All is silent except for the slow, subtle creak of the house moving in the wind. Her mouth slowly opens, as if to speak.

“Uncle would you show us the lake?” I blurt out. If she’s going to speak, it’ll be on her terms, not his.

Uncle Curtis lifts his arms from the table, straightens his back and shoots me a smile, “I’d love to show you the lake. I can meet you out back in a few minutes, we’ll get changed for it.”

“Great, we’ll see you there”, I say as I grab Natasha’s hand and lead her up the staircase, “thanks for breakfast.”

“My pleasure!” I hear my uncle exclaim, “and Natasha… it’s okay to have secrets. We all do.”

–

We’re just back from the lake; it was beautiful. Uncle Curtis showed us how to fish and even let us drive the speedboat for a bit, albeit not very fast. I still think he’s strange, there’s no denying that, but I’m warming up to him. He seems sweet.

However, I haven’t forgotten about the map. I’m sitting on my bed re-reading the poem, trying to figure it out.

Shine a light on the map, a light that is blue

A light… a blue light…

The only type of ‘blue’ light I can think of is ultraviolet; the type of light that they use in crime scenes to find bodily fluids and stuff. I remember from my younger days having a ‘spy’ book and writing words that only showed up under it.

But where can I find one?

There’s bound to be one somewhere in this old house. Maybe on the floor where Uncle Curtis keeps all his knick-knacks. There’s so much junk there – a lot of old gadgets.

I turn to see Natasha on her bed drawing something in her book. I decide it’s best I do this part alone. The first part of this puzzle was too much for someone her age and I want to make sure that, whatever this treasure map is, whatever it leads to, it won’t scar her for life. She’s just a kid.

“Ah shoot, I forgot my bottle by the lake”, I lie as I stand up and exit the room. Natasha doesn’t even look up from her book.

–

This place is like an antique shop.

I’ve walked through it a few times since being here but actually looking through it all makes me realise that my uncle is a bit of a hoarder. He has everything; old gaming consoles, shop signs, little statues, animal cages, like 30 watches. And in one of the boxes holding a bunch of technological mumbo-jumbo; four UV lights, I think. They need to be plugged in. Surely one of them will work.

–

I leave the lights behind one of the couches in the lounge on our floor; there’s a plug here and I also don’t want Natasha to realise what I’m doing.

I peek my head into our bedroom; Natasha is still lost in her drawings. Quietly, I close the door and head back to the couches.

I try the first light; no luck, doesn’t even turn on.

The second; isn’t a blue light. Just a normal nightlight.

The third; works. A blueish, purple light emits from its small frame as I flick the switch on the wall. Perfect.

I shine the light on the map but see no change. It’s too bright in here. I quickly head to my bedroom to grab my blanket. As I do so, Natasha looks up at me curious as to what I’m doing.

“What?” I say, “I’m just hanging on the couch.”

She turns her attention back to her book, now colouring something in.

I leap onto the couch and throw the blanket over my head in one quick motion. The light shines on the map.

It works. There’s writing in the top right corner. It reads;

​

You’re playing a game that you cannot win

Yet if you don’t try, you’ll go for a swim

But not the fun type, it’s the type you go down

Deep in the depths, it’s the type that you drown.

​

What the… It’s a warning.

Just like the first poem it’s warning me of something bad… Suggesting that completing this treasure hunt, or whatever it is, is the only way to survive.

I shine the light around the map.

Another ‘x’.

It’s faint, even under the blue light, but a small ‘x’ has been drawn by the front door to the house.

I quickly scan the rest of the map, finding nothing more, before making my way to the ground floor.

–

Uncle Curtis intercepts me just as I approach the front door.

“Hey Emily, come look at this!” he shouts from out the back of the house after seeing me through one of the windows. Begrudgingly, I postpone my treasure hunt and poke my head out the back door to find him kneeling down in his boat by the lake.

He talks to me about installing something new into his boat – I’m not sure. I let him ramble for a few minutes before politely wishing him the best and heading back inside.

I pace toward the front door; I have a perfect view of Uncle Curtis through the window across the room so I’ll see if he’s coming. It’s time to scan the area, looking for anything that could be used to conceal a clue.

Nothing.

I’m looking for a matter of minutes; it’s just wooden floors, a shoe rack, and a few umbrellas and coats. There’s nothing here.

That’s when it hits me.

The UV light.

Maybe I have to use it here.

I race upstairs, unplugging the light and grabbing both its clunky frame and my blanket before running back downstairs. I locate a socket near the front entrance and, once I’m sure Uncle Curtis is still working on the boat, plug it in and pull the blanket up and over my head.

I move along the floor shining the light frantically. It highlights dirt and muck, but nothing unusual. I start to feel silly; hiding beneath a blanket in the middle of the floor, looking for secret clues. Just as I’m about to give up and acknowledge my own stupidity, I see something.

In a corner where the floor meets the wall, it reads;

​

He’s not who you think, look in the clock

​

“Emily? Is that you?”

My heart jumps. I pull the blanket off my head, making sure it lands on and conceals the UV light. Uncle Curtis stands over me holding a wrench. Sweat drips down his forehead, over his nose, and into his beard.

“Yeah – I was… just trying something out.”

“What were you trying out?” he ponders.

“I mean – I’m playing hide and seek with Tasha, and I want to scare her, so – ”

“It’s not a very good hiding place, in the middle of the floor under a blanket.”

By chance, Natasha emerges from the staircase behind Uncle Curtis who spins around to greet her.

“Well, Natasha, I’m sure you found that quite easy, huh?” he asks.

Natasha looks visibly confused. For the first time in my life, I’m happy she doesn’t speak; she’d have asked him what he was talking about.

He laughs and mutters something under his breath as he returns to work on his boat outside.

Natasha grabs a glass of water from the kitchen and shoots me a bewildered glance as she walks back up the stairs.

Phew.

I reread what it says on the wall. The clock… perhaps… the grandfather clock? I make my way over to it. I realise now that it’s broken; a mere decoration. Carved into its frame are strange wooden designs reminiscent of waves. I fumble around the clock’s base, moving my hands along it looking for a latch or something.

It’s only as I gently push the clock face that I hear a small click. It’s loose. I carefully remove it and quietly place it on the dining hall table behind me. Before turning my attention back to the clock, I quickly peek out the nearest window to make sure Uncle Curtis is still working on his boat. He is.

I return to the clock. There is a small compartment behind where the face of the clock once sat. Within it, a brown leather bag. It’s similarly sized to the one found last night, perhaps slightly larger, but does not rattle as I pick it up. Instead it feels soft.

I feel around for anything else in the compartment but find nothing. The clock face easily slots back in place with a click. I grab my blanket and the light before running into the bathroom to open the bag.

After locking the door behind me, I sit on the blanket and carefully untie the bag. Instead of pouring it out, I look inside it.

It’s full of hair.

Brown hair fills the bag, coating its edges with long strands that now peek out from the bag’s opening. My heart beating, I grab a tissue and begin picking the hair out, dropping clumps of it into the toilet.

There’s something else in here. Something heavy.

I continue to pick the hair out; judging by its constant colour, it appears to all be from the same person. The strands of hair differ only in length and shape; some long and straight, some short and curly.

As I approach the bottom of the bag, the hair gets harder to extract. It’s all stuck together, clinging to the edges of the bag and clumping with any surrounding hair. But now, I see the object that’s weighing the bag down.

I reach my hand in, yanking at it. Slowly, I pull it from the firm, adhesive cluster of hair.

A large brass key.