Chapter 11 - The Secret of the Locked Parlor
The shadowy figure in the doorway didn't move. It stood completely still, its broad shoulders casting a long, skeletal shadow across the rotting wallpaper of the hallway as the storm raged outside.
Mark tightened his grip on the antique iron key he had just retrieved from the music box, his heart hammering against his ribs like a caged animal.
Who are you? Mark demanded, his voice echoing loudly through the empty, ruined house. What do you want with Elizabeth?
The shadow slowly raised its hand, pointing a heavy, dark finger toward the locked parlor door to the right of the foyer—a door that had been boarded up with thick wooden planks and sealed with heavy iron brackets.
Mark, get out of there! Sarah's voice exploded through the radio, filled with fresh terror. Lily just sat up! She's pointing toward our living room closet! She says the door is locked from the inside!
Mark glanced down at the key in his hand, then back at the shadowy figure in the doorway. The key wasn't for the cellar trunk. It was for the boarded-up parlor.
He sprinted down the hallway, ignoring the screaming wind and the rising water pooling around his ankles. He reached the sealed parlor door, dropped to his knees, and inspected the heavy iron deadbolt hammered deep into the rotting wood frame.
The antique key he held matched the ancient keyhole perfectly.
With shaking hands, Mark slid the key into the rusted lock and turned it. With a loud, echoing snap that sounded like a gunshot through the empty house, the deadbolt slid back. He pulled on the iron handle, and the heavy door slowly creaked open, releasing a cloud of freezing, stale air that smelled of old rain and untouched time.
He raised his flashlight and stepped inside the dark room. The beam swept across the interior, illuminating a scene that made his breath catch in his throat.
In the center of the parlor sat a small child's wooden table, set with two small porcelain teacups and a plate covered in dust. Sitting quietly at the table was Elizabeth, her big blue eyes looking up at him with an expression of profound, unimaginable relief.
And standing directly behind her chair, resting a gentle, protective hand on the little girl's shoulder, was the tall man in the heavy coat. As the flashlight beam illuminated his face, Mark saw that his features were gentle, weathered, and etched with eternal sorrow—a father who had tried to protect his child from the rising floodwaters all those years ago, but failed.
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Daddy locked the door so the water couldn't reach us, Elizabeth whispered softly, smiling up at the man behind her. But the key got lost in the music box.
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