I ran my thumb over the surface of the key. It was old, maybe even ancient. The man in the junk shop said it was centuries old. But would it work like the others?
The rug was still lying over the trapdoor, where I left it. No one had disturbed it. Pulling it aside, I opened the trapdoor and got down into the tiny space under the floor. When it closed, I heard it lock, just like before.
With the light from my phone, I found the keyhole and put the ancient key inside. It opened with a click at once, and I pushed the trapdoor up, my heart in my throat.
The room had changed, the paint on the walls gone, my sofa vanished. Instead, there was a bed nearby with a woman in it. At first, I thought she was staring into space, but she wasn’t breathing.
I hurried from the room and out the rough front door, noticing a large black cross painted on it as I left.
There had to be things nearby I could buy. Antiques in pristine condition. All my problems would be solved.
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