On one of the shelves sat a brown box covered in strange patterns.
Etched on its front were the words
"Box of Salomon."
A chill crawled down Vince's spine. He tapped it lightly, hearing the dull sound of something inside. His eyes darted away from the box, searching the darkness for a gas lamp.
Feeling his way along the shelves, his hand suddenly knocked into something.
Ding…
The faint ring of glass echoed in the room. Vince struck another match, held it to the lamp, and lit the flame. The room bloomed with light.
"Woah."
It was a cramped chamber, barely large enough for two people. Wooden shelves lined the walls, each one cradling a box carved with patterns just as strange as Salomon's.
Vince moved closer, reading the names aloud.
"Box of Salomon."
"Box of Rosa."
"Box of Ramona."
"Box of Lorna."
One shelf had a gap, a single empty space in the line of boxes.
Janie's. It had to be.
"He never told me about our boxes," Vince muttered, realization prickling at the back of his mind.
Then his gaze froze on one box near the end.
"Box of Vince."
His breath caught. A part of him wanted to check the others first, to peek at his siblings' secrets. But his own was right there, calling to him. He couldn't ignore it.
His hand trembled as he reached for it. The patterns were the same as the others, but touching it made him uneasy. Still, excitement boiled in his chest. Answers, maybe even truths his father had hidden, could be inside.
But one question gnawed louder than the rest.
Why…?
He carried the box back to his room. The stench of trash and the scurrying of rats greeted him like always, but he ignored it. Clearing a spot on his desk, he shoved aside old notes and set the box down.
A small golden latch sealed it. Vince hesitated, then drew a breath and opened it.
Cough!
Dust exploded from inside, choking him until he waved it clear. When his eyes adjusted, he saw the contents.
First, a tiny brown leather shoe, worn but preserved.
Next, a carved wooden toy figure.
Beside it, strands of baby hair tied with thread.
Vince froze, heart twisting.
They kept my baby things…
One by one, he lifted each item, holding them carefully, like touching fragments of a forgotten life. Old feelings stirred with each piece, memories threatening to surface.
Finally, his hand brushed the bottom of the box. A single folded paper rested there.
"A letter?"
It felt fragile, as though it might crumble at the edges if he wasn't gentle. Carefully, he turned it over. His eyes widened.
The words shimmered faintly, as if written only for him:
Dear Vince, these words can only be seen by you, my child. This paper will find you no matter what! What what what… Through the house where you were loved throughout, will make a sound. From the knock make a left, but don't be too loud. Keep the step until you see red, walk behind and you'll find some light. Keep the pace, you'll find a cracked wall! Chant your name! Don't be afraid! Grab the item, find the way, let the item feel dark crimson again! By your father!
Vince stared, his mouth dry.
A riddle…
But that wasn't what made his hands shake.
It was the signature.
Dad…?
Vince felt a little warmth spread through his body, just seeing his real father's handwriting again. A lump caught in his throat and before he could stop it, a tear slid down his cheek. He brushed it away quickly, forcing himself back into the letter, watery vision sharpening with determination.
Why would he give me a riddle?
The meaning was obvious enough, at least at the start. It had to be about his childhood home.
Vince stood, carrying the letter with him to the kitchen. He dug through the cabinets until he found some ink, a pen, and two sheets of paper. Back in his room, he dipped the pen and began scribbling notes, muttering as he wrote.
"House you loved = childhood home? From the knock = front door. From the door make a left… keep walking until you see a red building or red wall. Go behind it, walk inside, find a light… then a chant my name? Grab item… dark crimson = blood?"
He bit the edge of the pen, staring at his messy writing.
I'll just go once I get everything set up.
He wasn't stupid. His father could come back at any time. Anything could happen.
Vince set the pen aside and grabbed another sheet of thin paper, laying it over the letter. Carefully, he traced every word of the riddle until he had a copy, then slid the original back into the bottom of the box. He placed each baby item back inside, adjusted them until they looked untouched, and closed the lid.
Perfect. Like it was never opened.
He felt a flicker of pride at the cleverness, clutching the copy in his hand as he turned toward the door.
But then another thought struck him, chilling his excitement.
Wait… if my dad was mixed up with demons or anything supernatural… then this item I'm supposed to find… he wasn't working with good people.
Fear curled in his gut. He glanced back toward the kitchen.
"It'll be best for protection."
He stepped inside and opened a drawer. A neat row of fine, sharp knives gleamed under the lamplight.
Vince took the longest one. He wrapped the blade in a scrap of paper, then tucked it against his waist with the handle jutting out for quick reach.
If it's a house, no one's gonna believe some random kid with a dirty shirt. And that's if I don't have to break in.
A sly grin crept across his face.
Why am I so smart?
He sprinted back to his room and dropped to the floor, reaching beneath his bed. From the shadows, he pulled out a large plastic bag. Inside was the only clean thing he owned: a long, silky black robe.
He had kept it just for his job as a priest, to fool people into believing he was truly devoted to Oeus.
Vince shook it out and slipped it on. Its deep pockets already carried a vial of water, his so-called holy water, and a small pouch with one gold coin and thirty silver.
He pushed open the heavy brown doors of the house. The night air slapped against him, cold and sharp, making his robe whip around his legs.
Finally. Time to follow his father's clue.