Dewey laid down on his bed, exhausted from the night’s work. His list for this evening had included: dinner, vacuming the three large visiting rooms, the dishes from dinner, unpacking mrs. s’ clothes, oh and yes he could not forget the one item that surely scribbled on that scrap paper to torture him, searching for the key to the attic chest. Which she nitoriously “forgot” that she kept it on her ring of keys.

His limp body barely made an indent on the spring~filled bed. Fortunately, sleep soon prevailed.

The dark musty hallway up to the attic lighted at the end of the tunnel.

The light at the end of the tunnel

_The rusted handle of the rooftop acces door was jammed in the late night. Dewey shoved his shoulder into the steel door with much regret.

The erie moonlight shone down the steps as the door finally creaked open loudly.

Dewey stepped out onto the roof, and slowly strode over to the ledge…

View this story's 1 comments.