Unearthed Brass

I slipped past the weathered porch threshold, stepping down into damp pine needles in search of wider terrain. Beneath a hollowed cedar stump choked with moss, something caught the dim filtered light: a tarnished brass key, notched with irregular triangular teeth. I knelt in absolute silence, pressing gloved fingertips against the cold metal to lift it from the wet soil. Overhead, invisible birds fell hushed, noting my presence among the roots. The lock it feeds may sleep buried in these strange woods, but patience has always worked in my favor. I slid the brass into my coat pocket and turned deeper toward the shadows.