The Clockwork Key

I found myself staring into a shadowy slit beneath the pendulum cabinet of the tall grandfather clock. A tarnished brass key was wedged upright in the floorboard seam. I leaned in close, breathless, scrutinizing its tarnished teeth—did it tick? No. But it gleamed! Ordinary pulling felt far too pedestrian, so I hooked the sturdy brim of my hat beneath its ring, leaned my weight back, and levered with sudden theatrical flair. Pop! It sprang free, skittering across the dark floor like a startled beetle. I snatched it up before the dust could even settle. Whatever forgotten lock it belongs to, it has a secret to confess.