A Scroll by Lamplight

I brought that curled bark roll inside before it got completely pitch black out. Curled up by the edge of the hearth rug under the floor lamp, I picked carefully at the brittle twine knot with my fingernails. One snap, and the whole dried strip sprang loose with a dry rustle. There weren't any ancient curses written on it, just three tiny charcoal dashes and a shaky sketch of a chimney flue. I smoothed the rough, papery bark flat against the floorboards with my palms so it wouldn't roll right back up. Someone went through a lot of trouble to hide a doodle of a chimney, which means I've got another corner of this house to interrogate.