The Seventh Moon

I dragged a sturdy wooden chair across the floorboards to get a closer look at the grandfather clock ticking in the dark hallway. That brass token with the crescent moon wasn't going to solve itself sitting in my pocket. Balanced on the cane seat, I checked the painted lunar dial arched above the clock face. The crescent stamp matched a curved little brass notch right by the seventh marker. I wedged the token's edge firmly into the groove, and with a hollow clack, the long pendulum door popped open an inch. Peeking through the gap behind the brass weights, I spotted a faded velvet pouch tied to an iron hook. Score one for me.