Chapter 2 - The Locked Red Trunk
I held the rusted metal box tightly against my chest.
"Who is Arthur, Mark?" I demanded.
My voice shook, but I refused to stand up.
Mark took one slow step into the small room.
"It doesn't concern you, Sarah," Mark said quietly.
"Hand me the box."
"He was your son, wasn't he?" I asked.
Aunt Clara raised the heavy iron poker.
"He was my grandson," Clara spat out.
"And you have no right to touch his memory."
Toby's faint crying echoed from down the hallway.
"Mommy Sarah!" Toby called out.
The sound of his voice gave me sudden strength.
He had called me Mommy for the very first time.
I slid the metal box under my arm.
I scrambled to my feet.
"Get out of my way," I said firmly.
Mark reached out to grab my shoulder.
I ducked beneath his arm.
I pushed past Aunt Clara into the hallway.
I ran straight to the guest bedroom.
I slammed the door and turned the lock.
"Toby, grab your coat," I whispered frantically.
Toby scrambled out of the bed.
He grabbed my hand tightly.
"Are we leaving?" he asked.
"Yes, right now," I said.
A heavy fist banged against the bedroom door.
"Sarah! Open this door!" Mark shouted from outside.
"Don't do something stupid!"
I looked around the room for an exit.
There was only one ground-floor window.
It was old and painted shut.
I grabbed a heavy wooden chair.
I smashed the glass with the chair leg.
Cold night rain poured into the room.
I wrapped a blanket around Toby's shoulders.
I helped him climb out onto the muddy garden grass.
"Stay right there, Toby," I instructed.
I grabbed the metal box from the bed.
I climbed out through the broken window frame.
Sharp glass cut into my right palm.
I ignored the sharp pain.
We ran into the dark woods behind the farm.
Behind us, the back door of the house burst open.
Flashlight beams sliced through the rainy night air.
"Sarah!" Mark's voice echoed through the trees.
We kept running through the wet mud.
Toby was breathing heavily.
He didn't complain once.
He just clutched my hand tighter.
After ten minutes, we reached an old wooden shelter.
It was an abandoned tool shed at the edge of the property.
I pulled Toby inside the dark shed.
I pulled the rusted wooden door shut.
Rain rattled hard against the tin roof.
I sat on the dirt floor, catching my breath.
Toby sat right beside me.
"Is Aunt Clara going to hurt us?" Toby whispered.
I pulled him close to my chest.
"No, sweetie. I won't let anyone hurt you."
I pulled out my phone from my coat pocket.
There was no cellular signal out here in the woods.
I set the phone down on a wooden crate.
I pointed my flashlight at the rusted metal box.
The small padlock was old and rusted through.
I found a heavy rusty nail on the floor.
I jammed the nail into the lock mechanism.
I hit it hard with a flat rock.
The lock snapped open with a dull pop.
My hands shook as I lifted the metal lid.
Inside lay three items.
First, an old yellowed newspaper clipping.
The headline read:
LOCAL TODDLER MISSING FROM RURAL PROPERTY.
The article was dated four years ago.
It described how three-year-old Arthur disappeared during a family gathering.
It said no body was ever found.
The second item was a small leather-bound diary.
The handwriting belonged to Toby's late mother, Ellen.
I opened the diary to the last entry.
It was dated just seven months ago.
Mark lied to the police four years ago, Ellen had written.
Arthur didn't run away into the woods.
Clara took him.
And now Mark is letting her spend time with Toby.
I have to take Toby and leave before it's too late.
If anything happens to me, look in the red trunk in Clara's cellar.
My breath hitched in my chest.
Ellen hadn't died from an accidental fall.
She was trying to protect Toby from this family.
And Mark had helped hide the truth all along.
Why?
Why would a father protect a woman who harmed his own children?
Suddenly, a floorboard inside the shed creaked.
I froze.
The beam of a flashlight illuminated the dirt floor.
I looked up slowly.
Standing in the corner of the shed was a man.
He was wearing a dark raincoat.
He held a wooden spade in his right hand.
I pulled Toby behind my back.
"Don't come any closer!" I screamed.
The man lowered his flashlight slowly.
He shone it on his own face.
He was an older man with deep wrinkles and gray hair.
He looked shocked to see us.
"Who are you?" the man asked gruffly.
"I'm Mark's wife," I said, holding the diary out like a shield.
The man's eyes softened immediately.
"I'm Jim," he said softly.
"I'm Clara's next-door neighbor."
Jim lowered his spade.
"You shouldn't be here, ma'am," Jim said.
"That woman is dangerous."
"You know about Arthur?" I asked, my voice trembling.
Jim took a deep, heavy breath.
"I saw Clara lock that little boy in the cellar four years ago," Jim revealed.
"I called the police back then, but Mark told them I was a crazy old liar."
"Mark covered for her?" I whispered in disbelief.
"Clara controls all the family land and money," Jim explained.
"Mark was broke and desperate."
"He sold out his own son for an inheritance."
A wave of intense nausea hit my stomach.
Mark had traded his children's safety for money.
"Where is the red trunk Jim?" I asked.
"Ellen's diary says the truth is in the red trunk."
Jim looked toward the direction of Clara's house.
"It's locked in the root cellar under the barn," Jim said.
"Clara keeps the key around her neck."
Footsteps crunched against the wet gravel outside the shed.
Flashlight light beams swept across the wooden wall slats.
"They're searching the woods," Jim whispered.
"Hide in the corner."
The wooden shed door creaked open.
Mark stepped inside.
He was wet from the rain.
He saw Jim standing there alone.
"Jim?" Mark said, surprised.
"Have you seen Sarah and the kid?"
Jim stood tall and crossed his arms.
"Haven't seen anyone, Mark," Jim lied smoothly.
"You need to get off my property."
Mark stepped closer to Jim.
"Don't lie to me, old man," Mark growled.
Mark looked past Jim's shoulder.
His flashlight beam caught my muddy boot sticking out behind a barrel.
Mark smiled a cruel, sad smile.
"Found you," Mark said softly.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small set of iron keys.
"Clara wants her box back, Sarah."
Jim tried to step between us.
Mark shoved the old man hard against the wooden wall.
Jim fell to the dirt floor, gasping for air.
Mark grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the door.
Toby screamed and bit Mark's wrist hard.
Mark let out a yell and released me.
"Run, Sarah!" Jim shouted from the floor.
"Take the keys from his belt!"
I lunged forward and grabbed the key ring hanging from Mark's belt loop.
I yanked them free with all my strength.
I grabbed Toby's hand again.
We ran out into the pouring rain toward the old barn.
We sprinted inside the barn and slammed the heavy double doors.
I slid a wooden beam across the door latch.
Inside the barn, it was pitch black.
I turned on my flashlight.
In the center of the floor sat a heavy iron door leading down into a root cellar.
I knelt beside the iron door.
I tried three different keys from Mark's ring.
The third key turned the heavy lock.
I pulled the heavy iron door open.
A flight of damp stone steps led down into the dark cellar.
Toby clutched my shirt tightly.
"I'm scared, Mommy," he cried softly.
"I know, baby," I whispered. "I'm right here."
We crept down the stone steps into the cold room below.
Shining my flashlight around the damp cellar, my heart stopped.
In the back corner sat a large red wooden trunk.
It was wrapped in heavy rusty chains.
I ran to the trunk and tried the remaining keys on the padlock.
The lock clicked open.
I pulled the heavy chains off the lid.
I lifted the lid of the red trunk.
Inside was not a body.
Inside sat a small, frightened boy.
He was wearing dirty clothes and holding a worn stuffed bear.
He looked up at the flashlight beam with wide, terrified eyes.
"Arthur?" I whispered in absolute shock.
The boy blinked against the bright light.
"Is... is my daddy here?" Arthur asked weakly.
Before I could answer, the cellar door above us slammed shut with a thunderous crash.
The heavy metallic bolt slid into place from the outside.
We were trapped in the dark room.
May you like
Aunt Clara's cold laugh echoed through the floorboards above us.
"Now all of Ellen's secrets are buried together," Clara shouted down through the wood.
