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I pulled out the key and shoved it in my school jacket, opening the door wide and wincing at the screech of the old hinges.
Shit. I cast a nervous glance around me, still seeing no one around.
Finally, I peeked inside the door, spotting another spiral staircase.
I narrowed my eyes. This might lead to a spire.
Taking out my phone, I turned on the flashlight and stepped up the stairs, the stone under my shoes gritty with dirt. I rose more and more, seeing a door on the right.
I took out the key again, the tunnel vision in the small, tight space making my hands shake.
I coughed, the dust tickling my throat.
This was probably stupid. I didn’t know who the key came from, and I didn’t know what was on the other side of that door. Whoever gave it to me played hard-to-get just enough by not explaining, so I would be intrigued.
I stuck the key in and twisted it, but the door wouldn’t give. I jiggled it some more, turning the handle, but it wouldn’t open. I spun around, looking left and then right, spotting one more door at the top of the stairs.
Holding up my flashlight, I climbed to the top, felt for the lock and stuck the key in, the click giving way as soon as I turned the key.
Butterflies swarmed in my stomach, and I hesitated for a moment, smiling.
I’d found it.
There could be someone in there, but I pressed forward, opening the door and finding my way with the flashlight. But as soon as I opened it, light swarmed me immediately. I stepped into a room, rafters coming up through the floor and stretching all the way to the ceiling, and I looked around at the windows and the sunshine falling across the floor.
What was this?
I turned off my phone, dropped that and the key into my pocket, and softly closed the door behind me.
Trunks and boxes laid about the perimeter of the room, underneath the windows, and I saw old church paraphernalia strewn here and there—altar cloths, candle holders, and those things that hold holy water… There was even a set of doors that looked like the ones downstairs for the confessionals.
I walked farther into the room, but I stopped, my eyes locking on the bed.
White comforter, white sheets on the pillows—everything looking clean and crisp and big enough for ten.
What the hell?
Then I dropped my gaze, seeing a scrap of paper on the comforter. I walked over and picked it up, the fresh scent of the linens making my nostrils tingle.
I read the note, the paper yellowed and nearly falling apart at the creases where it had been folded a thousand times.
It’s you
rs now. Use it well.
No one else knows, do not tell.
When you’re done, pass it on.
The Carfax Room hides us
from what we want gone.
I read it again, but I still didn’t get it.
“The Carfax Room?” I said to myself.
The writing was in black cursive, a little faded, and I folded it up, sticking it in my pocket.
