She never expected to see it again.

  Yet there it was, nestled beneath a tangle of old trinkets and forgotten hairpins in the back of her jewelry box—the key. The same key her great-grandmother had pressed into her palm with trembling fingers, eyes full of something unspoken. She hadn’t said where it came from or what it unlocked. She simply handed it to her; and within a week, she was gone.

  She had searched everywhere when it went missing months ago. Torn through drawers. Upended boxes. Cried, once or twice.

  And now, as if summoned, it had returned.

  What are you hiding? she thought, lifting it into the light.

  Time had not been kind to the key. Its gold finish was dulled with rust, but the handle remained exquisitely carved—tiny fairies frozen mid-flight, silver and copper flowers blooming along the ridged grip. A delicate trail of inlaid gemstones curled down the shaft like a vine, ending in a pattern she’d never noticed before.

  A small design, no bigger than an apple seed, gleamed faintly. She leaned closer.

  There, etched so finely she almost missed it, were the words:

  Touch not the vine, roundabout we go,

  Til one and one, the sheltered bird of snow.

  She read it aloud, the syllables strange and heavy on her tongue.

  "Why does that sound like a riddle?" she murmured.

  Her fingers closed around the key. This time, she tucked it deep into her dress pocket, as if the fabric itself might guard it from vanishing again.

  "Not losing you twice," she said, half to herself.

  As she headed downstairs, a flicker of memory stopped her mid-step: the poison ivy that had always grown wild along the back fence of her grandmother’s house. Thick and twisting, like it was trying to keep something in—or out.

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  What other vine would I not touch?

  It was all too strange.

  Days passed. School devoured her hours—lectures, tutoring, clubs, an endless churn of assignments. The mystery of the key faded behind algebra equations and essays on wars she didn’t care about. But it never left her completely.

  By the time Friday arrived, she was already planning her escape.

  “At last,” she whispered, patting her pocket to feel the key’s cool weight. “The weekend.”

  She didn’t tell anyone where she was going.

  Her grandmother’s house had stood empty since the funeral, shutters drawn, garden wild. No one visited. No one cared.

  Which made it perfect.

  She looked up at the peculiar old house that had lived in her memories for years...

  Now here it was—

  Just as I remembered it.

  An excited chill ran down her spine. She stepped onto the leaf-strewn path, crisp fall air swirling around her ankles. Reaching down, she grasped the key, then tucked it deeper into her pocket and took a sharp breath as she creaked up the old wooden steps of the patio.

  Cobwebs danced from the rafters, brushing the ends of her long, sandy hair.

  Small mice chattered and scurried, as if warning her to turn back.

  She reached for the brass doorknob, running her fingers along the intricate markings that adorned it. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door slowly. Peering inside, her eyes darted around the small, dark room.

  More mice fled into the shadows. A fearsome tawny owl burst from a hole in the wall, its wings stirring up a draft that sent papers fluttering across the floor.

  She took one timid step. The floor creaked a warning that echoed through the house.

  She paused, listening. Silence.

  She pressed on.

  I must get to the back.

  She carefully wove around furniture overtaken by dust and critters—creatures that watched her with large, beady eyes. She shivered, quickened her pace, and finally reached the back of the house.

  The rear door was blocked by a heavy wooden beam, seemingly fallen from the ceiling. She rolled up her sleeves, braced her feet on the rough floor, and pushed with all her strength. It hadn't been there when she was five—when she'd run outside with ice cream from her grandmother’s freezer, cooling off after playing all morning in the heat.

  She shook the memory from her mind and kept pushing.

  Sweat beaded on her forehead as the plank began to budge. With a final kick, it clattered to the ground, echoing through the rafters.

  Here I go...

  She swallowed the nervous lump in her throat and turned the knob.

  As the door creaked open, a large frog leapt onto her foot. She shrieked and flung the door wide, sending the frog hopping away. She stumbled outside and threw herself against the giant oak tree that towered over the backyard, its broad canopy casting familiar shade.

  She clung to the bark, steadying herself, and slowly took in the sight.

  The yard. The tree. The hush of the place.

  It looks the same.