ArchivedLogs:Vignette - Keepsake

Vignette - Keepsake
Dramatis Personae Peter
In Absentia	Sunday, December 1, 2019 Part of Future Past TP.
Location <NYC> - Queens
The house was not exactly as he had left it; scavengers had struck again. This time, they ignored the broken door (padlocked from the inside) and tore the boards off the shattered window. There were still some planks left on the cellar stairs; it would take a few minutes, but Peter could repair it. Presuming they didn't take the tools. He crept downstairs, checking his footing in the familiar darkness -- careful to step on the stairway's edges. They hadn't bothered much with the basement, by the looks of it. Good for them. There wasn't anything down here to eat -- just board games, filing cabinets full of old tax returns, and memories. And, of course, the tools. A hammer, a crowbar, a screw-driver. Peter had placed them in the wall behind a loose rock; they were still there, undisturbed. Peeling back the few remaining planks on the steps took a bit of time, particularly in the dark. He had to be careful with the nails. He didn't have any left. He kept forgetting to find more. He took pains to hammer as quietly as possible. It was well past curfew, and he didn't want to attract attention. When he was finished, the window was sealed shut. From the outside, it looked just like another abandoned house -- boarded up and forgotten. The scavengers had shattered the glass of Aunt May's old china closet and stolen everything inside. He had no idea why; it wasn't like there was some desperate demand for fine china. The thought of a band of scavengers running about with backpacks stuffed full of saucers and teacups actually managed to get a half-smile out of him. He headed upstairs, feeling his way through the dark. His room hadn't changed much; dressers empty and upended -- furniture collapsed -- everything stripped from the walls and floors except the bed and a cracked mirror, propped up against the wall. A small dark patch on the ceiling showed signs of caving in; the roof was probably leaking. Peter had given some thought to repairing it, but eventually gave up; he wouldn't even know where to begin. He crawled under the bed and pried up the floorboards in the far corner. Underneath, there was a small, wooden box; he pulled it free and settled on top of the bed, placing the box on his lap. Then, he opened it -- and turned on his small pocket flashlight. A carefully folded sheet of gray, gleaming, fabric-like webbing. A piece of a K'nex set. An old student ID card. A bone-carved arachnid. A broken webshooter. Two or three newspaper clippings. A violet-purple rock mounted on a stand that identified it as 'CHAROITE'. A very small teddy bear, dressed like a doctor. And a heavy, silver, palm-sized locket. He reached for the last object, placing it clasp-up in the center of his hand. With the flashlight focused on the locket -- and with his breath held -- he slid his thumb over the lid, flicking it open and exposing the compass within. The needle drunkenly swung to the east -- then, to the west. Peter waited patiently, breath still held, remaining as still as he could. The compass continued to bob aimlessly, responding only to the tiny motions of his trembling palm. For a moment, something caught in his throat. He pressed the locket up against his mouth and shut his eyes, struggling for control. The moment soon passed. With a slow, steady sigh, he closed the keepsake and placed it -- with great reverence -- back inside the box. When he left, he did so out of his own bedroom window -- climbing his way slowly down the wall.