Davie’s mom flipped the Spam, oil spattering on the stove. She waved the smoke away so the alarm wouldn’t blare—the range hood had broken a year ago. “You want two or three slices?”
Davie glanced at the bills hanging on the fridge and said, “Two’s fine.”
“Not for a growing young man,” she teased, pinching his cheek. He brushed her off with a laugh. “Stop worrying so much. You can have three.” She placed a plate in front of him, the meat still sizzling, and kissed the top of his head. “I need to make some calls about the house, but take a break from your homework and eat, okay?”
“Okay,” he said, watching as she left the kitchen.
Davie listened for the creak of her bedroom door, before shoveling the Spam into his mouth. He winced as the meat burned his tongue. Still chewing, he got up and walked into the garage. Darkness flooded the room as the garage door clanked shut. He flipped the switch, and a cracked bulb cast its meager yellow light over the space.
He dragged a footstool to the shelves lined with decades-old Christmas decorations and rusted lawn equipment. His fingers probed the top shelf before latching onto a large cardboard box. He lowered it to the floor slowly, before sitting cross-legged on the chilly, oil-stained cement.
Yearbooks, ripped photos, forgotten letters. Davie had searched through this box before. But there was another box inside he hadn’t inspected—Grandpa Martin’s.
His fingers brushed over the plain, wooden box. Grandpa Martin had disappeared years ago, when his mom was only sixteen years old. The family was still recovering from his absence, but Davie just hoped that he had something valuable in the box to sell.
He lifted the wooden lid and scowled. Lying on the worn, crimson velvet was a crystal. The size of his palm, grey and dull, and definitely not valuable. He picked up the rock and shook it furiously. “You were my last hope, you know that?”
Sunlight hit his eyes, blinding him. He squinted and held up his hand to block the rays. But he was in a garage; there couldn’t be sunlight in here…
He slowly lowered his hand, blinking rapidly to adjust to the bright light. Glimmering gold met his eyes. Piles of polished coins, all lustering in the sun that peeked through the entrance to a cave. He was sitting on a cool, damp stone. Water lapped at his feet and trailed out of the cave, but its path was concealed by a curtain of ivy.
“What the hell?” he shouted, his panicked voice echoing off stone. “Where am I? How did I…”
The crystal dug into his palm. He opened his hand and stared at it in wonder. It now shone a brilliant red, catching the sunlight from above and refracting it across the cave. He looked back up at the shining gold.
Something valuable, right? Well, this definitely qualified.
He scooped a handful of gold coins and excitedly shoved them into his pocket. If only he had brought a bag—no, a suitcase! When he went back, he would need to grab one—
Davie frowned. How to get back though? He didn’t even know how he got here.
The memory of picking up the crystal flashed in his mind. Is that all it took? Hesitantly, he let the crystal fall from his palm. The light dimmed, throwing darkness over his eyes. He rubbed them. When he opened his eyes again, he was back in the empty garage.
He beamed. “It worked! Mom, you won’t believe what just happened!” He threw open the garage door and sprinted to her bedroom. “Mom—”
All the excitement fled from his body. Suitcases surrounded the bed, which was stripped clean of its sheets. The walls were bare. And in front of the mirror, fixing her greying hair, was his mom.
She turned to him and gasped, hands flying up to cover her mouth. Her brown eyes widened, deepening wrinkles on her face that he swore weren’t there before.
“Look—look at this!” He pressed the gold into her hands. Liver spots dotted them now. “Isn’t it great? We can save the house now!”
The coins fell out of her hands, landing with a heavy thunk on the floor. A weak, stuttering whisper finally left her lips. “I—I had to foreclose the house, Davie. You disappeared like my dad and I couldn’t…God, where have you been?”
“You had to sell the house? But Grandpa Martin built this place, you love it so much—” And then he knew what to do. “Wait here, I have just the thing to fix this!”
His mom pleaded, “Davie, wait!”
He was already out the door. The musky scent of the garage struck his nose, so much stronger than it was when he left. But the crystal was still there, grey rock blending into grey cement. Before he could ask himself if this was the right move, his hand closed around it.
The cave shimmered before him, inviting him to take all that he could hold. He cursed as he realized he forgot to bring a bag. Thinking fast, he ripped off his shirt and started piling as much gold into it as it could carry. When he could barely hold it, he looped the sleeves into a secure knot. He dropped the crystal.
No yellow light shone from the hanging bulb. Darkness consumed the garage. He stumbled towards the steps and fumbled for the doorknob. With difficulty, he pushed the door open.
The house was abandoned—its windows were broken, and the paint was peeling. His feet carried him to his mom’s bedroom, on some kind of hollow autopilot. The mattress and dresser were gone. Animal droppings littered the cracked floor, but they were dry and held no odor.
Inexplicably, he found himself back in the garage. He stared numbly at the crystal. It called to him.
He picked it up.
Nicole Hirt is a senior studying English and Creative Writing at Palm Beach Atlantic University. She is an editor at Living Waters Review. Her works have appeared in The Bluebird Word and Westmarch Literary Journal, and are forthcoming in Runestone Literary Journal. In her free time, she enjoys wandering through cemeteries.