• Marsh opened the creaky door and walked slowly into the room.
    It wasn’t all that big at all, 10x10, maybe. It had a heavy musty smell, as if the room hadn’t aired out in a very long time, Marsh could taste it; she loved the smell. The room had large furniture fixtures, but she could not see what they were for they were covered in cream coloured white sheets that had faded over the years. The ghosts lined both of the walls to the side, what might be a desk to her left on the wall with the door she had just walked through, and the biggest was the ghost in front of the window.

    The dark brown of the hardwood floor, which matched the base boards and the door frame, was mostly covered by a red and dark purple paisley rug. The window on the opposite side of the room was small, and the glass was iced over from the years of wear it had obviously taken.

    Marsh walked slowly towards the worn window and into the sheet ghost filled room. When she reached the window, she stepped up onto the largest fixture, which, from the feel of it, seemed to be a bed. Marsh smiled, bouncing on the cooshie thing under the sheet. All the dust that had settled on the sheet over the years filled the air

    She made up her mind. She wanted to see more of this room. Marsh jumped off the bed and gripped the sheet in her hands. It was soft with age, it almost made her want to just feel it for a bit, but she had a mission to accomplish. Marsh ripped the sheet off of the bed to reveal how beautiful the hidden thing was.
    The sheets were a pale shade of pink, with ruffles on it every now and again, which were only a bit of a darker shade. The pillows were ruffley and the material looked to be made of silk.

    The beauty of this bed had Marsh taken aback. And just think…if the bed was this beautiful; imagine what’s under the other sheets…

    Marsh smirked and ran to one of the ghost lined walls and tore the giant from its sleep. The whole room filled with dust, but Marsh didn’t care. She kept tearing down sheet by sheet, until she was fairly sure she’d gotten them all, but then again, who could tell in this fog.

    The light soon broke through the window and the dust once again settled, and when it did, Marsh gasped at the site it left in its wake.

    The little round table that sat next to the door to the right, was the same dark wood as the floor, and on it, was a vase of deathly ill flowers that seemed to be a few years thirsty. And next to that was an old chair, the cushion was lined in velvet, a faded royal purple, and gold pins, to hold it in place. And the desk over by the door had an old globe on it, which seemed to be in some other language, and another paisley mat that went across it, to protect the wood. Sitting on the mat was a little brown box. Nothing seemingly special about it at all.

    But that wasn’t what caught her attention.

    Bookshelves. The walls were lined with ceiling to floor bookshelves; and the ceiling was almost twice as high as any normal room. The site was amazing to her, never had she seen so many wonderful books in one home. Red ones, blue ones, all faded and old. Marsh climbed one of the bookshelf ladders, the feel of the old creaky wood under her feet made her feel oddly safe, and at home.

    Marsh’s eyes danced over the books, none of the worn covers catching her attention. Higher and higher she climbed. The shelves were becoming less and less populated as she ascended, and then her head hit the ceiling.
    She rubbed the sore spot and looked at the top shelf. There was one lone book laying on it. It was a faded shade of blue and had a silver trail of metal that seemed to dance across the cover and spine. Marsh reached for it slowly with wide eyes, her eleven year old imagination running on high.
    The book felt brittle in her hands, but oddly lightweight for its size. When she turned back the cover she then realized the mystery behind the book. It was hollow; and inside, was a key.

    Marsh furrowed her brow and held it up in the light. It looked almost like an old skeleton key. Marsh wondered what it must go to, as she studied it closely. She loved how it looped over itself periodically; its’ ancient brown rusty colour. Her left hand, the one holding the book, slowly let its grasp slip, until finally, the book fell with a crash. Marsh jumped and looked to what had made the sound? Surely not that lightweight book?

    No, it wasn’t that. The book had fallen, and hit the desk far below, and when it did so, it knocked the mysterious brown box that had been resting there to the ground with it.

    That’s it! She knew just then what the key’s purpose was. Marsh spun around and wrapped her feet around the outside of the ladder to slide down. When she reached the bottom, she hopped off and ran to the little brown box, picking it up promptly.

    Marsh held the box carefully, analyzing it, and then she saw the keyhole.
    Her eyes lit up as she slowly pushed the key into the hole. She could hear the gears grinding in disapproval of their being awakened after such a long time. But when the key clicked and it was unlocked, the lid quickly opened and the voice inside sprung to life. It was a music box.

    The music was quiet and mysterious, but beautiful. Marsh was mesmerized by the slow dancing of the ballerina on its pedestal. The velvet lining the walls of the empty insides was the same light pink as the bed. After the first verse was over, a compartment fell open, revealing a secret hidden pocket, and inside was a cloth. Marsh untied the string holding it together and saw that it was not just a cloth, but an old letter.

    Dear Marsh
    My name is Zèphyrine, I am your great, great grandmother, but you may call me Grandmère. This is my house that you and your mother are looking at. You should convince her to keep it. I have left it to you.

    Marsh held the letter to her chest, her eyes wide. It was addressed to her. But her great, great grandmother had to have died 50 years before she was born. So how could there be a letter from her? She slowly held the letter out again, just to make sure she wasn’t going mad.

    You don’t believe me do you? That’s understandable. Let me prove it then. To your left, on the top shelf of the bookcase, are dolls. The one on the far left is the same as the one you accidently broke of your mothers. You may have it, give it to her.

    She held the note to her chest again. This was not a continuation of the letter; this was completely new words on the page. The whole thing had changed. She had a magic letter, from her grandmère. This was amazing. She looked at the letter again.

    Go on, go tell your mother. But be careful of the floorboard by the door. It never has sat quite right.

    Marsh gripped the note in her hand tightly and ran towards the door, yelling for her mother, and promptly tripped over one of the old floorboards.

    The music box sat on the desk, as Marsh’s voice faded away, playing its tune; the hiding place of the old room’s secret, its job now finished at last.