I wrote this when I was about fourteen years old.
Cold.
My fingers retract from the first touch of the delicate object, flinching slightly before grasping it firmly and curling my fingers around it like strong vines.
A key. Not just an ordinary key.
It was about the length of my little finger and despite being much smaller in size than an ordinary house key, its weight seemed too great for its size.
Cradling the key in the palm of my hand, I wiped the fine layer of dust from its surface which had gathered with years of disuse. I examined it closely, having never seen a key quite like this before, so beautifully and intrinsically made.
Once free of dust, I couldn't detect any imperfection marring its surface, suggesting that the key had barely, if ever, been used.
The gilded blade stood out in sharp relief, the intricate notches carved from the metal creating a truly unique pattern before it looped up and around creating the bow.
This key was destined for only one keyhole.
The keyhole itself was a perfect circle and around the edges, the name of the house was precisely carved. Slightly below sat a letterbox, the light refracting from its sleek surface.
Only the smallest of letters would fit through that opening.
Above the keyhole lay a tiny door-knocker, a dull, dark black in contrast to the keyhole and letterbox.
The door was made of some type of wood - oak perhaps - with a sheen of protective varnish upon its surface.
Should I open it?
I didn't ponder for long and proceeded to slide the key into the keyhole, notch fitting into notch and groove fitting into groove as I turned the bow of the key.
The door gave a little shudder as the lock was released and I pulled on the door-knocker lightly, allowing the door to swing open and reveal what lay within.
At first, everything was dim but as my eyes became adjusted to the lack of light, they opened wider in surprise, my heart dipping with disappointment.
Nothing.
The bottom room was a bare, perfect square with a little fake coal fireplace built into the back wall. The wallpaper had yellowed with age and was peeling in strips down the walls.
Almost desperately, I reached through the doorway, my fingers seeking the release latch that would unlock the roof and allow me to view the upstairs rooms.
Nothing.
Again.
Bare floors and walls - a dispiriting mirror image of the downstairs. I felt sad that something so beautiful on the outside could be so empty on the inside.
A little like people.