The Glass Key: A Modern Folktale Read online

slamming the storm out again.

  Sam jumped to his feet in amazement, ready to defend himself against the intruder, but was instantly shocked to stillness and silence on looking at her. It was Araminta— and Araminta exactly as he remembered. For sure, her hair was a little tousled by the wind, and the long coat she wrapped about herself concealed her figure, but her face was unchanged: the years had spared her. The only difference, perhaps, was that she seemed too pale, and her eyes too bright; but then, the illumination from the grate was uncertain.

  She glanced around the room, settled her gaze on him, and laughed— a tired, breathless, relieved laugh. ‘I’m here!’ she said, ‘and so are you— you, at last!’

  She dropped exhaustedly into a large armchair, and continued to chuckle, in between gasps to catch her breath. It seemed she had been running, and a stitch in her side made her wince. He could only gape. He did not feel anything immediately, except the sense that there was such an enormous amount to be felt, that he hardly knew where to begin.

  So he started with the practicalities, and these gave his annoyance cause to rise. ‘How did you get in here?’ he demanded.

  ‘I used my key,’ she returned simply.

  ‘Your key? You don’t have a key.’

  ‘Yes, I do. Here it is,’ —and she tossed it onto the low table before her. It glittered as it hit, and let out a sort of high chime.

  ‘Where did you get that?’ he pressed. Her key did not look like his own.

  ‘Where do you think?’ she replied. ‘I used to live here, once, didn’t I? But how it’s changed!’

  He regarded her sternly, and warily. ‘I changed the locks myself, not six months ago.’

  It was impossible that her old key would still work— and yet he was faced with the fact that she had managed to unfasten his front door and walk directly in, even so. It was odd. And even odder still, how had she gotten to the house in the first place? He had heard no vehicle draw up, and she had not come on foot, he was sure of that— she was perfectly dry, even to the hems of her coat; no melting hailstones, or muddied shoes. Had she been sheltering in the porch, then, all night, concealed? How could that be? The rain had not let up all day— and yet, what other explanation would hold?

  She had not answered his charge, and so, more uncertainly, he asked: ‘Where have you been?’ —but no sooner had he spoken than he realised the greater implication of the question: where had she been, not only during that evening, but for the last decade?

  ‘That,’ she said, ‘is what I’m here to tell you.’

  He frowned. ‘You’ve come in the dead of night, after all this time— to explain?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Explain?’ He was incredulous, and quickly furious. ‘Explain! How can you even begin? What do you hope to gain by it? What’s the use?’

  ‘Calm down, and sit down,’ she sighed. ‘I haven’t the strength to quarrel with you when I’m run so ragged.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he snapped. ‘I don’t mean to quarrel— I don’t mean to hear or say any more. If you’ve come to apologise, you’re much too late— I’m past caring. Get up and get out.’

  He passed and made to re-open the door; but as he turned the handle, he halted, and glanced back at her with an expression of troubled surprise. The door was still locked, the mortise bolt shot.

  She did not notice his perplexity, however, but replied: ‘You’re past caring? Is that really true?’ She pressed her hand to her side, as the stitch continued to pinch her. ‘Have I wasted my time?’

  He slowly returned to the hearth, and scrutinised her. The mystery of her appearance began to seem more than merely unexpected, or unusual— she had entered with a key that could not work, and that had not even unlocked the door; and yet here she was.

  ‘Yes, you’ve wasted your time,’ he answered at last, more cautiously than before. ‘Yours and mine— ten years of it.’

  ‘But here you are, Sam, in this house, in spite of the years. That gives me some hope.’

  It was strange to hear her speak his name, after such a long silence.

  ‘Hope? Hope of what?’

  ‘That you’ll listen to me— that you’ll let me defend myself at last. I’m here now because you refused to hear me then— you sent your friend to do your jilting for you, and I was struck dumb.’

  ‘I— I didn’t send him.’

  ‘He told me he had come to do it because you were finished with me,’ she insisted, rising in the chair a little, though with an effort. ‘It was just outside in the lane there, I remember it vividly enough! He loaded me with accusations, hammered me with them, until my heart broke— but you should have done it yourself, Sam, and let me affirm my innocence.’

  ‘Your innocence!’ he objected. ‘If you were so innocent, why did you run away— without a word, or a glance back? No, Araminta, it’s too late to rebuke me for that— you’ve had a decade to defend yourself— but instead you cast me off in your wake.’

  He was surprised how hurt he still felt, when he expected the pain to have congealed into stupor long ago; but no. It was fresh and stinging.

  She dropped back into the enveloping seat, and its soft shadows. ‘I couldn’t speak then. I was ashamed even to hear those lies spoken, let alone have them applied to me! And it was killing to think that you believed them— that you even could.’

  He shook his head defiantly, grinding his teeth in frustration. ‘I searched for you— I searched and searched! If we’d spoken then— if we had— but you were gone.’

  ‘Vanished,’ she suggested, thoughtfully. ‘Just as I was told to do, when your messenger denounced me.’ A quick smile succeeded this thought. ‘But I was never one to do what I’m told, Sam, you must know that!’

  ‘Even so,’ he said, more evenly, ‘you did vanish.’

  She nodded again. ‘Because something— strange— happened to me.’

  ‘Well? What?’

  ‘Well, if you’ll sit in that chair and let me catch my breath, I’ll tell you the whole tale.’

  ‘I’m not in the mood for tales,’ he resisted, but sat down anyway. It was late, and he was too roused to go to bed, so she might as well speak— and besides, he was curious, in spite of his proud rebuffs.

  On seeing him take the seat, Araminta relaxed somewhat, and inhaled deeply twice. Then, with a shiver, she gazed into the fire.

  ‘How “strange” could it have been?’ he asked, irritably.

  ‘I’ll tell you, if you’ll listen. But it’s to be a long, long tale— ten years worth of tale, Sam. Will you listen, no matter how strange it is?’

  He slumped back resignedly. ‘What does it matter if I do or don’t? What difference will it make?’

  ‘Perhaps it will make a difference to me,’ she returned, earnestly.

  He sighed. ‘Alright, have your say, if you must. Go on.’

  Even now, when she talked, her voice came panting, as though the air would not stay in her; but nevertheless, she persevered, and began ‘where we left off— on that night, out in the lane.

  ‘When John left me alone— he was in a great wrath, as I’m sure he told you— I stood for a long while, in the darkness, utterly stupefied— my mind was blank. In fact, I was so shaken that, when I came to my senses again, I hardly knew why I was there at all. It was cold, and I was almost surprised to find myself in the open air; so I hurried up my front path here, took the key from my pocket, and opened the door— and that’s when it began.’

  He did not fill up her pause with a question, but regarded her patiently as she pointed at the table between them.

  ‘That is the key,’ she said, emphatically. ‘The same one. I was given it six months earlier, when I moved into this cottage. Of course, I hardly looked at it then— it was just a key, like any other. But the landlord mentioned that it was the master-key, which opened all the doors in the house, and that proved to be true— and more than true. As I came to and fro over the succeeding weeks, the key became familiar, in the way that keys
will, as I pulled it from my pocket and my bag, and held it, and plied the lock with it. And from all this usage I noticed, one day, that its colour had changed: the grubby surface was rubbing away, and underneath, it seemed to be black, and very shiny. Of course, it wasn’t worth mentioning to anyone at the time, but it was unusual, all the same. And finally, in an absent moment, while I was waiting for a bus, or for someone to arrive— the morning before everything changed, in fact— I took to polishing the key between my fingers, until the muck and dirt were all removed, and I realised that, really, the key is clear— that it’s made of glass.’

  ‘Glass!’ Sam interjected. ‘How could a key be made of glass?’

  ‘That’s what I thought too, naturally,’ she replied. ‘But nevertheless, it is— an extremely hard, crystal-like glass— but glass all the same. See for yourself.’

  She pointed to the object on the table a second time, and he reached down to pick it up. Sure enough, she was right: the key was chill, and transparent, and crisply cut, almost sharp— but surely useless and unworkable. He replaced it gently, while she watched him.

  ‘I’m surprised it didn’t snap, or shatter,’ he remarked. ‘But what about it?’

  ‘I’m coming to that,’ she said. ‘As I was telling you, I was reeling from my encounter with your John—’

  ‘He’s just John, not my John— I said I didn’t send him!’

  ‘Well— reeling in any case, I unlocked my front door with the glass key— that door with this key, as I did again tonight— and stepped over the threshold, to find myself somewhere else entirely.’

  ‘Somewhere else?’ he queried.

  ‘Entirely,’ she confirmed, with simple candour. ‘I was in a vast, cold, palatial chamber, with an amazing vaulted ceiling, painted all over with stars and comets, and the whole zodiac.’

  He shifted his position, frowning. ‘Wh— Araminta, I don’t understand.’

  ‘Neither did I! If you’re confused when I say it, think how I was to see it! I immediately turned around to the door again— it had swung shut— but now the door was totally different: huge, and solid, and high, like the room around me. I think I must have cried out— it was like an absurd dream! I reached up to the handle, and pulled, and pushed every which way, but it was locked. I called, knocked against it, ran about looking for another exit— but that hall was empty, and I was alone, and lost. Sam, you can’t imagine how bewildering it was— so much so, that it felt like an hour passed before it occurred to me to try my key again in the lock. This new lock appeared so different, I hardly hoped. But against my expectations, the key fitted exactly, turned the mechanism, and I got through.’

  ‘To find yourself here, ten years later, wondering where the time went, I suppose,’ he glossed sarcastically.

  She smiled. ‘How easy that would have been! I’d scarcely be so tired as I am. No, the door, instead of bringing me back where I came from, let into another room, quite different again, modern, and small. It contained three more doors, all closed, and, as I soon found, locked. Now I began to be frightened— I had no idea which way to turn. The door through which I’d just walked was altered too, to match its fellows. None of them gave any clue to where they might lead, and none were likely to be a way into my own home, as I wanted. What could I do? Nothing, but try my luck! I applied the key to the first door, it opened, I went in— another room, furnished differently again, and as empty as the others. I made to return— the door had locked itself— I used my key and re-entered— but now it was another place, with yet more locked doors to try. Oh, I could carry on and on with this— but the gist is, that wherever I went, I came out somewhere random, and wherever I’d been, was gone.’

  Sam was drumming his fingers by now. ‘Do you expect me to believe this?’ he asked.

  She shrugged. ‘You can believe what you