The Machine (299 words)

The Machine

Dad was a collector. When he passed, he left us a house full of junk. As the eldest daughter, the clean-up fell to me. But I missed Dad and found comfort among his things.

A dusty old machine in a spare bedroom caught my attention. About the size of a microwave, its tubes and gears were connected to a motor and a human skull.

I showed it to my brother. “Do you know what this is?” I asked him.

“No clue.”

We shrugged, and he left.

I thought no more of it, as I sorted items in the kitchen, until I heard the whirring of a motor. I followed the noise. It took me to the machine.

The gears were turning. The skull was glowing. An urge lifted my hand and I placed it on the cranium. Dad’s deep voice, as clear as day, sounded. “You will find the treasure where words are spoken without a mouth, and heard without ears.”

A tingle went up my spine. I shook it off. I’d been working too hard. When stress threatened to overwhelm, it was time to go to our cottage in the wilderness.

I went up the next weekend. The solitude was refreshing. I walked the woods, to the old stone water well. Dad’s words from beyond the grave tore at my brain. I leaned in, and shouted into the well, “Dad!”

The echo returned. “Dad!”

My jaw dropped. Understanding dawned. The well heard me. It spoke to me ... without a mouth.

I peeked into the deep darkness. Oh, Dad, did you? I laughed.

The straight ladder, once extended, reached to the bottom of the well. In I climbed, to find a metal box. And inside, a treasure. Piles of gold coins. And I did not share.