The next morning began early, as they always did during vacation. With this being Christmas Eve and anticipation rising high, the lights were turned on in the kitchen by five AM. When Nathaniel wandered in an hour later, bacon was sizzling away, and English muffins lay on the table next to the butter and jam. Aunt Helen, Tommy's mother, was frying some eggs just the way PaPa liked them. The portly woman had a flair for creating the grand English breakfast. Aunt Susan, who hailed from London, prided herself on her cheese-stuffed scrambled eggs and her classic bubble and squeak.

  Aunt Helen took charge when it came to the organization of the family's daily affairs. "Tommy, go round up everyone and tell them to come down for breakfast," she demanded as he stumbled into the kitchen, yawning.

  "Yes ma'am." Tommy had always shown great respect for his mother, but after his father had died a few years back in a car crash, that respect had taken on a whole new meaning. She was a bit stout, with a tough build, and could manage all the children by herself if need be — like a captain on the high seas commanding a mayhem of pirates.

  With one look, she could have you begging for forgiveness, even if you weren't guilty of anything. She was a good woman, though, and had a big heart with room enough for everyone, especially Nathaniel. She'd always wondered why her brother, Nathaniel's father, didn't spend more time with him. That upset her a good deal, and she gave Nathaniel's dad an earful on the matter from time to time. Of course, this was reciprocated because of who she married after her first husband died.

  Breakfasts took about an hour and a half to prepare, given all the different options, and about ten minutes for everyone to scarf it down like hungry pigs. The house normally buzzed like a beehive during the preparation and consumption of breakfast; after that, everyone went their own way. No sooner did the children sit down to eat than they were up and out the door, playing in the new-fallen snow. Others wandered aimlessly around the estate, looking for something interesting to do. The more adventurous went exploring.

  Nathaniel's mother snagged him as he tried to head past the den. "Nathaniel, can you snap some of these beans for your Aunt Helen?"

  "But I was going to go exploring in the…"

  "Nathaniel, you can do that afterward. Why don't you help your aunt?"

  "Oh, okay… do you have a bowl?"

  "I'll help," said Tommy, after his mom looked him up and down. "I just finished my second book, and I'm going to take a small break." He joined Nathaniel on the couch with a bowl of green beans and a pocketful of candy. "So, what do you like to read these days, Nathaniel?"

  "Um, well, I like to draw more than read. We did have to read Animal Farm this year, though. I thought that was pretty stupid."

  "Are you kidding me? You didn't like that? I mean, the symbolism alone, and the way Orwell writes! My gosh, it took me like three hours to blaze through that book."

  "Not me," Nathaniel mumbled. "More like two weeks, and I still didn't want to finish it. He could have written about something interesting, like… I don't know, gladiators or war or something. But farm animals plotting to escape? I just didn't get it."

  "It wasn't about farm animals escaping. That was just, you know, a metaphor for life in a totalitarian state!"

  Nathaniel looked at him with a raised eyebrow, then shrugged. "Ah, who cares?"

  "Well, have you ever read Wolf Rider or Windcatcher, or how about Strange Waters or The Cliffs of Cairo? Now those are even better," Tommy declared. "How about…"

  Nathaniel's fingers did the mundane work of snapping green beans, listening to Tommy ramble while he pondered what he might use as a subject for his great-grandfather's Masterpiece. Fountains, rivers, the English countryside, a self-portrait… all were good candidates. His mind wandered as he stared out the window into the snow-draped kitchen garden. All the conversations and the clanking of dishes faded as his gaze became fixed on the brick well, with its thin layer of snow along the top edge, and the icicle-dripping vines clinging to the stone wall nearby. A little red bird perched on a low-lying branch caught his attention. Ideas for how he might capture this moment ran through his head… when somehow, that scene shifted momentarily to a pen-and-ink drawing...

  "Are you done with those beans yet? Nathaniel, are you even listening?" his mom asked.

  He blinked, and realized they were done. "Yes ma'am, here they are. Can I go now?"

  "I guess so."

  He nodded. "See ya later Tommy. Thanks for helping." Without waiting for a reply, Nathaniel trotted down the hall and then up a flight of stairs, sketchpad and pen in hand. He was off again. With hopeful expectancy, he entered the library. Last year he'd discovered a hidden passage behind one of the bookshelves. In the narrow corridor between the walls was a small, built-in ladder that descended into a dark chasm below.

  As far as he knew, he was the only one who knew about it. He didn't have enough courage to ask PaPa about the hidden area, so he kept the secret to himself.

  A year ago, fear had kept him from going down the ladder; but now, just having survived the seventh-grade football season, it didn't seem nearly as daunting. He pulled out a small flashlight from behind a book and put it in his mouth as he went down the ladder. He didn't know how far it descended. Nervous beads of sweat dripped from his forehead as he slowly climbed down. His free hand became clammy as he gripped the horizontal bars of the ladder; the other kept a tight hold to his sketchpad. It was no small task to climb down into a dark pit with one hand on the ladder, one hand holding his pad, and a flashlight in his mouth.

  Down, down, down he went, with only a small misstep, then a slip and an extra-tight grip onto the ladder — a big whew moment for his fast-beating heart. When he felt close to the bottom (and it was only a feeling) he became aware of a half-familiar scent; not an unpleasant one, but a smell he couldn't quite make out. After a total of forty-something rungs he finally landed on a hard floor, alone in the pitch black. The darkness had been why he hadn't ventured down before, and he just stood there for a moment, wondering why he had this time.

  To his surprise, the air felt comfortably warm. He now recognized the scent as an herbal mix of cinnamon, vanilla, and apple, like that of a scented candle. It smelled magical, if indeed magic had a smell. The mystery of this place and the excitement in the room compelled him to stay and look around.

  He moved the flashlight beam up and down, left and right. Spotting a desk lamp on a table, he turned it on, dimly lighting the small space. After looking around a bit, he noticed another lamp on a counter, and turned that one on too. With the exception of a few small shadows in the corners, the lamps illuminated the room pretty well.

  He noticed there wasn't much to the room, but it had all the amenities necessary for living. A little pantry sat empty in one corner, a bath and toilet tucked away in another. A small kitchen sink and stove hugged one wall, and several rugs covered the concrete floor. A few down blankets lay folded on a small cedar chest at the foot of a twin-size bed. Otherwise, a suede leather chair with a tiny round table seemed to be the only furnishings.

  It was hidden, it was quiet, it was cozy; indeed, it was a great place. In fact, with the small lamp by the chair and the smell of magic in the air, it wasn't just a great place, it was perfect. He thought about sketching a couple of pictures with his new pen as he sat down in the chair. It was as comfortable as it looked.

  As Nathaniel looked around the room, he saw framed pen-and-ink drawings hanging on all the walls, illustrations he was surprised he hadn't noticed right away. These were much larger than the 11 by 14 sheets he was used to sketching on. He got up and looked at them closely. He saw drawings of beautiful forests, a waterfall, and one with a trail in the woods that led to a stone bridge. He also noticed a drawing of a triple-hinge door with two sturdy padlocks set back among some large, rounded, cobblestone-like rocks. This one especially piqued his curiosity, and the detail of the lock combinations — 2332 and 3223 — caused him to lean in until his nose almost touched the glass. It was signed: Masterpiece - A.F.

  Why on Earth would someone draw something like this? Who had drawn them all was the next question on his list. "I hope PaPa doesn't want me to draw him something this big… it might take me forever," he murmured.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  At the bottom right, each drawing was signed Masterpiece, though with different initials beside the word. The initials E.H. were on all of them except for the drawing of the locked door, with its A.F., and a wonderfully detailed image of a cottage that bore the initials A.V. He sat back down, and just stared with amazement at all the wonderful drawings.

  As far back as Nathaniel could remember, his great-grandfather had told him stories of strange, faraway places: tales so grand they sometimes made him wonder if his service in World War II had affected PaPa's mind. Perhaps the harsh reality he’d faced back then had been too much; maybe he drifted into fantasy from time to time. But with the discovery of this secret basement and these drawings, he knew there was something more going on than PaPa had told him. This made him love the old man all the more.

  Curious, Nathaniel explored underneath the bed and in all the cupboards, looking for something that might have been left behind… some clue as to the meaning of this place. In the bottom drawer by the sink, he found two small pieces of paper. One read:

  One primary that is the thrust

  One secondary out of friendship and trust

  Another secondary because of envy and lust

  A power that tore us apart – A.H.

  The other read:

  IN THIS LIFE WE CAN LET OUR IMAGINATIONS INFLUENCE THE WORLD — OR WE CAN LET THE WORLD INFLUENCE OUR IMAGINATIONS. – A.H. (T.N.)

  "Wonder what that means?" He sat on the bed and read it over again, pondering its meaning and the initials, A.H. and (T.N.).

  He also looked at the Masterpiece that showed the locked triple-hinge door, with the initials A.F. After a while he shrugged, and then took a pencil and copied the two sayings onto the inside cover of his sketchpad. Then he put the pieces of paper back where he'd found them and glanced at his watch. "Oh, great!" Time had just slipped away, and as lunchtime neared, he didn't want anyone to come looking for him, so he turned off one light and left his things on the counter.

  "I'm definitely coming back after I eat," he announced as he climbed up the ladder. He wasn't sure if he was promising himself or the room.

  After Nathaniel finished closing the bookcase behind him, Tommy came rushing into the library. "Where in the heck have you been? I've been looking all over for you!"

  A guilty look crept across Nathaniel's face. "Uh, nowhere — just in here, trying to find a book with some cool landscapes to draw."

  "But I already came in here looking for you and didn't see you!"

  "Yeah, probably because I was using the bathroom. You know — when nature calls, you gotta answer."

  "Well, it doesn't matter. Come on, I want to show you something before lunch."

  "What is it?"

  "Just come on!" Tommy hurried down the stairs and through the house, then bolted out the front door, Nathaniel four or five steps behind him. He could hardly believe his eyes. He hadn't seen Tommy run this fast since they were little kids. "Come on, it’s this way," Tommy shouted.

  He led Nathaniel across the field north of the driveway to a stand of large walnut trees. "See? Check this out." Tommy showed Nathaniel a dry well nestled beneath the trees. It didn't go anywhere, but had a wooden bottom and was used for storing walnuts when the harvesters came.

  "Okay, so?" Nathaniel said. "I've seen this, like, a thousand times before."

  "Yeah, but have you seen this?" Tommy pushed the side of the well, and it rotated outward on some kind of swivel. Underneath the well was a large door in the ground, with chains around the handle, clasped together with a huge padlock. Unlike the locks in the Masterpiece of the triple-hinge door, this one required a key.

  "Holy crap!" cried Nathaniel. "No wonder you were excited! I wonder where that goes? How in the world did you find that?"

  "I was just sitting here reading my book, leaning against the side of the well, and suddenly it moved a little — so I got up and moved it all the way out, and saw the door under it."

  "This is crazy."

  "Yeah, my thoughts exactly," Tommy replied.

  "How are we supposed to get in there?"

  "That's why I came looking for you. I figure you're stronger than me, so all we have to do is find some bolt cutters and you can, you know, cut the chains."

  "I'm not sure about that, Tommy. Those chains are probably there for a reason. It's probably best if we can find the key to the lock and unlock it."

  "But I've looked everywhere. Most of the time the keys are only about two feet away — you know, when you put a key under the front doormat or something."

  "Do you think PaPa knows about this?"

  "I'm pretty sure he does. This place has been in our family for like a hundred years. He's got to know about this, right? Besides — that lock's not that old."

  "Well, let's go ask him." Nathaniel insisted.

  "Are you kidding me? I want this to be our secret!"

  "Maybe I can hint around at lunch and see if I can get him to confess something."

  Tommy asked, a little hesitant: "Do you think he'll suspect anything?"

  "I don't know. I can try."

  "Okay, go for it."

  The boys covered the door back up, and kicked some leaves and snow around, making it look more natural. "That looks pretty good, don't you think?" Nathaniel asked.

  "Yeah, that looks good."

  As Nathaniel and Tommy walked back through the field determined to find out about the door Nathaniel mumbled, "First the secret basement, now this?"

  "Did you say something?" Tommy asked.

  "Not really, I was just thinking out loud."

  They walked inside to join the hustle and bustle of the entire family trying to get situated. Lunchtime at the estate was always a joyous time during the holidays, filling every corner of the kitchen and dining room with laughter and conversation. The immense display of homemade dinner rolls, pork chops, green beans, mashed potatoes, corn, and garden salad caused eyes to widen and mouths to salivate. The kitchen counters and surrounding tables were also filled with plates of English toffee, tubs of peanut brittle, baskets of raisin candy and candied orange peel, and stacks of fudge, as well as buckets of butterscotch and maple sugar candy. Every available space now overflowed with sweets meant to be eaten after meals.

  The truth be told, they were nibbled on bit by bit all day long by any passersby. No one took more advantage of the free candy than Tommy did when he became excited, immersed in one of his books. It made Nathaniel wonder if that was why Tommy always brought a handful of books for the holidays; clearly, a handful of books meant a pocketful of candy. So when he saw Tommy fill his pockets, he knew his excitement about the secret door must have reached a feverish pitch.

  Nathaniel chose to sit close to PaPa at the grand table. "So, how's my Masterpiece coming along? Any thoughts yet?" PaPa asked as he sat down.

  "You know, I'm just not sure yet." Nathaniel glanced at him sidelong. "I was kind of thinking about drawing a big triple-hinge door with a couple of combination locks."

  PaPa paused for what seemed like an eternity while he finished his bite of green beans; his face sagged, his eyes filled up, and his lip quivered the way an old man's does when he's emotional about something. He stared into nothing, as if the surrounding conversations weren't happening. If Nathaniel hadn't known better, he'd have thought that PaPa was about to bawl like a baby. But the old man regained his composure and his eyes became serious. He looked intent on saying something he felt he shouldn't. Finally, he put down his fork, lowered his spectacles, and leaned in toward Nathaniel. "I suggest you draw simpler things, like birds or frogs, or maybe a river cascading over some rocks. A triple-hinge door only means trouble."

  Nathaniel knew then that PaPa knew something about the drawings in the basement. They shared a moment of seriousness that made each reluctant to say anything more; then both turned with unspoken agreement and addressed their meals. While he ate his lunch, Nathaniel wondered just how much PaPa knew. Had he drawn those Masterpiece pictures himself? His initials were E.H., for Edwin Hancock. And how could a drawing of a door mean trouble? It was just a drawing. Could the initials actually be a code of some kind? His mind wandered back to the basement below, where he could sit and sketch in peace and quiet.

  Tommy eyed Nathaniel as if to say, Come on, you told me you'd ask him.

  PaPa looked over at Tommy and then at Nathaniel, as if he knew something they didn't.

  "PaPa, do all locked doors mean trouble?" Nathaniel asked.

  "What do you mean? What kind of question is that?"

  Nathaniel leaned in close, "I mean, does the door under the well by the walnut trees mean trouble too?"

  PaPa nearly coughed up his food, then quickly cleared his throat and wiped his mouth. "Oh, so you found that one, eh? No, that door doesn't mean trouble. It just goes to an old underground bomb shelter that's been abandoned for quite some time. A little riddle to fiddle, if you will."

  "A riddle to fiddle — what's that mean?"

  "You still have so much to learn, Nathaniel. I wish you could go with me, but I've already made my plans."

  "What riddle? What plans? PaPa, what in the world are you talking about?"

  "Hmm?" His mouth was full of potatoes now. After swallowing, he said, "Oh, never you mind that, Nathaniel. You'll know everything, all in good time. Yes, yes — all in good time. The truth always makes its way to the surface and reveals those things that have been hidden and kept secret."

  Nathaniel had had enough. He finished his meal, put up his dishes, and walked outside to meet Tommy, who had already left the table and was on his fourth piece of peanut brittle. "Well, what did he say?" Tommy pressed him.

  "Nothing, really. It's just an old door that goes to a bomb shelter or something. He said it's been locked up for years, then he just started talking crazy."

  "What do you mean, crazy?"

  "I don't know, just weird stuff. Ah, it doesn't matter. I'd better let you finish your book — I'm going to go try out my new pen."

  "Okay, see ya." As Nathaniel jogged back toward the house, Tommy mumbled under his breath, "Well, that's boring. I was hoping it was some kinda hideout. Still, an abandoned bomb shelter would be pretty cool to explore. I'm still gonna look for that key…"

  So Tommy strolled back over to the walnut trees, sat down, and opened his book. No sooner did he lean against the well that it moved again, causing the book to fly out of his hands while he fell back. You would think Tommy should have remembered the swivel, but his novel and the missing key kept his mind too busy to think about that minor detail.