Lucerne's key

It was three days after a memorable night at Sarah’s house. Three days that were incredibly long, excruciatingly long. Rose did her usual, long-overdue, summer duties: helping her mother around the house with cleaning and cooking, going to the library for new books that she could read sometimes in a few hours, trying to sunbathe in the courtyard, but her thoughts kept returning to Emily’s story. Magic Lucerne. Key. Creatures. These words swirled in my head like a broken record. It seemed that even the old gate was creaking for a reason — perhaps it was one of those who came from the door opened by Lucerne. And the shadow from the cloud running across the lawn felt too… alive. On the fourth day, the patience of the girl broke down. After breakfast, Rosa announced that she was going for a walk and headed to the old district, on Aspen Street. She didn’t set herself the goal of finding that same house. No, of course not. She was just going to look. To satisfy her curiosity. Convince myself that this is all a story. The air in the old quarter was… something different — cooler, thicker, gristle wet stone, pollen and… time. The sun barely made its way through the clump of old crests, coloring everything in greenish, almost underwater hues. The houses here were higher, darker, with pointed roofs and carved shutters. Many of them looked quite soft. Rosa took her time. She looked around, looking for the house described by Emily. But the further she went into the maze of cobblestone alleys, the more her strange feeling — not fear, but… anticipation. And she saw him. The house stood in the depth of the plot, behind a low, recessed fence, almost completely hidden by lush thickets of ivy, wild grapes and some thorny shrubs. It was a two-story building and looked as if it had not just been left behind, but deliberately moved away from the rest of the world. Several windows were covered with rotten planks, others were dark, empty gaps. The house did not seem ominous. He seemed… asleep. Or lurking like a predator in ambush. Rosa slowed down and then stopped at the gate. She looked back. The street was deserted. Somewhere far away a dog barked, and there was the sound of lawnmowers — normal sounds of the day, but here, in this house, they seemed… muffled. She was about to turn around and go away, convinced herself that she had done her duty, silencing her curiosity, when suddenly something appeared in the depths of the garden. Not in the house itself, but among the thick thickets. Something small, dark and very fast. Not a cat or dog. Not a bird. It was only a fleeting silhouette, slipping between the leaves, but Rose froze as she gazed into the place. And then it appeared again. Not for long. From the thick trunk of an old maple tree it looked like… a creature. It was the size of a small dog, but stood on two thin, curved legs. His body seemed to be woven out of grey smoke, and his eyes gazed curiously at Rose. Neither fear nor aggression is just pure, almost human curiosity. It lasted only a second. Then the creature turned abruptly and, without making a sound, slammed into the crumbling stone arch leading toward the house. The legend was true! In an instant the tale turned into a stunning, incredible and somewhat frightening reality. And before the mind was able to call for caution, the feet themselves carried it forward. Rose opened a nasty creaky gate and stepped into the grounds of an overgrown garden. The grass here was a girly girl, the nettle stinging her legs, the web glued to her face. She crawled to that arch, the heart pounded deafly. The creature was already out of sight, but Rose… strangely felt his presence nearby. At the end of the passage was a massive oak door, decorated with faded and rusted metal cladding. And this door was… Slightly open. A narrow strip of darkness was luring me. Rose came almost close and pushed the door. She ran silently, letting her in. The first thing that struck her was silence. Not just a complete absence of sounds, but a thick, velvety silence, absorbing any noise from outside. And the smell — dusty, slightly sweet, with a mixture of wood chips, dry grass and something else, so… elusive. It was in a spacious, so to speak, huge hall. Through the dusty stained glass windows in the high ceilings penetrated dim, multicolored light, coloring floating in the air speckles in emerald, crimson and sapphire tones. Under the feet creaked cheesy floorboards, covered with a thick layer of dust. The furniture was almost gone — just a couple of broken chairs and a huge, empty black bookcase on the wall. And then Rosa noticed something very strange. Windows. In one she saw the familiar street from which she had just come, with her old crabs and a hot sidewalk. The other is a sand dune bathed in the bright sun, with rare and colorful grasses blowing in the wind. In the third — a quiet lake, reflecting the beautiful evening sky. It came closer to the window with the dune. It was as true as it could be, wooden, covered in a thick web. But the landscape behind it was just as real. She even felt a slight breeze, the smell of wormwood and hot sand. She walked slowly down the hall, peeking into the open colourful doors. One heavy oak tree with carved patterns led into a room filled with broken clocks of all types and sizes, from pocket walkers to huge meter-long floor clocks. The arrows on all the dials showed different times, and the ticking from this room was like a pack of grasshoppers. The other door, light brown, opened onto a small, deserted winter garden, where among the huge white, almost pearlescent, sunsets sprouted dainty-pink flowers unfamiliar to her. The corridor ended. There was only one door in front of it. It was different from the others. It was made of a dark, almost black wood, without any ornaments. And there was a key in its keyhole. It was an old copper key. There seemed to be nothing unusual about it. But its handle… It was carved into the shape of a sleeping owl, and every feather, every tiny foot was carved with amazing craftsmanship. The heart of Rose was pierced. Curiosity was more powerful than fear. It was the fuel that had driven her here from the very morning. She reached out her hand slowly, almost in awe. The fingers touched the cold metal. The key sat tight in the castle, as if… it had become a part of it. She took a deep breath and turned it. The click was not loud and metallic, but somehow… supple and velvety. The door ran silently inside. And Rosa saw not the next room, not a dusty closet, but a forest. A very unusual forest. The trees here were incredibly tall, their silver-coloured trunks soaring high into the bright, golden mist that had replaced all the sky. The girl listened… the leaves made a melodious, quiet sound, like the sound of crystal bells. The air was thick and sweet, tinged with honey and strange flowers. Rose stood on the threshold, her feet in the dusty corridor of an abandoned house, and her face was swept by a breeze from another world. She turned, casting her last glance at the familiar reality — the dust, the twilight. Then, not thinking for a second more, she stepped forward through the threshold. The door gently closed behind her, leaving a barely visible crack in the black wood wall. Rose was alone in an unfamiliar, magical world. She had nothing but a heavy, cold key in her jeans pocket. But something was telling her… that this summer had just become the most extraordinary adventure of her life.