The Key Revisited

Many many years ago I started to write a story titled The Mandragorian Key, sadly the original document is lost. Upon researching the title on the internet I’ve found several names of things like a demon in the highly popular Doctor Who series, who has a name very similar to Mandragorian so I’ll very likely rename it to something else. I took a break this evening from the main story to begin reproducing the aforementioned story and so I present it here for your consideration.

The Key

How she hated these days. The incessant rain, the dull grey sky, the dull grey light that barely penetrated the stained glass window of the museum and even when it did it seemed to have drained all the colour out of everything, where once was a deep sensuous red highlight on the mahogany desk there is a deathly ancient bloodstain, conjuring images of unspeakable rituals and rites from which only one gained any pleasure, even the vibrant yellow garland seemed to turn into a withered and jaundiced representation of itself. Oh how she hated these dull grey days but worst of all she hated the dull grey people that came on these days to shelter from the worst of the rain. They came in droves almost seeming to spring to life from the drops of rain that touched the ground, with every splish and splash or ripple came another and another. Dull grey anonymous faces with dull grey anonymous thoughts and their dull darkened eyes  partly hidden by umbrellas or hats or deep frowns across their foreheads. These philistines who entered these hallowed walls of ancient knowledge, how dare they!?

They dared because they were anonymous grey people, transported by need into this place but not to learn or look or even, dare I say, peruse a playful pastel by Picasso nor consider a collection of Celtic coins.

Cathy stood looking across the huge space of the entrance hall to the museum with utter contempt at the gathering of people who had inundated the building at the first sign of the storm and prayed it would be over soon. She guessed more or less correctly that ninety nine point nine percent of them had only come for shelter, but was completely unaware that the remaining point one percent was slowly and nervously making his way towards her desk with it’s vampiric looking bloodstain deepening by the second as the storm thundered ever louder above them. She had already mentally transported herself away to foreign lands and was currently digging up an ancient metal artefact that looked remarkably like a miniature representation of a huge gateway that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a castle somewhere in the Scottish highlands. This anachronism in her daydream was puzzling as she was quite sure she was in Egypt brought her almost back to reality then the sudden raising of all the hair on her body and instantaneous clap of thunder as the museum was struck by lightning made her transportation complete and she found herself staring into the face of Mr. 0.1%. She blinked at him several times perhaps expecting him to disappear the same way he had appeared, heralded by a huge clap of thunder, which of course did not happen.



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