A little way down the hall is something glinting off the light. Just the barest hint, but it’s enough for me to jump in excitement, knocking my head off the thick drywall and sending flakes tumbling down in my hair. Ow. Ignoring the dull throbbing in the back of my head, I rip my arm out and rush down the hallway, guesstimating the distance on where I saw the mysterious object. Grabbing a picture frame, I unhook it from its nail and gently set it down. I do this several more times until I come across a picture of my great-grandmother sitting on a retro bike, a bundle of sunflowers sitting in the basket. She smiles wide, and even though the picture is black and white, I know she’s wearing red lipstick. Nana said she’d put on her red lipstick before she’d put on the coffee. I pull the picture from the wall and stifle a gasp when I see an army green safe in front of me. It’s old, with a mere dial for the lock. Excitement burns in my lungs as my fingers drift over the dial. I’ve discovered a treasure. And I suppose I have Greyson to thank for that. Though I’d like to think I would’ve taken these pictures down eventually for the sake of no longer having my ancestors look down on my extremely questionable decisions. I’m staring at the safe as a cold breeze washes across my body, turning my blood into ice. The sudden freezing temperature has me turning around, my eyes sweeping the empty hallway. My teeth chatter, and I think I even see my breath puff out of my mouth. And just as quickly as it came, it dissipates. Slowly, my body warms up to a normal temperature, but the chill down my spine lingers. I'm unable to tear my eyes away from the empty space, waiting for something to happen but as the minutes tick by, I end up just standing there. Focus, Addie. Gently setting the picture down, I decide to brush off the weird chill and google how to break open a safe. After finding several forums that list a step-bystep process, I run off towards my grandfather’s toolbox collecting dust in the garage. The space was never used for cars, even when Nana owned the house. Instead, generations of junk collected here, consisting mainly of my grandfather’s tools and some odds and ends from the house. I grab the tools I need, run back up the stairs, and proceed to force my way into the safe. The old thing is pretty shitty in terms of protection, but I suppose whoever hid this box here didn’t actually expect anyone to find it. At least not in their lifetime. Several failed attempts, bouts of frustrated groaning, and a smashed finger later, I finally crack the sucker open. Using my flashlight again, I find three