What We Leave Behind
719 Words
By eleven, Liam and Sophie had officially declared themselves “explorers.” It wasn’t a formal title—they’d just decided one day, sitting under the old oak tree in Liam’s backyard, that they weren’t regular kids anymore. Regular kids didn’t find treasure or uncover secrets. Explorers did.
Liam took the title seriously. He even bought a leather notebook with his allowance, dedicating it to their adventures. Sophie, predictably, rolled her eyes.
“What, you’re gonna write about every time we climb a tree?” she teased, lying on her back and tossing acorns at him.
“It’s for important stuff,” Liam replied, clutching the notebook protectively.
“Like what?” Sophie propped herself up on her elbows, smirking.
“Like… clues,” Liam said, fumbling. “If we find anything weird, we write it down. You never know what might matter later.”
Sophie’s smirk softened into something almost serious. “Alright, Professor Nerd. But you better let me write some of it.”
Their first real “clue” came not long after. It was a week before Halloween, and the air was crisp, carrying the faint smell of woodsmoke. They were biking home from school when Sophie hit the brakes so hard Liam nearly crashed into her.
“What are you doing?” he shouted, skidding to a stop.
Sophie didn’t answer. She was staring at a small pile of junk on the side of the road: a cracked mirror, a dusty lamp, and a battered wooden box with iron hinges.
“Look at that,” she said, pointing to the box.
“It’s just trash,” Liam said, squinting.
“No, it’s… something else. Come on.”
She dumped her bike on the sidewalk and ran to the pile. Liam sighed and followed.
The box wasn’t locked, but it was heavy, like it had been sitting there for years. Sophie pried it open, her fingers blackened with dust, revealing a jumble of old trinkets: a tarnished locket, a stack of Polaroid photos, and a worn-out leather journal.
“Jackpot,” Sophie whispered, her eyes lighting up.
Liam leaned in, frowning. “Someone probably just threw it out. We should leave it alone.”
“Or,” Sophie countered, “we take it and figure out who it belongs to. Isn’t that what explorers do?”
Before Liam could argue, Sophie had already tucked the journal under her arm and grabbed the locket.
Back at Sophie’s house, they spread the box’s contents across her bedroom floor. The Polaroids were faded, showing blurry images of a young woman with curly hair and a nervous smile. The locket, when opened, revealed a tiny photo of the same woman next to a man in a suit. But it was the journal that held their attention.
The handwriting was messy, like the person had been in a hurry. Most of it was mundane—shopping lists, notes about the weather—but one entry, near the end, stood out.
October 17th
I can’t keep it anymore. It’s not safe here, not after what happened to Marjorie. If someone finds this, please don’t open the box.
Sophie read it aloud, her voice dropping to a whisper on the last sentence.
“Creepy,” she said, grinning. “What do you think happened to Marjorie?”
“Probably nothing,” Liam said quickly, though his heart was racing.
“You’re such a buzzkill.” Sophie flipped the page, but the rest of the journal was blank. “Well, now we have to figure this out.”
“Or we could just put it back,” Liam suggested, knowing full well she wouldn’t.
Sophie laughed. “Not a chance.”
For the next few days, the box became their obsession. They made up wild stories about Marjorie and why the box wasn’t “safe.” Liam thought it was just an overreaction—probably some old family drama. But Sophie’s imagination went straight to the paranormal.
“Maybe the box is cursed,” she said one evening, sprawled on her bed while Liam flipped through the Polaroids.
“Or maybe it’s just trash,” he replied, though he couldn’t stop thinking about the journal’s warning.
The box stayed in Sophie’s closet, forgotten for a while, until the night strange things started happening.
- Writer
