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The key didn't look out of the ordinary, or even off colored. It was still a typical skeleton key in appearance, black and brown from age and frequent use. Nathanial had scoffed at the antique, but his sister collected them. They were used for all manner of projects. This particular key as it was discovered, was one of three thousand Model A keys to Model A locks, as his grandparents' house echoed a quiet click as soon as his sister tried it on the pantry door.

She'd thoughtfully left it on the mantel, as if to tell the aged relic, "You are loved even if you're falling apart." The mantel, overburdened with knick-knacks and photos only groaned as another 13 ounces were added. He quickly swiped it when she wasn't looking and decided an old dirt collector like this must be hiding some goodies. Their grandparents had lost their Model A key, but this was a suitable replacement. Now for the locked closet upstairs.

He drove over to the house under his parents assumption he'd gone to town for a few hours. Nathanial had an hour to pocket collectables and sell them on his breaks at work to the nearest junk dealer. The boxstore he was employed at wouldn't miss him for an hour. Getting into the house, the 19 year old headed straight towards the third floor, the stairs from the second leading to a locked attic on the third. If it didn't work here, it wouldn't work anywhere in the house. A soft click was heard echoing this time in the attic, and he pushed the door ajar, in case there was some sort of infestation.

Flashlight scouring the walls, he saw to his expectations moth eaten attire, chewed up boxes, and too many cobwebs. He'd decided to take three quick steps in and out, just to see what lay beyond the door, just to spot another door. "What the heck?"

When he'd told his sister, she'd only scoffed. "And you care why? Grandma said it didn't lead anywhere. It's a broken handle in the wall or something." She'd left the matter at that. Nathanial's parents were curious, but their answers were far less helpful. His mother was surprised and asked, "A door? Really? Maybe it was a coat hook. Your grandmother was creative."
His father? "So, a door handle. Hm.", promptly returning to his scotch and newspaper. Those five words held an unheard lecture that came down to 'Won't ask, don't care, discussion over.' His grandparents were to wrapped up in their own fond memories to actually answer Nathanial when he asked.

Peeved, he dropped the matter for a while, and then his aunt surprised him with at least an answer that involved his grandmother. Two photos and a ground breaking story awaited him as they met at the local fast food joint. His grandmother wasn't always so creative and spirited. His Aunt Mildred had been four years old at the time, so her memories were hazy, but what little she'd remembered clearly stuck and it re-ignited his curiosity.

~Milli's parents were fighting again. Roars and screeches all manner of sounds that reminded her of her preschool Halloween presentation came to mind. She thought it was silly. In pre-k, an adult word for her class, they'd had to agree to disagree, share, or sit quietly in the corner and think, think, think about what why they yelled at one another. How come her own parents couldn't? This time, it was over a carb~or~ator, whatever that was. Her Daddy made it sound real important, but Mommy explained food stuffs all the time, and it didn't sound bad. If it was that important, he'd follow a diet. Milli was glad he didn't, as he couldn't show her how to grow a garden this summer if he died yet. They yelled until both parted ways for the day, met up for a silent dinner, and then went to bed angry. Milli's older siblings escaped to friends' houses like Curious George; Milli couldn't, so her older siblings didn't think they argued all night. It wasn't fair.

Fighting seemed like a regular event until Milli realized they hadn't yelled, at all. Not yesterday, or today, or even late last night! Daddy had even won the Carburetor fight, and the 'sketti fight, and...and..every fight so far had turned into an agreement that Daddy had stopped losing. ~

"I think your grandmother wasn't..your grandmother any longer. Not replaced by aliens, or taken by dementia, but by a 'blob' like being. A sudden change should have alerted your grandfather, but my older brothers assured me that verbal abuse was a regular event up until she suddenly softened. Your grandmother simply stopped arguing and we were spoiled with bedtime stories, late night snacks, quiet evenings, and praise where we weren't before. It all magically disappeared somehow. The replacement sung and loved us, but she didn't rub her temple or raise her voice when dishes weren't done, someone threw a tantrum. The odd limp disappeared, scars healed overnight, and her arthritis was nowhere near as bad as it had been. It all changed when she did her spring cleaning."

Nathanial was silent, as he didn't blame his uncles and aunts. It was a crazy theory. Worth looking into though, as he had little to go on, if the key fit. They parted ways with a reminder his family was always welcome for Sunday dinner, and he played with the key for a bit when he got home. Perhaps there was a door lock connected to the handle; His aunt's crazy story seemed ludicrous, but he was in the middle of ridiculous mystery at this point. 'No harm, no foul', he thought to himself as he'd made his way over to his grandparents house again. His sister was visiting family in another state and his parents had gone out for a formal dining experience. He had more then enough time to check out this conspiracy theory.

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