What if it wasn’t a treasure? What if bones filled the chest, wrapped in rotting cloth? He pictured his aunt’s lifeless body folded inside, Henry’s cold eyes watching as he sealed the lid. The image was grotesque and absurd, yet his mind clung to it with unrelenting horror.
He rose abruptly, pacing the garden. Mist clung to the hedges, silence pressing in thick and heavy. “What did you hide, Uncle?” he muttered aloud. The trees offered no answer, only the creak of branches swaying. The chest loomed on the grass behind him like a malignant shadow.