He drew a hit from his drink and poured in something stronger. It has to burn, these days, for him to feel anything. In the corner across the room, his first granddaughter, Martha, was scolding her son about something. He was a good boy, the only one, really. He had a good head on his shoulder. Good sense skipped a generation or two, if it came at all.  

The old man walked over to them and smiled. Martha smiled fakely with perfect white teeth. His own teeth was crooked. He had honest teeth because he used his to chew on, not for smiling, primarily. They all pretend that they were Hollywood stars, that’s their problem. What good is a perfect smile unless you’re royalty? when everything about you matter.

The boy’s name was Charlie and his teeth was crooked too. They hadn’t had a chance to ruin his yet or maybe it was because they were still milk teeth? he wasn’t sure. He was ashamed that he didn’t know. His mind have been slipping, as of late… He touched the boy’s shoulder, “Let me show you something, Charlie.” His mother curled her lips then dropped her gaze to Charlie.

“Be a good boy and follow grandpa,” she said, perhaps all too happy to get rid of him.

The boy nodded and smiled back at him. The boy’s smile could brighten up the room if anyone paid attention, which they weren’t. They never noticed good things, these people. They only ever bothered to scold or lie. He wondered how his kids became like this, he certainly never lied to them growing up.

Him and Charlie went up the stairs. “Where are we going, papa?”

Bless the boy. He liked the sound of that. “Patience,” he said and stopped at the end of the staircase to breathe. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, yes,” he wheezed. “Just tired.” He never went up the stairs anymore, didn’t need to, frankly. As he caught his breath he showed the boy to a door. It stood askance even though he remembered distinctly that it had been locked. He cleared his throat and the door suddenly swooped open and a man stepped out. Probably a relative, he couldn’t keep track anymore. “Done snooping?” the old man said.

The man’s cheeks flushed and he hurried down the stairs. At least he had the sense to feel shame, he thought. The drawers had been hastily slammed shut and there was a tinge of worry as he inspected the desk. “Do you know what they’re all after, Charlie?”

The boy shook his head but he looked excited, it was an adult secret after all. Maybe the old man was a bit excited too, just a little bit. “Come closer,” he said.

The boy looked at the desk. The old man was quite proud of his secret; it wasn’t something simple like a hidden door behind a bookshelf that everyone and their mother knew about. There wasn’t anything hidden behind the paintings or the mirrors and there was nothing under the floorboards. He hadn’t come up with it himself, of course. He’d stumbled upon it when he purchased the desk that even the seller didn’t know about. It was an old victorian secret that had been lost by time. The desk had many drawers and some fake ones too that lead the intruder astray. Even if the thief came as far to finding the hidden compartment they’d still be stumped because the desk would be empty. If the thief is really clever he might even find the latch inside but even this lead you nowhere, all distraction! The desk didn’t work on common sense, it was a logical impossibility to figure it out and fakers always relied too much on logic. They can’t think outside the paradigm. Amazingly, even if you chopped the desk up the secret would be destroyed… He wondered how bold the boy would be. “There’s a secret in the desk,” the old man whispered. “Can you find it?”

The boy’s eyes beamed and he dove into the mystery. He checked the backside first. Good, good, the old man grinned. Think outside the box. When he didn’t find anything he pulled out the drawers, all of them. Most people would open one and then close it but the boy didn’t and his chest swelled with pride. He was small enough to stick his head inside and he felt along the wall. Something clicked. Clever. He’d already found the latch, but then he got stuck. He saw the boy get frustrated and he put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “That’s enough,” he smiled. “You did very good.”

The old man then kneeled and burrowed his entire forearm into the dark insides of the desk and produced a rolled up paper. The boy’s eyes widened. “Is it a treasure map, grandpa?”

The old man suppressed a laugh because he didn’t want Charlie to think he was mocking him. He wished it was a treasure map, it would make for a better story. “Sorry, Charlie, it’s a bit more boring than that. This is a proof of ownership of the house and all the land around it. Anyone that has this paper it’s theirs”

Charlie looked confused. He didn’t seem to understand the value of land or property, which was understandable. He remembered also at that age that if it wasn’t shiny, it wasn’t valuable.  

“It will be yours, one day,” he said and hid the paper back into the dark. “They want to take the house from you, Charlie,” he said. “They want to carve it up and sell it. They don’t care how much I’ve worked for all of it, they want to throw away my legacy… I know you won’t because you’re not like them,” there was a pause. “I don’t want a stranger to have the house, Charlie. I built it for someone like you… for someone like me… I know you don’t understand but some day you will and I’ll keep it a secret for you as long as I’m alive. Never forget this,” he said and showed Charlie where to bury his hand in the desk.

“Remember how it’s done, Charlie,” he said. “I might not be around when you turn eighteen.”

This seemed to puzzle him. Death is not a concept small children understand, not yet. To Charlie, everyone would live forever. There are adults who think like this as well, never able to come to terms with their mortality, even to the very end. “Keep it a secret,” he said and grunted as he stood.

Several Christmases came and went and the snow collected and thawed on the roof and the autumn leaves rotted and clogged the gutters. Nobody was coming to unclog them. Water flowed like waterfalls over the windows when it rained and he found it fascinating to watch, he couldn’t see a thing through it. It was like the whole world was being washed away. After a while, he walked down the stairs and into the living room. He froze, puzzled. What was I going to do? The cogs in his brain cranked and spluttered but they wouldn’t move. Eventually he gave up and poured himself a glass. He wondered how many autumns he still had left. Charlie was only ten years old. He had to stay healthy. Hurry up and grow, Charlie. Grandpa is waiting.  

Years later.

The place was in flames. It burned and burned for days as it took the fire department hours to get there and when they did it was already too late. They had no chance to stop it. Some say it was an accident with the fireplace, others that it was a candle, while others noted that the whole house burned evenly, from the east wing to the west wing, north and south… almost like it was planned. There was nothing to salvage. Everything was gone, except for a tiny bit on the south wall were only a scorched cupboard remained. The relatives rummaged through the ashes, trampling on the bones of the old man, unknowingly, not that it would matter much to them, they were mad. A lot of them had counted on the money and now their dreams were dashed. But the old man probably preferred it this way, anyway, he always had a great appreciation for the past and it was the custom of his ancestors to be buried with their possessions.