The Locket

I found it in an old junk shop tucked behind a pile of books. The shopkeeper tried to warn me but I didn’t listen; I’d opened it by then and seen her face inside.

I kept it hidden; I didn’t want my family to pry. Then one day I was alone and she appeared right in front of me. I called out, but all she did was smile sadly and float through the wall.

I stopped eating properly around then. When the children asked to play I just stared blankly back. Eventually my wife left with them which was a relief really – I could keep it open all the time now.

She only returned once – it was when I’d made up my mind to unite myself with her and had a knife pressed against my throat. I think I would have gone through with it but suddenly she was there again, pale and sad and utterly lovely, but shaking her head, her cold hand on the blade.

So now I’m looking into the gorge, the locket somewhere in the churning waters below. I’ve lost everything but at least I’m free. There’s a blue sky overhead and the larks are singing.