Prowling

A writing short.

Two people search through the dark, long hallways and open rooms, stacks of cardboard boxes and sealed cases full of glistening silverware and plates, photos in frames, covered in dust.

What were they doing here? The boxes were all empty, and the cases were all locked. They didn’t even have a crowbar. Odds were all the good stuff was already gone, but Jason kept looking, prowling like a cat, pawing at every drawer. Gail could hear the rats scurrying in the background, hiding between the walls, waiting for them to leave. A thin line of sunlight peeked in through the boards, inviting her back.

“I found it,” he called. She hurried to his side, and stopped.

On the bed lay a mound, covered only by a hollow sheet. Gail did her best not to see through it. Jason had no eyes for it. All he saw was the safe embedded in the wall.

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