The Wooden Key

Old Thomas lived in a small house near the forest. He had many things, but his favorite was an old wooden box. The box sat on a wooden table by his bed. It was dark brown and had no metal lock. Instead, it had a strange hole in the front.

For fifty years, Thomas looked for something to open the box. He searched every drawer. He looked under the floorboards. He even asked travelers from distant towns. Nobody had the key.

One autumn afternoon, Thomas walked in the forest. The wind blew hard, and orange leaves fell from the trees. He stopped beneath a large oak tree. Between two thick roots, something caught his eye. It was a piece of branch. It was about the size of a finger, carved with small lines.

Thomas picked it up. He turned the wood over in his hand. The end of the stick was shaped like a square.

His heart beat faster. He walked home quickly, pushing open his wooden door. He crossed the small room and picked up the dark box.

With shaking hands, Thomas pushed the carved stick into the hole in the front of the box. It fit. He turned it once to the right.

Click.

The lid sprang open. Thomas held his breath and looked inside.

There was no gold. There were no jewels.

Inside the box lay a piece of folded paper and a small dry leaf. Thomas unfolded the paper. In his own handwriting from many years ago, simple words were written:

“The best things are hidden until you stop looking.”

Thomas smiled. He closed the box, locked it with his wooden key, and placed it back on the table. He sat by the window and watched the sun go down behind the trees. For the first time in fifty years, his hands were empty, and his heart was quiet.

What would you put inside a secret box?