The Locket Book

I just had a very interesting dream. (September 12th, 2015, 4:59am) Part of it was playing a very beautiful, vivid song in my head. I don't remember what was going on exactly, but I remember one vivid detail. The setting seemed to be in the colonial days, a time when men were dressed in suits, speaking proper English, women wore fancy dresses everywhere and spoke daintily, and everything was BORING. Except for one small detail that got me through the day: my books.

Except, something was wrong. Terribly wrong. I should have been having an aneurysm or a heart-attack, yet here I was sipping tea, eating biscuits with my husband, and smiling and laughing. Surely all bibliophiles across the nation were in presently in a riot? Why were we instead going about our daily business as though nothing were the matter?! For... you see... in this dream:

Books were ILLEGAL.

Oh, yes. The government had come along, scooped up all the books, and destroyed them. (Yes, yes, I'm sure there were books—ironically—written and movies both already made on this subject. Remember, I'm just telling you about a dream I had.)

How they destroyed the books is my guess—burned them, tore them to pieces, threw them into the ocean; use your imagination. (My heart aches at the thought!)

All I know, is I, and everyone else, have not touched or looked at a book in years and- Hey, wait a minute! What am I doing with that book in my hand?! I'm gonna get arrested! Throw that thing in the garbage this instant young lady and get back to the party! What do you think you're doing sneaking off anyway?!

Wait... Where does this tunnel lead to? I've never seen it before; but I seem to know where I'm going. It leads outside, to the servants' quarters. The servants never talk to the masters. They love gossip though; it's worth more to them than a gold coin.

I see a majestic horse drawn carriage (without the horse, whom is stabled, I presume) sitting in the middle of the muddy yard. Unlike most carriages, this one is covered in colorful blue and white frilly lace. The windows are small and clear, and the whole carriage looks very sweet and friendly. There are several other carriages matching this one, yet of different color or design.

The unique characteristic of the carriage, however was not the way my dress matched with it, but where the key—which was tucked away, hidden inside my dress—went to a similarly hidden lock. This lock was located inside the carriage, in the floorboard. One might not help but wonder, why?

I crawled inside the small carriage, looking around to make sure I was alone except for the servants who were keeping themselves busy with their work, yet not their eyes. I smiled in spite of myself and went to work myself. I pulled aside the fake floor below where the rider's feet would go. I sighed a relief to find the hidden lock there. I crossed my fingers and prayed a short prayer as I used my free hand to delicately pull the fine chain around my neck—the color which matched my skin—until the old rusty key slipped free from my bosom.

I threw one last fervent glance over my shoulder, thinking I heard a dog bark. I instinctively froze for a moment, nerves building. I shook myself, reminding myself I needed to move quickly.

To calm myself, I sang myself a song. The lyrics flowed over me like a cool spring. I slid the key into the lock, turned it, and opened it. I pulled open the lid, and grinned, finding the book I was hoping to find inside. It was old, and falling apart, but any book was valuable now in the underground. I snatched it and slid the book into my small bag hidden under my gigantic dress.

"Remind me to thank Mom later for making me wear this thing," I mumbled to no one in particular. I closed the lid, locked it, and covered the fake floor again, securing it for the next smuggler. I moved on to the next cart.

I was at my final cart, a blue one—owned by my favorite customer—and feeling pretty confident. Two smugglers had been unable to send books, but others had sent word, so I had skipped those empty carriages to save time. The faster I finished out here, the better; but I knew regardless I would be back to the party before my husband had finished his drink.

As I crawled into the last cart, I sang the last verses of the song. Smiling content and happy, I admired the old key for a moment, before sliding it into the lock and turning it. Hearing it click, I opened the hatch.

I sat there smiling dumbly at the empty space for a moment before the shock set in. The horror grew as I put my hands inside, trying to feel if there was another empty bottom. Where was the book?! I opened and closed the door several times, willing it to appear.

I looked up, suddenly terrified. Someone had betrayed us. I had to get of here—now. I backed out of the carriage quickly and turned around, ready to run, but froze in my tracks.

My former best friend stood there, smirking, a sack of—I presume—gold, in one hand, the smuggled book in the other hand.

He waved the novel at me. "Looking for this?"

I heard men coming around the building, including the sheriff and the mayor.

"We have to catch whoever is-" Whoever was talking stopped mid-sentence because everyone froze, seeing a woman of high standards—of all people!—standing knee deep in mud and horse manure, her dress filthy and an antique key dangling around her neck.

I had eyes for no one, but my former husband, who I looked on with eyes that went from shock to rage. He simply stared back with that smirk, book still in hand, like he was holding onto a prisoner. I started humming the tune again, this time weeping, not for myself, but for the books hidden under my dress.

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