The Ghost of Anne Boleyn

Malorie reached for the dusty, brass doorknob, heart hammering so loudly she feared she'd wake the dead. The knob was cold to the touch and sent a shock through her system. The door creaked like it hadn't been oiled in millennia, but all Malorie could think about was how it sounded just like the doors from horror movies that had killers and monsters lurking on the other side. She feared that the loud squeak of the door must be alerting the hidden demons to her presence. She let out a sigh of relief when she opened the door to reveal nothing more than a large, ornate four poster bed on the other side. A handful of delicate chairs and a rickety table completed the room. Dust coated every inch of the room, from the red, silk curtains hanging from the intricately carved wooden bed posts to the rich, oakwood walls to the padlock and key lying discarded on the floor, covered in their own mound of dust. Padlock and key? she thought. What could these be doing here? Either someone or something was not meant to enter or someone or something was not meant to exit. Was this a prison or a sanctuary? She shuddered and let out a nervous breath because she didn't have enough clues to answer one way or the other. As if operating on autopilot, Malorie walked towards the bed, compelled to touch the mattress and determine if it really felt as uncomfortable as it looked. (Even from a distance, she could tell that it was not like the brand new TempurPedic that she was used to back home.) Before she could extend her hand, she saw the curtains sway with no breeze to move them and a sudden, bone-chilling cold seeped into her pores. The cold mixed with this sudden movement caused Malorie to gasp with fright. She turned to run and as she pivoted, she managed to trip over herself and landed, palms out, on the hard stone floor. Her phone skidded from her hand, flashlight still illuminating the dust and dirt in the room. The movement caused the layers of dust to swirl in the air and Malorie found herself coughing profusely. By the time she finished hacking up a lung, she was able to look up and noticed dark patches of wood in the shape of large squares and rectangles. It looked like portraits or other wall adornments once hung here. Malorie wondered why they were taken down. Who did this room belong to anyway? The chill that raked Malorie's body passed as swiftly as it came, and she quickly found herself regaining her composure as she stood and wiped her dusty hands on her jeans. The dust left a large, gray smudge and Malorie winced as she realized not only would she have to wash these now, but she'd likely have to find some excuse to explain the mark to Peter. As she walked over to pick up her phone, she noticed a source of light she hadn't noticed before. Weak sunlight filtered through the small window and the intersecting lines on the window left funny shadows where her phone once sat. She glanced out the window and was fairly sure she was looking at where her father told her the gardens used to be. I don't remember the building being this tall, she thought as her gaze lingered out the window. She felt she was higher up than she should be and the thought made her breath hitch. Something's not right here. This place isn't normal. Her head was spinning, and she found herself gasping for air. Why can't I breathe? Where am I? What is this place? Her mind raced and she sat on the end of the bed to try to calm herself. Breathe… in...1...2...3…. Out...1...2...3 She repeated this several times until she was able to unclench the death grip she had on the bed; her knuckles went from white to a healthy shade of rose. Once she was able to calm down, she began to look around again and noticed one panel of wood that was oddly discolored in a way that differed from where the lost paintings used to hang That's weird, she thought. She walked over to it. An eerie calm overcame her that matched the calm and quiet that permeated the room. Although just moments ago, Malorie was undergoing a full-on panic attack, at least she's pretty sure that's what it was based on what she'd seen on TV, now she felt she'd found her purpose, as if every little moment in her entire existence had led her to touch this wall. Upon doing so, she found the wood was soft and caved in just from the poke of her fingers. Was old wood known to crumble or was this wall just really odd? she wondered. She firmly pushed on the wood, causing it to cave in and expose a small hole. She could see nothing but darkness but figured maybe she should feel around. She'd seen enough movies like National Treasure to know that something supercool usually lurked behind secret cubbyholes like this. As she continued to dig and widen the hole with her fingers, she felt something smooth and slippery brush against her fingertips. She wasn't sure why, but the feeling reminded her of her grandma's pearls. She pulled the object out and, sure enough, she was holding a pearl necklace! From the pearls hung a golden B and, below that, were three tear-drop pearls suspended from the B. It looked old fashioned to Malorie but, she had to admit, there was something transcendent about the jewelry.