“We have to get to the box before they do!” Olivia cried. “We left it on the kitchen table!”

The siblings sprinted across the rain-soaked yard, using the overgrown hedges for cover. They slipped through the back mudroom door just as the front doorbell rang—a long, aggressive chime.

Michael snatched the wooden box from the table. “Emma, give me the key!”

He jammed the rusted iron key into the box’s lock. With a satisfying clack, the lid popped open. Inside, there wasn’t gold or jewels. Instead, there was a faded map drawn on vellum and a strange, brass compass with a needle that didn’t point North—it pointed toward the woods.

“It’s a map of our property,” Olivia noted, leaning in. “But there’s a building marked on here that isn’t there anymore. It says… ‘The Lookout Tower’.”

Suddenly, the front door gave a sickening crack. The men weren’t waiting for an answer; they were breaking in!

“The attic!” Michael signaled. “It’s the only place with a lock they can’t easily break.”

They raced up the two flights of stairs, Aiden’s small legs working double-time. They burst into the attic and Michael slammed the heavy deadbolt just as footsteps reached the second-floor landing.

The attic was silent, save for the drum of rain on the roof. Emma looked at the map, then at the brass compass. The needle was spinning wildly.

“Michael,” she whispered, pointing to the corner of the attic. “The compass isn’t pointing to the woods anymore. It’s pointing to that old trunk of Grandpa’s.”

As they approached the trunk, a cold draft blew through the sealed room, and the map in Michael’s hand began to glow with an eerie, rhythmic light.

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