Locked And Unloaded

Steven Robert Allen
2 min read
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The house I've been living in for the past three years has a mysterious safe embedded in concrete in the basement. The former owners didn't supply us with the combination. Actually, they didn't even tell us the safe existed. We didn't discover it until after it was long gone.

My wife and I resisted the temptation to open the safe. I began to think of it as my secret retirement fund. I began to assume it contained a bag of diamonds. Or perhaps a solid gold bunny rabbit. Or an ancient scroll that revealed the secret to eternal life. Whatever the case, I didn't want to spoil the mystery.

Friends and coworkers thought I was crazy, though. How could I possibly live in a house for three years and not find out what's contained in my mysterious basement safe? They nagged. They whined. They made derogatory comments about my mother. Eventually the pressure became too much.

I called a locksmith the other day, and he had the thing open in a jiffy. You wouldn't believe what my mysterious basement safe contained. Yeah, of course—absolutely nothing but a long empty tube of old air. How disappointing. I should've just left the thing alone.

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