The Future Keys

Mark

All Mark can do was shrug at the sight of the rubber ball soaring through the air. He knows it's going to go over the wall, so he isn't surprised whenever it lands right in someone's yard. He turns towards Sarah, who's on the verge of falling over in laughter. "Now you get to go in the crazy guy's yard!"

Mark doesn't share the same enthusiasm. "Can you at least help me?"

"Hell no. I may be your girlfriend, but there's no way I'm going in that guy's yard."

Mark goes back to face the wall that he was looking at earlier. Its peeling green paint now disgusts him, making him want to vomit. He had never been in the crazy guy's yard, and he doesn't feel like approaching it any time soon. He'd seen that man more than once on the street, flailing his arms around, yelling at the sky. It seems like the guy would pop in and out of existence, in and out of reality, all the while freaking out about something. Mark would've asked the man about it by now, but he still remembers what his mother had said to him whenever he was just three years old.

"Don't talk to strangers."

What he's doing now his mom would greatly disapprove of. He stands in front of the yard, squinting. He isn't sure if what he saw in front of him is really there. There are countless bottles of beer, their labels scratched out, old toothbrushes, garbage everywhere, and something that intrigues him even more. The ball that had landed in the yard earlier is now right smack in front of him, his feet almost ramming into it. Next to it is an old, worn skeleton key, covered in a thin layer of dust. Engraved into it seems to be a small circle, about half a centimeter in diameter, almost like a button.

Mark leans down to pick up the ball, but as he scoops it up with his right hand, the key shins brilliantly in the light. It's almost as if it's calling for him, wanting him to pick it up. He knows it isn't right of him to take it, but he has to, almost for no reason. He grasps it in his free hand, and he stands back up, turning in the other direction.

"Hey! What're you doin'?"

Mark swings around, the crazy man only a few feet away from him. He's panting, almost like he had run all the way from the other side of his house to face him. He flings his fist up in the air, sweating, a split second away from some sort of uncontrollable attack. Mark takes a step back, holding his hands out in front of him, both the ball and the key in his possession. "S- Sorry."

The crazy guy takes a step forward, seeming to grow in height. "Git' outta' here!" Mark's heart is pounding, his head throbbing, and all he wants to do is sprint in the other direction.

So that's what he does. Time seems to travel in slow motion as his legs go back and forth, pushing him closer and closer to Sarah, who follows suit, in a daze, confused. She wants to say something, but she's too out of breath as they run down the hill, out of sight of the man who stands stiff, turning away, and walking back inside his home.