Once upon a time in a time not too long ago there lived a sweet and lovely girl that no one liked at all. Her name was Button and when she could she ducked her head into any coat or longer sleeve like her namesake told her to. She carried pockets full of bugs and had something squirmy living in her hair. She bathed almost everyday but no one knew in what or where. She carried an umbrella without a panel intact. It kept out friends but never rain and that was simply that. What this little girl was not a shred of privy to was that she was the chosen one, but what was she chosen to do? One day that was just another day she found a key more rust then metal in her pocketbook stuck to the bottom with bubblegum glue. Button knew not where it came from nor what door it went into, but she kept it clutched in her hand and hoped she learned its secrets soon.
Down the block and up the hill and perhaps next store to you, there is a house like a weed that refuses to be pulled or grown anew. It pokes between perfect lawns and painted houses whose colors were all bright and new. This house has planks and broken boards with a garden overgrown with more then plants but with creatures too. On Halloween no one rings the door. On Christmas there is never a tree or piece of tinsel strewn. The windows are always dark until there is something moving through.
When Button looked upon her key some tickle in her belly knew that this was the only house the key could belong to. The gate that locked in a wandering path swung open without a hitch. If this was not the lock to turn then Button knew she must look deeper in and darker down. The doorbell had a buzzer that forgot its tune. She pressed and even tried to pull but no tinkle bell rang or buzzer blew. Button’s hand grabbed the knob and gave a tug and found it locked. Time to try the key. Rust turned into rust and with a creepy creak the door fell open and the key felt complete. The floor was more dust then boards under Button’s feet. Amongst the dirt and crime and fairly dank stink of things she found the tracks of what must be tiny scampering things. Button always did prefer to follow the tracks of smaller less human things. A cat or bat or wounded dog they all held such interesting conversations and knew such wonderful tales. Follow the footsteps and you are always bound to find the feet that made them.
It is common knowledge and commonly known that if you are on the hunt for creepy crawling things you must look in the attic or basement. They are also known to hide in closets or under beds but that’s the boogie man’s domain and he takes up a lot of space. Creepy crawlies like centipedes or kittens crave small dark spaces. Button always did have a head for these things or perhaps a head full of these things.
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