The Box
The only sound was my padding feet and the gentle crashing of the waves as I explored the mysterious beach. The fog layered the air like a thin blanket and filled it with a moist, damp feeling. As I turned to look at the beautiful dark blue water, I noticed that the white caps on the waves reminded me of wild horses galloping, their manes flying in the breeze, this place was different from all the other beaches I had visited. It had a strange, majestic feeling to it. I tore my eyes away from the galloping waves and continued down the seashore.
As I neared the end of the beach, a huge cliff came into view. It was enormous, with long green vines dangling over the edge. I was about to walk closer to it, when I heard a rough grating sound behind me.
I froze, I didn't know what it was and most certainly did not want to find out, but eventuly, curiosity got the better of me, and I slowly turned around.
A wooden box stood alone on the pebbles, the waves lapping on its sides. I walked towards it and knelt down in front of it. It was very old and its once silver hinges had turned rusty and mossy. The box must have been made from very strong wood because it had only dented in a few places. It looked almost ancient. Quickly I checked to see if it had a lock, it didn't. I reached out and opened the box.
With a creak I forced it open, a sound similar to a sigh escaped from it, like the box had been holding in its breath and had not let it out for a long time. Shakily I reached my hand into the eerie darkness of the box and groped around. My hand touched something that felt like alligator skin. I snatched my hand out of it and angled the box towards the sunlight. I looked down and saw a single book lying in a sunbeam.
I stared down at the book. It was definitely not an ordinary one. Its cover was a scaly skin of some kind, and had a silver lock. It had strange gold markings on the front and below them and a single emerald sat surrounded by a circle of diamonds. Awed, I touched the emerald. The whole book glowed dully and the lock clicked open. I hesitated at first, but then shoved my fears behind me and opened the book.
It was gorgeous and looked like a journal of some kind. On the first yellowed page there was thin spidery handwriting and a watercolour painting of some great winged creature flying, —a dragon. I looked closer, fascinated, and touched the painting gently, a sudden shock passed through my hand. I snatched it away in suppirse. Then suddenly, the painting started to move. The huge painted dragon was flapping its great red wings, its muscles rippling and its tail swishing from side to side. Then, as suddenly as it had come to life it turned back into a faded watercolour painting.
I turned the page and eagerly touched the next picture, which was of two dragons. But instead of coming to life on the paper like the last one did, the paint seemed to shatter in mid air, and the two dragons spiraled up, almost entwined with each-other, then dived back into the page.
I closed the book. I felt absolutely enchanted. I wonder if I should tell my parents. I don't think I will. It's going to be my secret forever.
