with a deep resonant click,
removing the old single stout key from the oxidized lock,
she opened the tall thick door
and watched her shadow cast
itself large and long and
and utterly opaque
across the dark empty abandoned room.
the shadow grew in her presence,
crept up the wall, crooked, and
sprang into nothingness above.
the almost-fully waxed moon's gaze
stood framed in the upper right pane
of what looked to be a window
that was very old.

all was dark and quiet.
too quiet,
like her emergence had
just then
silenced
the room.

then

there, in the pale yellow glow from the hall light,
a small pile
of
things.
they sat there, orderly, almost as if
arranged.
she moved closer
and saw

a phalange of bones:
the index, a concatenation of yellowing tibia, motioned for her
to come closer,
jangling in its bid.

she did.
and the bone
spoke
words that wrote
themselves on
the backs of her now closed eyelids,
filling them with awe.