The people in the quaint little hamlet of Richford had a secret.
The folly, for that’s what the locals called it, sat sheltered within a copse of oaks. It had been there for over five hundred years and cherished by the inhabitants. The barn or stone shed, for that’s what it was, would be made available through a narrow gate. Visitors could walk around it at set times during the day for a small entrance fee, but were not able to enter it. It was deemed to be too dangerous. The gate was part of the high wooden fence that surrounded the entire stand of trees. This being all part of keeping the customers safe.
The story that they would put about was that it was put there by a powerful sorcerer during the Dark Ages. He had the barn built from stone quarried nearby and when it was finished he had cast a spell that would enable his followers to settle there, living in comfort for their remaining years. That was the full extent of the legend that any would offer to the tourists that went out of their way to visit it, and spend a little money in the few shops that lined the narrow road. That was all rather vague, but it didn’t deter people visiting, just for the novelty.
Little did any outsider know that this old building had a sentinel. He was from a line that went back through countless generations with the honourable duty of guarding it. He, and he alone held the key, and only he would allow those living there to enter through the ancient wooden door, to pass in and out again.
No one ever really challenged the notion that he original inexhaustible supply of gold coins that the chest first held had somehow changed again and again through the ages; but the fact that it now produced an ongoing bounty of used bank notes was all they needed to know.
There were very strict rules of course, how often, how much, and so on, strict quotas that had been passed on down through the centuries, but the ancient rite had always been held sacrosanct. All that was true, until the incident. Nobody saw it coming…
The writer stopped writing.
He leaned back and stared out of his window. “Where to from here?” he mumbled. He considered; several options came to him straight away. He sat, deep in thought. A boy; yes some malevolent child could slip a note into his pocket bringing the spell undone, or a bird could fly in and make off with a note for nest-building, or some freak gust of wind… No. He would have to give it some thought.
He looked again at the garden bathed in sun. “I’ll have to come back to it” he whispered. He got up, stretched, and left the room…