Friday Fictioneers – The Vaults



Howard paced the corridor on his nightly rounds, overhead lights receding to the vanishing point. On each side, shutters protected treasures he had never seen:  the deeds to a castle; a dragon coiled tight around an oak chest of jewels; diadems of starlight.

Howard Carter felt destined for greatness. He wouldn’t be a security guard all his life.

“What do you see in there?” people would ask him.

“Wonderful things,” he would reply.

But he knew what dreamed behind those shuttered doors remained beautiful only until the moment a door was opened on cardboard boxes, overstuffed sofas, and cricket bats.


Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here

50 thoughts on “Friday Fictioneers – The Vaults

  1. Ha, you got me at Howard Carter. I suppose the sarcophagus of King Tut is in one of those storage bins. I’ve been to one of those storage auctions. When they raise the door, you never know what treasures you might find amidst the junk.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I have to admit I had to google Howard Carter but I am glad I did. Knowing who he was made the story more uplifting. I loved the idea that the unknown is better than the known.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. A cardboard box is a cardboard box no matter what’s inside or who owns it, right? I think it’s probably amazing how, when packed, a lot of stuff probably looks very much the same. But there’s nothing wrong with dreaming. Lovely story, Neil.


  4. A hint of Schrodinger’s cat about this – the potentiality of the contents. Just like Christmas presents – they’re all Ballerina Sindy dolls (with the special pointy toes and pink tutu) until you open the box and find lily of the valley bath salts. Great tale, Neil 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s