Chapter 13: The Key in the Shoe Cabinet

The Key in the Shoe Cabinet

Sixteen or seventeen years ago, one summer, I was still in high school. That weekend, my older sister, my brother-in-law, and I had just finished shopping. We walked back to her place chatting and laughing, carrying half a bag of freshly bought peaches and some cold dressed dishes.

When we came in, my sister set that heavy key ring on top of the shoe cabinet—more than a dozen keys strung together with a brass bell that jingled when it moved. It was the key ring for the new place she had just switched to. We dumped everything in the kitchen, then collapsed on the sofa in front of the fan, waiting for my brother-in-law to cook dinner.

After we’d eaten and cleaned up, just as we were getting ready to leave for the late movie, my sister suddenly cried out, “Where are my keys?”

We all froze. We clearly remembered her putting them on the shoe cabinet when she came in.

The three of us immediately crowded around the shoe cabinet and started searching. It was one of those old-fashioned wooden cabinets, with a few pairs of slippers on top and three drawers below. We moved all the slippers aside, pulled out each drawer one by one, and felt along every bottom panel three times over. Not even a shadow of the keys.

“Could they have fallen on the floor?” My brother-in-law crouched down, then practically lay on the floor to peer under the shoe cabinet. I reached in after him. All I felt was a clump of dust and a few strands of hair.

For the next two hours, we tore the place apart like mad people. We checked the cracks in the living room sofa, the gaps around the TV cabinet, under the bedroom pillows, beside the kitchen stove, around the bathroom sink, inside the flowerpots on the balcony—everywhere we could think of. Sweat soaked our T-shirts damp. The peaches went soft. That bunch of keys had vanished as if into thin air.

“This is so strange,” my sister said, sitting on the floor and scratching at her hair. “I know I put them on the shoe cabinet. What, did they grow wings and fly away?”

My brother-in-law frowned too. “That ring has keys to more than a dozen doors. If it’s lost, we’re in serious trouble.”

I stared at the empty shoe cabinet. A thought surfaced out of nowhere: What if I took the drawers out one more time?

There was no reason for it, but as if under some strange prompting, I walked over and pulled open the bottom drawer again. The moment it came all the way out, there was a sharp clap—the key ring with its brass bell suddenly dropped from the gap between the drawer and the cabinet frame, struck the tile floor, and rang out clear and bright.

All three of us stood frozen.

When we’d searched the drawers earlier, we’d felt through every corner, even checked the backs. How could the keys have fallen out of nowhere? And that key ring was so bulky—there was no way it could have been hiding in a gap without us noticing.

My brother-in-law picked up the keys and shook them. The brass bell jingled. “When we searched just now, there was nothing in that gap.”

I crouched down and felt along that gap. It was so narrow I couldn’t even fit a finger in. There was simply no way it could have held that key ring.

We did end up seeing the movie that day, but I spent the entire movie thinking about those keys. It lodged in my memory like a little riddle. Even now, whenever our family happens to bring it up, we can’t help looking at one another in bewilderment. We’d searched everywhere, and yet just as we were about to give up, the keys fell out on their own.

I’ve often thought that maybe some mischievous little ghost hid them that day, watched us rush around in circles, and put them back only after it had had enough fun. Or maybe some kindhearted passing spirit, worried we’d be in trouble if the keys were lost, quietly returned them to the drawer.

Some things will never have answers. Just like that key ring that suddenly appeared in the summer sixteen or seventeen years ago, leaving us with a mystery we still can’t make sense of.