Jack P Winston, 15 years of age, was walking home after completing his errands. He felt like he had been all over town that day: He went to the market, did some work Old Billy (who was a friend of the family), and carried an armful of mail to the post office (including a strangely heavy envelope). He certainly felt much older than 15.

Jack lived with his two younger brothers, Todd and Billy, who were 5 year old twins, and his mother. He and his family lived in the state of Wisconsin, near the large city of Milwaukee. His father had left a year ago, leaving no clue as to where he was going, and never came back. At least, no clue that anyone but Jack had seen.
But that morning, Jack had found something that he hid from everyone and everything - a map showing his father’s route, along with a strange, ornate key. He must have dropped it as he left. Jack knew that his mother would get rid of it, because his parents had a big fight the night before, which ended in his dad’s departure.
No, he had to keep it hidden. Just a few more years. He had taken over as head of the family after his father left in his father’s absence. He did small jobs every day, making just enough money for him to keep his family fed and clothed.
He had to go soon. His friend Dan who lived across the street had agreed to take care of
his family for a few weeks. What would he ever do without Dan.

Everyone in the neighborhood knew the family, so everyone would help if something happened to Jack. The village was very close-knit, and everyone knew each other. He had felt bad leaving.

But he knew he must go.

He left in the dead of night. He took the bus, leaving his bike locked up at the bus stop. He took nothing but his wallet, his credit card, and the map and key. His journey had begun.

Four days. That’s how long it took to find the address scrawled on the bottom of the map. Jack had taken bus after bus, going through transfer after transfer, across the country, to the state of Montana. He was tired, wet, and had lost all of his money along the way. Even the map had nearly gotten lost. But he made it, through pickpockets and puddles, through beggars and traffic. He now stood staring at the old, run-down house before him, which lay deep in the woods.
Jack took a deep breath, and walked towards the door. He stepped onto the first step up to the porch. It creaked loudly and sank near the middle, but did not break. He advanced the steps slowly and carefully until he reached the top. He stepped onto the porch, which had holes in places, peeling paint, and creaky floorboards.
He walked to the door and pressed the doorbell. Nothing happened. He pushed lightly against the brown wood, and the door opened slowly. It was about halfway open when it fell off of the hinges with a crash, startling Jack. He jumped back, almost falling through a hole in the porch.

When he caught his breath, he walked inside and passed through a narrow hallway, with no doors or windows leading off to the left and right, and a stairway at the end. He stepped forward, and padded carefully across the tattered carpet on the floor.

The stairs groaned in protest as he started to climb. Up and forward, he kept going. He came to the top of the stairs, with a locked door at the top. But this time, there was a note on it. A letter, taped to the door. The envelope had one word on it: JACK, written in capital letters, with his father’s smooth handwriting.

He grabbed the envelope off of the door, tore it open, and pulled out the letter.

Dear Jack,

If you are reading this, then I am dead. I am sorry I had to leave you and your mother, and your brothers. I had no choice. I lost my job and the family was not doing well. There was a legend that there was a huge treasure at this house.

Your mother thought I was crazy. She yelled at me for making up stories and fairy tales. So I left, to see if there really was treasure. What I found was a locked door. I realized that the key you have at home, which I found along with that map, must open this door. I certainly hope you brought it, because you alone can open the door.

I was attacked by a strange man my first night here. I had been trying to pick the lock and open the door. He almost killed me, shouting something about French Fries.

I wrote this letter in case he came again.

Your Father,
Bob



Jack slowly took the key out of his pocket. He walked towards the door. He held it with two hands to keep his hands from shaking. He put it into the lock and turned the key. At first, the door didn’t budge. Jack pushed, and it suddenly sprang open.

The room was empty except for a carpet and a large chest in the center. Jack walked towards it slowly. The chest was unlocked, and it was on a raised stand made of stone. But when he picked it up, the stone suddenly sank down into the floor. The door slammed shut behind him, and the side walls started to slide towards each other. In less than a minute, they would crush him.

Jack looked around the room. There was one window at the far end. He ran up to it and threw the chest into the glass. It shattered. He took one look down, closed his eyes, and jumped into the grass below.

A bush broke his fall. He stood up, and looked for the chest. He found it in the grass. He picked it up and brought it to his car. There wasn’t room for it in its small trunk, so he had to leave the door open. He got in and took a look inside the chest. It was filled with golden coins. He drove back onto the dirt road, and tried to remember the way he came. His family would never have to worry about money again.