The Midnight Gallery was not a museum; it was a sanctuary of "lost things." The air smelled of rain and old paper. Inside, a man with ink-stained fingers and a crooked tie looked up from a desk. "You’re late," he said, not unkindly.
Lucy gripped the pen. She thought of her boss, who took credit for her work. She thought of her mother, who insisted she marry the local dentist. She thought of the beige walls of her apartment.
She found the entrance behind a rusted iron gate obscured by ivy. The key turned with a click that felt like a heartbeat. A Nice Girl Like You
He stepped toward a canvas covered in a black sheet and pulled it back. It wasn't a painting; it was a mirror, but the reflection wasn't beige. The Lucy in the glass wore a deep emerald coat. She was laughing. She was standing on a pier in a city Lucy didn’t recognize, holding a ticket to somewhere far beyond Oakhaven.
Being a "nice girl," Lucy didn’t open the journal. She spent three hours researching the address. She discovered that Wickham Lane had been a hidden alleyway behind the old clock tower, sealed off since the 1920s. Against every logical instinct she possessed, Lucy didn’t call the post office. She took the brass key and walked toward the clock tower. The Midnight Gallery was not a museum; it
A neighbor passed by and smiled. "Evening, Lucy! Such a nice girl."
Everything changed on a Tuesday afternoon when Lucy received a package by mistake. It wasn't the ergonomic keyboard she’d ordered. Inside the velvet-lined box was a vintage, leather-bound journal and a heavy brass key with a tag that simply read: The Midnight Gallery. 14 Wickham Lane. Lucy gripped the pen
"I’m Lucy. I’m here to return this. It was sent to me by mistake."