The Heart Ring

Chapter 10 – The Chest Remains

The house felt different after the storm in Randy’s room. The air was lighter, though Abby’s body still shook from everything the shadow had tried to claw out of her. She sat with her brother until his breathing slowed, until the sobs softened into sniffles.

When he finally leaned back and muttered, “Don’t tell,” she smiled and whispered, “Same.”

Then she pulled her phone from her pocket and typed with trembling fingers.

Abby: The hug worked. You can come in now.

Kimi’s reply came in seconds: already on the curb. fries still hot.

Abby laughed wetly. She squeezed Randy’s hand once before standing, her legs wobbly. Downstairs, the front door creaked, and a minute later Kimi appeared in the hallway, bag of fast-food fries clutched like a peace offering.

They sat cross-legged on Abby’s bedroom floor, the cedar chest open between them. Grease-salt fries sat in the space between heartbeats, their laughter breaking in short, fragile bursts as they ate. The smell of cedar and fried potatoes didn’t match, but somehow it fit.

Kimi reached toward the yo-yo with its frayed string, then stopped. “If one ring can do this…” She shook her head. “What about the rest?”

Abby traced the edge of the brass spring with her fingertip, shivering. “I don’t know. Grandpa said they weren’t toys. He said they were trials.”

Kimi frowned, eyes darting from the chest to Abby. “Feels like he undersold it.”

Abby closed the lid gently until the latch clicked. Her palm rested flat on the cedar, the wood cool against her skin. The ring pulsed once, warm and steady.

Grandpa’s voice whispered in her memory: That’s not a toy, girl.

“I know,” she whispered back.

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The next morning smelled like coffee and toast. Abby came downstairs to find Kimi already at the table, hair messy from the couch blanket, stealing half of Randy’s jam. Mom was still in her robe, mug in hand, looking between them all like she was trying to work out an equation that didn’t balance.

Randy was quieter, but not heavy-quiet. His glow—Abby couldn’t help noticing—was still red, still bruised purple, but the thin thread of gold held steady.

Kimi caught Abby’s eye over the rim of her orange juice. Abby smiled faintly. The look they shared said everything: We know. We survived. We’re not done.

Mom caught the look too. She frowned, confused. “What’s going on with you two?”

Abby and Kimi both answered at the same time, voices overlapping: “Nothing.”

The girls laughed. Randy rolled his eyes. Mom sipped her coffee, still watching.

Her family felt changed, even if Mom didn’t understand how. Abby glanced at the cedar chest in her mind’s eye, at all the quiet trinkets waiting.

The trials weren’t over. They had only begun.