Shed mystery

[Tobey, whispering to himself, holding the key in his palm]

"228922…"

(He blinked.)

"That's the same number… on the lock to the shed."

A chill ran down his spine—not from the number, but from the realization that someone wanted him to find this.

[Tobey, a little breathless]

"I need to get ready first."

He stepped back, clutching the key tightly, and turned toward his scattered belongings.

Tool belt? Check.

He strapped it on, feeling the familiar weight settle around his hips.

Notebook, flashlight, improvised socks—all swept up with practiced motion.

He wasn't just a boy gathering tools.

He was a knight collecting relics for his final crusade.

The war wasn't over—but now, he had the map.

He adjusted the strap on his headlamp. It flickered once—then held steady.

This was no longer play. This was purpose.

With everything gathered, Tobey marched toward his room.

His steps were small—but his resolve? Towering.

The soft creak of the floorboards beneath his sock-padded feet echoed with purpose. He slipped into his room, closed the door behind him, and let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

He crouched low and lifted the edge of his bed—his secret vault.

Carefully, he placed his scavenged tools alongside the other gear already stashed there: makeshift chemical bottles, his notebook, a flashlight, an old sock-weapon… the beginnings of something far larger than just a prank.

[Tobey, muttering]

"Hey, Subject 10. Miss me?"

The frog, quiet in its container, gave no reply. Just a blank, moist-eyed stare that somehow made it feel like it did understand.

Or maybe Tobey just needed it to.

He tapped the lid of the container lightly.

[Tobey]

"Big night ahead, buddy."

[Tobey]

"Now I need clothes."

He stood, stretched out the stiffness from his limbs, and walked toward his wardrobe. With a small grunt, he swung the doors open and started pulling out clothes—something light, flexible, practical for stealth ops.

But then…

He paused.

His eyes narrowed.

There was… space. A weird gap where something should've been.

Something was definitely missing.

It clicked.

Bella.

[Tobey, flatly]

"…Not my problem."

Without another word, he grabbed his outfit and started getting dressed like a soldier preparing for Battle—because, in his mind, he was.

Tobey stood tall in his chosen outfit, the oversized utility belt strapped snug around his waist. Each tool rattled gently—his hammer, his wrench, his nails—like instruments of war in the hands of a five-year-old revolutionary.

The weight didn't slow him down. It made him feel powerful.

He stepped toward the door with small, deliberate strides. Every movement was calculated. Every breath, steady. The mission was clear.

[Tobey]

"Now I'll get my rope from the shed."

To anyone else, it might sound ridiculous.

But in his mind?

That rope was everything.

An escape line. A lifeline. A symbol of his will to survive.

No great explorer walked into the unknown without his gear—and this rope was his.

The hallway creaked as he stepped into it.

A cold breath of night air leaked through the frame of a nearby window, brushing against his arms like the whisper of something unseen. The moonlight poured in from the side glass panel, casting silver lines across the floor like prison bars. But Tobey didn't flinch.

He marched forward.

Some kids needed sleep.

Tobey needed rope.

For reasons no one else would understand,

he moved like a soldier on a sacred mission,

steps silent but filled with purpose,

until he stood before the shed—

key in hand.

[Tobey]

"I got everything back. Now it's time to get the rope."

His fingers trembled slightly as he inserted the key.

A subtle clink.

The lock popped open.

The door creaked forward under his touch.

Inside—dimness. Stillness. Dust hanging like fog in frozen air.

And there, hanging from a rusted hook,

was the rope.

Looped. Heavy. Ready.

Long enough to fuel any five-year-old's chaos.

He hesitated for just a moment.

Then he reached out and took it.

It was rough in his palm.

Real. Tangible. Weighty.

[Tobey]

"One small tug for me… one giant leap for mischief."

But he didn't leave.

Not yet.

Something felt… off.

Tobey's eyes scanned the interior.

Yes, The shed had the usual: rusty tools, spiderwebs, cracked paint cans, gardening gloves.

But tucked away in corners, half-covered by dusty tarps, were things that didn't belong.

A box filled with shattered glass bottles.

A thick metal case with no lock, but a strange symbol etched into its top.

A broken TV… plugged into absolutely nothing.

A typewriter with no ribbon—yet a single page sat in it, blank except for a fingerprint.

A small stack of newspapers.

And books.

Not picture books.

Not "fun" books.

Biology. Advanced biology. Biotech. Some with diagrams. Some with red-inked notes in the margins.

[Tobey, under his breath]

"…What is all this?"

The rope dangled over his shoulder now, but his eyes weren't on it.

They were drinking in everything else. Wide. Curious. Maybe even a little scared.

He crouched next to the dusty floor, pulled out a little notebook from his belt—

The one he'd used for the frog experiment.

The one marked: "Subject 10."

He flipped to a blank page and wrote in bold, shaky letters:

Shed Discoveries: Vol. 1

Item #1 – Metal Case. No lock. Strange symbol. Probably a puzzle box. Or alien.

Item #2 – TV. Broken. Still plugged into nothing. Possibly cursed.

Item #3 – Typewriter with no ribbon. But fingerprint. A ghost? A spy? A message?

Item #4 – Newspapers. Random dates. Not today's.

Item #5 – Biology Books. Way too advanced. For me? Or for someone else?

He circled the last sentence.

[Tobey, whispering to himself]

"Maybe… not just for Dad."

He stared at the metal case a little longer.

And then, below all the notes, he added:

Conclusion:

This ain't a shed.

This is a research vault.

Possibility:

Am I… the test subject?

He glanced at the typewriter again—

The fingerprint on the blank page was gone.

Gone.

Then—

BZTTT—

The broken TV blinked on for exactly two seconds.

No power cord.

No explanation.

Just a weird, flickering symbol that vanished before he could blink.

Then silence.

Tobey's hands were clammy as he stepped deeper in, heart hammering in his chest. On a high shelf, half-buried under gardening gloves, was something new. A book.

He pulled it down carefully.

Neural Engineering: Concepts and Application

By someone whose name had been blacked out.

[Tobey]

"…What is going on?"

He turned slowly.

The metal case in the corner—

—was humming.

Low.

Constant.

Alive.

He took one cautious step toward it.

[Tobey, voice barely audible]

"I swear… I didn't imagine it."

Then—

click.

The shed light flickered.

And behind him…

Something moved.