Rusted Knife

When renovating the house, we tore up the floors and Skip found a rusted knife. It was a French knife, the kind chefs use in the kitchen, with a plastic grip and a broad blade. It was embedded in the soft moist earth, surrounded by some blackened pieces of china. Looked like the remains of a shattered vase or something.

”Must be from when they built the house,” said Skip.

”You think,” said Marcy, “Hard to imagine, this house is almost two hundred years old. They didn’t used to have knives like this two hundred years ago."

"I dunno,” I shrugged, “I guess they re-did the floor at some point."

"Then it must be from a crime someone committed."

"I guess we’ll never know,” I said.

Posted by: Paweł Kowaluk