Sacred Secrets of the Cedar Chest

The closer they got to the top of the stairs, the dustier the place was. Anyone entering could tell the attic storage area suffered from years of neglect.
“Whew! It stinks in here,” Veronica coughed.
“I’ll open the window.”
“It doesn’t open, hasn’t as far back as I recall.”
Brent walked over to an area that was covered in blankets and old sheets.
“I think I see a fan in this mess.” He peeled back a dusty old sheet and pulled out a floor fan.
“Yep, here it is!”
“How’d you find that?”
“I’m a cop, remember? It’s my job to sniff things out; in this case, a fan.”
Brent wiped off the dust, and then looked for an outlet. “Now we’ll see if the thing works. Is there an outlet in here?”
“Yeah, I think it’s by the window.”
Brent walked over to the window. He moved several stacked boxes out of the way, until he got to the outlet, then he plugged in the fan.
“Yes! We have air,” he shouted.
Veronica was rummaging through a group of boxes and some plastic bags of clothing.
“Now if we could find this imaginary cedar chest.”
Brent took the left- hand corner by the staircase to search. He removed several boxes, and several old blankets and sheets sitting on top of an unidentifiable object. When he removed the last layer of blankets and sheets, he found a large square object covered by an old, wrinkled afghan. He removed the afghan, expelling the dust. Then he turned to Veronica, pointing to what appeared to be a trunk with intricate carvings on the lid. “Could this be the cedar chest in question?”
Veronica walked over to Brent and discovered a beat-up old trunk, then she observed the hand-painted flowers on its sides. "That must be it." She pulled at the brass lock but it held fast.
“Great, it’s locked,” Veronica huffed.
“Hey, did you forget I’m a cop. I can pick this thing in a heartbeat.”
Brent motioned for Veronica to stand back while he worked on opening the lock, and then with one swift move, Brent released the lock.
Veronica clapped her raised hands as if in a cheer as she spoke. "Wow! I’m totally impressed. They did teach you something at that academy, after all.”
“Well, Madam, it’s all yours.”
She stood there several minutes looking at the cedar chest, not moving or saying a word.
“Veronica, are you going to stare at it, or open it?”
“Yeah, I know. I’m getting my courage up. I’ll look in it soon.”
She moved closer to the chest, then looked at Brent and said, “Here we go!”
She knelt down in front of it and took several envelopes from the chest, but nothing of importance.
She took a book that was worn from the chest, “Gone with the Wind, it was Mom’s favorite book,” she sighed.
A few more books of her mom’s and some things of her dad’s; a pair of leather gloves, a hammer, a pen knife and then she found her christening dress. Tucked in a corner pocket was an envelope labeled Veronica.
“I think I found it.”
“Open it and see what it says.”
Veronica caught her breath, “Not here, not now. I’ll deal with it tonight alone.”
Brent came over and patted her on the shoulder. “I understand; are you ready to go then?”
“Yeah, let’s get out of here; I’m starting to get the creeps.”
That night Veronica wrote this account in her journal;
The weather-beaten cedar chest stood in the forsaken Victorian attic covered with cobwebs and dust that collected over a lifetime of grief. I was afraid to lift the rusted lock that held the secrets to my family history.
My friend spotted Mother’s old coverlet, lying in the corner, crumpled up like a sad, old woman. Coffee stains and stale perfume filled the folds of the blanket. He exorcised the dust from it, and laid it down on the rotted wood floor. So, it began: my staring contest with this evil chest that held my family secrets. It seemed to take on a life of its own, daring me to expose its contents. This old cedar chest is the last piece to the puzzle of my mother’s sad, manic life.
The mere presence of that hideous chest, caused me to forget my fear, and now the desire to destroy its right to exist emerged. I lifted its ancient lid with vengeance. Hidden memories of bloody family feuds that led to the arrival of police, burst forth in my head, and with the onslaught of emotion rushing over my soul, the contents were exposed.
Dust mingled with my tears now created muddy streaks on my face. I was unaware of Brent’s presence, although I knew his hand was on my shoulder. It was a cleansing of evil, a release of soul. I sifted through the corroded papers and holiday cards along with acid laden photos of people with lying smiles on their faces, a portrait of a family that existed only in the mind.
Then it appeared, sitting perched and untouched by time like an evil entity. I couldn’t open the envelope until this moment; an ivory colored letter, faded and wrinkled, hidden in its pouch, holding secrets it had no right to keep. The sorted words on the paper glared up at me causing me to tremble.