Last Tuesday, I found myself deep in the subterranean levels of the city's historical archives. The air smelled of decaying paper and preservation chemicals. I was looking for a very specific detail for my protagonist's next case: a 1920s newspaper clipping about a peculiar inheritance dispute.
Instead, I found something else entirely.
Tucked inside a ledger from 1894 was a perfectly preserved, hand-drawn map of the city. However, there were three alleyways depicted that do not exist today, and a large black inkblot covering what should have been the old town hall. On the back, written in hurried cursive, was a single phrase: Do not dig here. Needless to say, the plot of my current manuscript has taken a sudden, sharp left turn. I love it when the past refuses to stay buried.
