19 June 2026, Freewriters Community Daily Writing Prompt Day 3139: no access

“OK … finally we're going to open the thing … yes, I've got a good angle but not too close because it is possible that this is now an old crime scene, and I don't know what my little cousins are going to do, not having their yard to play in, but we'll deal with that later.”

16-year-old Tom Stepforth, on assignment for the Lofton County Free Voice in his Trent cousins' backyard in Tinyville, VA, was on the phone with his editor while his elder Trent cousins, 21-year-old Melvin and 18-year-old Vanna were staying further back on the porch with their little siblings, 11-year-old Velma, nine-year-old Milton, and eight-year-old Gracie.

In the yard, at last cut loose from the rootball of the tree that had grown up around it, was a massive old chest, partially compromised by the tree roots, partially compromised by fungi roots, but still intact, a great rusted but still stout enough lock on it such that police captain Capt. Ironwood Hamilton had to put a bolt cutter to it to get it open.

“Here we go,” said ten-year-old Andrew Ludlow from his perch upstairs in the home of his big Lee cousins Col. H.F. and Maggie Lee.

“I hope there's some treasure in there!” Andrew's nine-year-old brother George said.

“Yeah, but I hope the person didn't have great taste in jewels so that we can swap that stuff out for some new fashion items,” Andrew's eight-year-old sister Edwina said.

“The treasure would belong to the Trents, though,” Andrew said.

“Yeah, and?” Edwina said. “Gracie and Milton always share, so, your point?”

“I mean, the adult Trents,” Andrew said.

“Oh, well, yeah, OK, they probably wouldn't get it although I see Mrs. Trent getting her fashion life together,” Edwina said. “But Sgt. Trent is like Papa, and military men just have no imagination for colors – in the same way Papa looks good in some deep, rich spiritual purple, Sgt. Trent could be rocking some sunset orange, but no!”

Capt. Ironwood Hamilton knew the vantage point of all the children in the vicinity, and so already had in mind how he was going to handle two of the three possibilities in this chest if they had been done haphazardly … but no, these plantings were rarely haphazard. These were time capsules of sorts, put together by people who could not be heard in society in their lifetime, but who had taken matters into their own hands and left their reasons for a later age, going on to eternal judgment first.

Sure enough: the captain opened the chest, and the contents were covered and tucked in well with a thick leather covering, and on top of that was a little chest, perfectly preserved from the elements. The captain opened that, and inside were three distinct, still-gleaming golden rings, but someone had put them together like a chain with a heavy lead ball attached – but the shackle portion, also in lead, was broken. Beneath these there lay a little book, and the captain removed the book and read what was written in still vivid ink on its first page, and then the second and third pages.

“Young Mr. Stepforth,” he said as he finished reading and peeked under the leather, “you'll want to come get all the photographs you're going to for now.”

Tom came and got his close-ups, including of the book, and what its first page said: “September 6, 1866 – Here lie Sic, Semper, and Tyrannis, preserved so that justice done can be seen and warning given to a later age – those that lived by violence thus also died.”

To the rest assembled, the captain somberly announced: “We have found Jules, John, and Joe Lofton, and their final resting place,” and then closed the chest and had it carefully lifted and put on the back of his F-150 truck by the workmen there.

“Drive this down to county forensics,” he said to Lieutenant Patrick O'Reilly as he handed him the truck keys. “I'll call ahead.”

“They aren't letting us get a peek, but I see why Capt. Hamilton is granting no access to any of us,” Tom said to his editor. “I'm going to get down to county forensics and see what happens, though.”

Meanwhile, the workmen cleared up the Trent yard, and Capt. Hamilton carefully yellow-taped a portion of it off just as the owner, Mr. Thomas Stepforth Sr., came by.

“You're going to need to have that place in the yard leveled and new grass put on and such,” Capt. Hamilton said, “but we have a confession, so, this yellow tape is just for safety. However, I advise you as I did the Trents: the remaining Lofton family members may want access to the grounds – highly unlikely, but, still.”

Mr. Stepforth chuckled grimly.

“They probably will be glad to have me level it over and let it be, and mad at my grandson for getting the story,” he said.

“Probably,” Capt. Hamilton said with an equally grim chuckle. “Murder is wrong, and there is no excusing the widows and the workers for what they did. Why they had a motive is probably something the Loftons would rather keep quiet in Lofton County.”

“Yep,” Mr. Stepforth said. “County wasn't named for all of them, and there's good reasons why.”