The Silver Locket K r i s t i n a C l a es s o n The Silver lockeT it felt as though time had stalled. högby was unchanged, at least, on the surface. Kristina Claesson Ovi ebooks are available in Ovi/Ovi eBookshelves pages and they are for free. If somebody tries to sell you an Ovi book please contact us immediately. For details, contact: ovimagazine@yahoo.com No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior permission of the writer or the above publisher of this book An Ovi eBooks Publication 2025 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C The Silver Locket The Silver Locket Kristina Claesson Kristina Claesson An Ovi eBooks Publication 2025 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C The Silver Locket V ictor Andersson had not stepped foot in Högby for over seven years. Not since the morning he’d left, the sea mist thick around him, his breath sharp with the kind of youthful op- timism that fades when you are no longer a stranger to the world. He could still recall the creak of the old Volvo’s doors as he slammed them shut, the scent of salt and pine hanging heavy in the air. The town seemed to swallow him whole then, the wind tug- ging at his shirt, urging him to leave. But returning was different. The town had grown around him in a way he hadn’t imagined, while in the quiet back roads, it felt as though time had stalled. Högby was unchanged, at least, on the surface. The old fisherman’s cottages still sat stubbornly on the cliffs like weather-beaten sentinels, their timbers Kristina Claesson creaking with the wind. The cobbled streets were the same, with their smooth, round stones worn by dec- ades of feet, shuffling, running, walking. The bakery still had the same faded sign out front, a testament to survival. And the swings in the park, rusted, unmov- ing, creaked as they swayed with the occasional gust of wind. But beneath it all, it was different. The way the sun hit the water, the way the shadows shifted in the alleys, it was all coated in a sheen of memory. His memory. He knew this place like the back of his hand. He had to. The gravel driveway of his childhood home felt like a trap. When he turned onto it, his hands tight- ened on the wheel. The house loomed ahead, silent as a sentry, its peeling red paint and sagging roofline still bearing the wear of years. The windows, though those were new, weren’t they? They used to be bright, sparkling, as if his mother had a deep, desperate love for cleanliness. But now they were dim, almost wea- ry, as if they had seen too much. Or perhaps it was just his mind playing tricks on him. He didn’t want to go inside. He wasn’t ready to face it. But what choice did he have? His mother had passed away suddenly, and the house ...well, it was The Silver Locket his now. Her affairs, her belongings, the remnants of a life lived in this quiet place by the sea—they all fell to him. He parked the car, the gravel crunching beneath the tires, and sat there for a moment. The sky was clear, the horizon stretching endlessly before him, but he felt a weight on his chest. A strange pressure, as if the town itself had wrapped its arms around him and pulled him back. He hadn’t even realized how much he had longed for it, how much he had left be- hind. The house waited. With a slow exhale, Victor stepped out and walked toward the door. It was heavier than it had ever felt before. He reached for the old brass handle, its once- bright sheen dulled with age, and twisted. The door creaked open. Inside, nothing had changed. Not really. It smelled of pine and dust and the faintest trace of mothballs. His mother’s things were exactly as he remembered them. The old floral wallpaper in the living room, the small armchair by the window where she used to sit and read, none of it had shifted. The house felt sus- pended in a time that no longer existed, as though Kristina Claesson the world had moved on but it had remained in the past. Victor walked slowly through the house, his foot- steps muffled against the wooden floors. Everything seemed frozen in place. And yet, there was an eerie stillness that clung to the air. It wasn’t until he reached the study, the room where his mother had kept her most prized posses- sions, that something finally felt wrong. The cabinet stood against the far wall, its mahogany doors faded, the intricate carvings on the wood softened by time. This was where she kept her collection, the one thing Victor knew she had held onto for dear life. Coins— antique, rare, precious, each one an heirloom, a link to a family history long since buried. Victor’s fingers trembled as he reached for the door. He hesitated, a moment of hesitation catching in his chest, then he pulled it open. The velvet-lined shelves were empty. His breath caught in his throat, the air turning thin. For a moment, he stood there, frozen, not quite understanding what he was seeing. The space that had once been lined with gleaming coins, each one The Silver Locket a testament to his mother’s devotion, was now bare. Empty. The little wooden figurines she had placed beside them were still there, faded, chipped but the coins were gone. For the first time since his return, Victor felt the tight grip of panic claw at his chest. His mind raced, the blood pounding in his ears. Who would take them? A creak from upstairs. Victor jolted. He hadn’t expected anyone to be here. The house had seemed so empty, so still . But now, that sound, the groan of old wood beneath heavy steps, made his heart leap into his throat. A figure appeared at the top of the stairs, a tall man in a coat that was far too dark for the bright morning outside. Victor’s mind struggled to catch up. He had seen that face before. Lars. Old Lars from down the road. What was he doing here? “What are you doing here?” Victor’s voice cracked more than he intended. Lars’ face creased into a grim smile, but his eyes Kristina Claesson were cold. “Thought I’d check in on you. You’re back sooner than I thought.” Victor stepped forward, his gaze not leaving Lars. “Check on me? The house has been empty for months. What are you talking about?” Lars’ smile deepened, as if the words were a secret he didn’t intend to share. “It’s funny, isn’t it?” Lars said, stepping down the stairs slowly, as if savouring the moment. “Things change in a place like this. Peo- ple change.” Victor bristled, the hairs on the back of his neck rising. Something about the way Lars spoke, the way he lingered on each word felt wrong. “I’ll ask you again. What are you doing here?” Vic- tor repeated, his voice tight, low. Lars didn’t answer. Instead, he turned and disap- peared down the hallway, the sound of his footsteps fading into the distance. Victor stood in the quiet house, the air thick with the tension that had suddenly filled the room. He knew one thing for sure now. Someone had taken the coins. Someone close. And that someone might be hiding far more than just the collection. The Silver Locket The walls seemed to close in on him, the echoes of his mother’s life lingering in the corners. What had she known? The question burned in his mind as he stepped for- ward, his fingers gripping the edge of the cabinet. The past had come back, and with it, the terrible weight of secrets he wasn’t ready to uncover. Kristina Claesson I. Victor sat at the small kitchen table, staring into the half-empty mug of coffee in front of him. The sun had barely risen, casting a pale light over the worn countertops. The house, though still familiar, felt strange now, as though it had grown distant over the years. The ticking of the old wall clock, its second hand moving with a mechanical precision, filled the silence around him. The place hadn’t changed much since he was last here, just the usual dust settling on the shelves and the faint smell of pine that seemed to cling to everything. His mother’s touch was every- where, even in the way the spoons gleamed faintly on the drying rack. She had been so meticulous, so proud of her home, keeping everything just so. And now—now there were only questions. The Silver Locket Victor’s mind drifted again to the empty cabinet, the space where his mother’s precious coin collec- tion had once rested. That was where she had kept the treasures she’d gathered over a lifetime, each coin meticulously catalogued and protected. Coins from all over the world, coins that told stories of distant lands and bygone eras. Some were old, others newer, but all held a significance, a memory of sorts. And now... nothing. Who would do such a thing? The sound of the phone ringing sliced through the thick air, and Victor jumped slightly, startled out of his thoughts. He glanced at the receiver, the sudden noise feeling jarring against the quiet of the house. After a moment’s hesitation, he picked it up. “Victor?” The voice on the other end was high- pitched, sharp, a familiar sound. Lena, his mother’s best friend, and next-door neighbour. Her voice al- ways seemed to have an edge to it, like a rusty hinge just waiting to creak. “I’ve only been here an hour, Lena,” Victor replied, trying to keep his voice steady. He wasn’t in the mood for her usual gossip. Not today. Kristina Claesson “I heard. And I know you’re already poking around,” she said, her tone quickly softening, almost as if trying to reassure him. “Listen, you remember young Peter, don’t you? The boy who used to run the paper route?” Victor rolled his eyes. “Of course I remember him. What’s this about?” “He was over the other day said he saw something odd. Could be nothing, but I thought you should know.” Lena’s voice dropped, a hint of concern creep- ing into her words. “A man. Tall. Dark hair. Funny accent. Didn’t look like he belonged.” Victor frowned. The information seemed... off. A stranger? This was Högby. People didn’t just wander into town unannounced. Everyone in this sleepy lit- tle village knew everyone else’s business, down to the smallest detail. And Peter, God bless him, had a hab- it of embellishing stories. Still, the description stuck with him. The man’s appearance didn’t fit with any- one in town. Lena continued, her voice urgent. “He came by Pe- ter’s house, just walking around the garden like he was looking for something. Peter said the man looked right at him, smiled, and then just walked off. Like it The Silver Locket was nothing. But Peter swears he saw him near your mother’s house a few days ago.” Victor’s pulse quickened. The same man? He’d been in town for less than a day, and already strange things were happening. It felt wrong. It felt like something was about to unravel, and Victor wasn’t sure if he was ready for it. “I’m going to talk to Peter,” Victor said, trying to sound calm, even as a knot formed in his stomach. “Thanks for letting me know.” “Be careful, Victor,” Lena’s voice softened, the sharpness gone. “This place... it’s not what it used to be. Strange things happen when people go poking around. You never know who might be listening.” Victor hung up before she could say anything else. The air in the kitchen seemed to grow thicker, the silence settling around him like a heavy blanket. He stood up abruptly, setting the phone down with more force than necessary. He knew the town, knew the people. And yet, something about this stranger un- settled him. He needed to talk to Peter. He needed to under- stand what was going on. Kristina Claesson Victor stepped out of the kitchen, his boots ech- oing on the wooden floors as he walked toward the door. The sun had climbed higher now, casting a warm light over the small cottage and the narrow, cobbled street outside. He paused for a moment, taking in the familiar sight, the little garden with its patchy grass, the stone path leading toward the main road. He hadn’t noticed how much it had changed until now. The hedges were taller, the trees fuller, but still, the quiet of the place was the same. It felt almost peaceful, if not for the gnawing unease in his chest. Victor grabbed his coat from the hook by the door and slipped it on, the fabric feeling heavier than it had before. He had forgotten how small the town was, how quickly word travelled, how easily secrets could be buried beneath the weight of routine. But that was the thing about small towns, they held their secrets so tightly, until someone came looking for them. As he stepped outside, he noticed a figure walk- ing slowly down the street toward him. It was Peter, the boy from the paper route. Now a young man, though still looking like the awkward teenager Vic- tor remembered. His clothes hung a little too loose on him, his hands shoved deep in his pockets as he trudged along. The Silver Locket “Peter,” Victor called, his voice carrying through the stillness. The boy stopped, looked up, and gave a tentative wave before walking over to Victor. “Mr. Andersson,” he greeted him, his voice a lit- tle higher than usual, nervous. “I, uh, I didn’t think you’d be back so soon.” “I didn’t expect to be back at all,” Victor said, giv- ing him a half-smile. “But here I am. Lena told me you saw someone... strange. Near my mother’s house. Can you tell me what happened?” Peter’s eyes darted around, his lips pressed into a thin line. “I wasn’t sure if I should tell you. I didn’t want to cause any trouble, but...” “You don’t cause trouble by telling the truth,” Vic- tor interrupted, his tone more forceful than he in- tended. “Now tell me what you saw.” Peter took a deep breath and nodded. “I saw him two days ago. He was just... walking by, real slow, looking at the house like he was trying to figure something out. I didn’t think much of it at first. But then, yesterday, I saw him again. I was over by the old dock, and I swear, he was watching me. He had Kristina Claesson this weird look in his eyes, like he knew something about me, about my family. And then he smiled, like he was... amused, you know?” Victor’s stomach tightened. This was no coinci- dence. “Did he say anything?” Victor asked, leaning in slightly. “No, he didn’t say a word. Just smiled. And his ac- cent... it wasn’t Swedish. It was odd. Like he wasn’t from around here.” Victor ran a hand through his hair, trying to piece the fragments together. A man with an accent, smil- ing like he knew something. It didn’t add up. “Where did you see him?” Victor pressed. “Near the old dock,” Peter repeated, “but he didn’t stay long. Just a few minutes. And then he disap- peared.” Victor stood there for a moment, staring at Peter, weighing the boy’s words. There was no reason to think Peter was lying. But there was something about the whole situation that didn’t sit right. Something was off. The Silver Locket “Thanks for telling me, Peter,” Victor said finally, pulling himself from his thoughts. “I’ll take it from here.” Peter nodded and walked away, glancing back once before disappearing around the corner. Victor stood in the street for a moment longer, the weight of what he had just heard settling on him. This wasn’t just a missing coin collection anymore. There was some- thing bigger at play, something far more dangerous. And he was going to find out what it was. With a determined breath, Victor turned and start- ed toward the old dock. Kristina Claesson II. Victor stood at the edge of the pier, the wind tug- ging at his jacket, mixing with the smell of saltwater and old fish. The sea was calm, its surface reflecting the pale blue sky above, though there was a heaviness in the air, something that felt wrong, like a storm was waiting just beyond the horizon. The small town of Högby, tucked along Sweden’s southern coast, had always seemed to breathe in rhythm with the ocean, but today, Victor felt the pulse of unease beneath the surface. His boots clicked softly against the wooden planks as he walked toward Anders’ shack, a ramshackle thing, its roof patched with bits of old tin. The old fisherman had been Victor’s mother’s neighbour for nearly four decades, a grizzled figure who had