He pushed open the door to the old shed, now overrun with crawling vines, bursting through every gap in the thin white walls. The desk was engulfed in a swarm of green.
Apart from the wear, it was just as he’d left it. Nobody had found it: not his family, not the police, not some wandering hikers. His sanctum remained secret.
The vines rising up like snakes around him. He stroked them and smiled, looking at the pulsing, writhing mass in the shed corner, surrounded by old bones.
“We begin again,” he whispered. “And this time, they won’t stop us.”
Word Count: 100
This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for running the challenge and Sarah Potter for providing the prompt photo!