A cloud of dirt rises up as she removes the box from underneath the cupboard. Crouched underneath the sloping ceilings of her attic, the old dried-out woman drags the heavy box across the creaking floors. Her cold wrinkled fingers shake as she gently pries the lid of the box; opening it with great care. Both of her hands reach inside to grasp the green leather album coated in a light film of dust and grime. She dusts off the gold plate of the front and reads it out loud to herself, "The summer of 1920". Smiling she opens the album and begins humming a tune she learned as a little girl as she wistfully looks over the pictures. Memories are embedded in each one; laughing at midnight parties, dancing at the carnival and kissing her sweet boyfriend, Henry. He had died not two years ago, and looking at his handsome young face makes her eyes well up. Her tired, prune-like hands close the album, and she puts it back in its box. As she sets it down, a distinct clinking sound rises up from the bottom of the box. She places her left hand in the box and rummages around until her fingers touch something icy cold. Her fingers clasp it and she draws out a smooth gold coin. The old woman purses her lips as a flood of memories rush through her, and she stares at the coin remembering that night.

She had been riding home from a midnight party in late September. The clip, clopping sounds of the horse's feet were the only things disrupting the noiseless night, when suddenly the hoofs had ceased. The driver of the carriage turned around and asked if it would be alright if he picked up his chap who was walking home from the pub. She replied that of course it was fine, and shifted her bags to her side of the carriage. The door to the carriage opened and a stranger climbed in, and sat next to her. His frail body was clothed in dark folds of fabric, securing him almost like an Egyptian mummy. They sat in silence for a while, with only the sound of the wind in the trees, the clip-clopping of the horse and the occasional neigh disturbing the night. The stranger turned towards her abruptly and put his hand in his pocket. He drew out a gold coin, and the moonlight glinted off it revealing a dove on one side and a serpent on the other side. He started to speak and his voice had a queer lilt to it, as if from a forgotten dialect.

"Let's play a game shall we?" he inquired, and proceeded to flick the coin into the air and ask "Can you cheat it?" in an unwavering voice. She felt the sudden urge to get away from this man when suddenly the coin landed in his hand, dove face up. He leered at her through his garments with unblinking eyes and said "Well done," he smiled, "Very well done my dear".

Shaken from this experience, she stopped the carriage and climbed out, bidding goodbye to the stranger. He coyly wished her good luck and then took off with the horses at full speed. She remembered watching him ride off, when suddenly, like someone striking a match, the carriage had caught on fire. It erupted from the ground, licking the wheels and she watched the flames clamber up the carriage in a trance. The flames rapidly reached the bare trees near by, and suddenly everything was burning, like some horrendous sacrifice. Breaking out of her daze she had run over to the ashes, but nothing remained expect that haunted gold coin. She had scooped it up in her hands and let the still warm ashes run through her fingers leaving nothing but a shiny piece of forgotten gold.

Shaking her head, the old woman feels the smooth coin, a serpent on one side a dove on the other. Who had she met that night? She wonders to herself. Why had he died? Did he have someone who loved him? Someone who missed him? A chill rushes through her body and suddenly she knows. The old woman clenches her fist, her fingers wrap around the coin and her fingernails dig into her palm.

Her heart jumps as her doorbell rings, echoing throughout the house. Sighing to herself, she picks up her cane and hobbles down the stairs. Tiredly she reaches the bottom and stops for a moment to catch her breath. The she makes her way slowly to the heavy oak door and looks out the window. Drawing back the curtain, her eyes open in shock as she sees the very same stranger from decades ago. She shuffles to the front door and hesitantly undoes the bolts one by one with her right hand. She undoes the last bolt and turns the handle; he stands there on her stoop, silent and still.

"I hope I did not startle you", he says in that same lilting voice, "I just had to stop by to see how you are doing after all these years. Holding up alright?"

"Well," is all the old woman is able to stammer, and tries to slam the door. However, as she does so, the stranger reaches out a cold and clammy hand and latches on to her shoulder.

"I believe you have something of mine", he says, and grasps her tightly clenched fist. He pries it open and plucks the coin from her palm. "Let's play again shall we?" he asks and tosses the coin up into the air. Shivers run through the her back, as the coin descends into his outstretched palm. It lands with a thud and that is that.