Once upon a time, in merry old London town, thieves, murderers, burglars and pickpockets roamed the streets. It was a dangerous world, and men and women slept uneasily in their beds, crying out for safety and security, but afraid that they would not live to see the morning.

Vigilantes roamed the streets promising protection, politicians promised reformed, but nothing changed. Well, the vigilantes occasionally did some good, but the politicians certainly never did anything.

And then the Sure-Lock Homes corporation was born.

Sure-Lock Homes promised to be safe homes. Homes which would protect against burglars and murderers. The homes sported no fancy locks, no advanced alarm system. No, they were equipped with something much better.

The homes silently kept watch as their owners and tenants slumbered in peace.

For Sure-Lock Homes were sentient homes.

Burglars trembled as they gripped their crowbars, and attempted to pry open the doors and windows of the Sure-Lock Homes. They knew that the houses were watching every move, and they plied their trade under the terror of watchful eyes.

So it was that on a dark and rainy night Mortimer Smith raised his crowbar to break open the window of a house on Bywater Street. He raised the crowbar, and brought it down on the glass. To his surprise the crowbar disappeared.

Mortimer had no idea what had happened. All things considered he decided that the best thing to do was to go homes and climb in bed. The next morning the owners of the house discovered that the silver was missing. They assumed that they had been robbed, but in fact no burglar had been inside their house.

The truth, of course, was much stranger.

But where was the silver? Who knew besides that sentient sentinel of safety, the Sure-Lock Home?

Photo by Binyamin Mellish on Pexels.com

 This free site is ad-supported. Learn more
​