🪙 The Gold Coin Chronicles: The Weight of Gold

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📖 The Storyteller’s Library

The lanterns in the library flickered tonight—long, shivering shadows twitching across the stacks like something trying to crawl free. I hadn’t touched the necklace. I hadn’t even looked at it. But the air felt heavier, like the room was holding its breath.  

A book thudded to the floor behind me.  
Not fell.  
Dropped.  

When I turned it over, dust poured from the cover like sand from a grave.  
The title: The Weight of Gold.  

The page trembled beneath my fingertips as the story began…  

---

🪙 The Weight of Gold

Deep beneath the mountain, three spelunkers—Kevin, Rob, and Matt—lowered themselves into the wrong cave. They knew it the moment their boots touched the floor. The air wasn’t just cold; it felt aware. Every sound bounced too precisely, like the cave was listening.  

They found the first gold coin pinned beneath a pile of rubble.  
Rob picked it up.  

“See? Told you this was a profitable detour.”  

But Kevin didn’t laugh. The walls seemed to hum around them, and something skittered in the dark—fast, deliberate, circling. A faint vibration rippled through the stone, like a heartbeat too large to belong to anything human.  

Deeper in, they discovered a rusted iron door with a rope leading to a hanging bucket.  
A crudely carved sign read:  

WEIGH YOUR WORTH  

Matt swallowed.  
“What does that mean?”  

Kevin lifted a heavy boulder and placed it inside the bucket.  

The door groaned open—stone grinding like ancient teeth.  
But as they stepped through, the door slammed behind them with a violent CLANG, sealing them inside the deeper tunnels.  

That’s when they heard it.  

The silence fractured.  
A scrape of claws.  
A wet slap of dragging flesh across stone.  
And beneath it, a whisper—low, guttural, repeating words they couldn’t understand.  

A creature emerged—pale, towering, with no eyes. Its skin stretched thin across sharpened ribs, and its nostrils flared each time it inhaled the scent of fear. It moved fast—too fast—skittering up walls, around corners, slipping behind stalagmites like liquid shadow.  

They ran.  

The tunnels twisted and spiraled. The creature shrieked, a jagged sound that rattled the rocks loose overhead. When they finally reached the door mechanism again, the bucket dangled empty.  

And they had nothing heavy enough left to trigger it.  

Kevin stared at the rope, chest heaving.  
“It needs weight,” he whispered.  
“More than we have.”  

Rob’s voice cracked. “We’ll find something. We’ll fight it if we have to—”  

“No.” Kevin’s voice broke, but his eyes were steady. “We’re out of time.”  

The creature’s claws scraped closer  
closer  
closer—  

Kevin placed his flashlight and tools into the bucket.  
Then his jacket.  
Then his pack.  

Rob and Matt followed, adding everything they carried.  
But it still wasn’t enough.  

Matt’s hand trembled as he held out the gold coin they’d found.  

“Maybe this is what it wants.”  

Kevin nodded. “Place it.”  

The coin hit the bottom of the bucket with a soft tink.  

The bucket dropped.  
The door shuddered.  

The opening yawned wide enough for two men.  

Kevin gripped the rope.  
“I’ll hold it. Go.”  

“No—Kevin—don’t—” Rob begged, desperation raw in his voice.  

Kevin forced a smile.  
“Tell my brother… I finally found treasure worth something.”  

Rob and Matt slipped through the opening as Kevin tightened his grip on the rope.  
Behind him, the creature screeched—a sound of hunger and triumph.  

Just as it lunged—  

The rope snapped upward.  

The door slammed shut, sealing Kevin and the creature inside.  

Rob and Matt could hear it pounding—the claws scoring metal—the screams of something furious at being denied its feast.  

And then…  

Silence.  

When they reached daylight again, Matt held the surviving gold coin in his palm.  
“It wasn’t treasure,” he whispered.  
“It was the price.”  

---

📖 The Storyteller’s Library (Outro)

The wind in the library howled as I closed the book, as if the cave door had slammed shut somewhere behind me.  

A single gold coin rolled across my desk, stopping perfectly at my fingertips.  

It wasn’t there before.  

The coin warmed against my skin.  
And faintly—so faintly—I thought I heard claws scraping stone in the stacks.  

The shadows twitched again, stretching longer than they should.  

I don’t know who paid this price.  
Or why the coin chose me.  

But I’m keeping it.  

For now.  

---

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And if you dare… drop a comment and tell me your favorite scary movie, urban legend, or horror memory.  

Every coin has a story.  
What’s yours?  

thenightlystoryteller.blogspot.com  

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