When he was eight, a magical creature of unknown provenance appeared and presented him a key, small and unassuming, rather like the boy. "This key will open any lock you set it to," said the creature, "but only once." With that, it disappeared.

The boy carried the key with him everywhere in case it should be needed. He saw a woman locked out of her home, and one locked out of her car, but in each case he thought his key was meant for something greater. He locked himself out of his home once, and that tempted him, but he resisted.

He fell on hard times, and looked longingly at the homes of the obscenely wealthy. In better times, he peered at locked doors in subways, hotels, and museums in curiosity. He could learn what was beyond, but how could he use his gift for something so trivial?

He aged, wed, and adopted, always watching for the lock important enough for his key, never finding anything good enough. Every door, he weighed and judged unworthy. On his deathbed, swaddled in regret and resentment, he gave the key to his children, who did not believe his story and threw it away.