When I was
ten we travel to a small town next to a lake in the south of Chile during the
summer Vacations. My family rented a very nice house to stay, and I really
liked where it was placed because I was able to just walk a few steps to reach
the lake and enjoy the warm and clear water. Besides the location, the weather
and the main attraction for the tourist, there was an old cabin next to ours,
that got my curiosity. It was ruined by the years that passed since it was
occupied by people. During the first week, I checked a lot times the
surroundings of the small house for an opening, hoping the rotten wood in the
wall suddenly would fall and let me go in. Even though that never happened, I
found a fissure under the mysterious cottage while I was playing football with
a friend that I made there. We crawled into the foundations of the house. I
could feel the moist ground with my hands and knees, going forward trying to
avoid a rusty nail. My friend and I reached a hole in the floor above us, big
enough to let us get in. I was really excited, but then I felt really disappointed
when I discover that was almost empty inside. It had just one room and no furniture
but a wrecked wardrobe. I check it and
found a little box with a few photos in it. The photos were of the house and a
family standing in the front of it. We thought that thought belonged to
previous owner of the house, or a family member of the man that rented us the
house. We take the box and leave the house. Before we left at the end of the
holidays, I gave the box to the owner of the house, and thanked me for finding
the box that belonged to his grandmother. I remember this little adventure with
joy and nostalgia because now I can’t do things like that anymore.
. 
