Curiosity

Alistair's Pawn Shop and Curiosities, that's what the old, cracked and wooden sign said. Old man Alistair was the owner. He was tall, lanky and bald with twitchy, spindly fingers.

I walked into the shop. It always smelled of varnish, dust and memories.

Every time I visited, he'd tell me a story of the item I was so enthused. It was usually fantastical like a miniature, model sailboat owned by Napoleon Bonaparte or the actual portrait of Dorian Grey.

Books upon books littered the walls and even the cracks in the brickwork were covered by volumes of forgotten lore or fairy tales by the brothers Grimm. Every single jotted journal by the famous war veteran and physician Doctor John Hamish Watson and the exploits of Professor Edward Challenger were stacked near grandfather clocks, white, Greek busts of Palace and a tall statue of Doctor Victor Frankenstein.

Before Alistair closed I had to get a coat. Nothing fancy, no back story. Nope, nothing special at all as far as I knew. It was just a light brown overcoat with pockets he was selling for five dollars. Some of the stitching was lose and I hadn't much to my name to say the least.

"Ah, Mister Alistair. Hows business been to you today?"

"Blessed as usual. With stories both new and old. I see you have come for that brown coat."

"How did you know, Mister Alistair?"

"Oh, you get to know these things as a good business person. What a customer wants or what they see or even... How they act."

Alistair winked and I had a sudden chill as I was drawn even more towards the coat. Why? I wasn't sure. I just needed it to keep warm while I wasted away in my home under the bridge. No, there was something special about that coat, something that I didn't see in it prior. I focused on it for a while. I was hypnotized almost. It became deathly quiet.

"That'll be a fiver." Alistair spoke, breaking the silence.

I gave him a five I found laying on the streets near a pillar where I have my tent set up. I then dawned the coat and left the shop I had visited so many times before. The all too familiar ringing of the bell above the door chimed as I left to the bitter night air.

I turned to wave at old man Alistair except for when I turned I was face to face with a solid, brick wall. I was astounded and felt my coat was a little heavier than before.

As I reached into my right pocket, I fumbled around for what could be weighing my coat down and touched what felt like smooth skin?.. No, it was leather. I pulled out a wallet. When I opened it I was saddened to find no money inside.

No skin off of my nose. I've lived the biggest portion of my life without cash. However, I couldn't deny a slight disappointment at looking into the darkness of an empty wallet. As empty as my belly. The soup kitchen on North was open to my recollection and I needed some food than I needed to get home and rest.

It took the entire afternoon to walk up and wait in line. Some were grateful and some felt entitled to the point of shouting obscenities and pitching a fit like a child who did't get their toy at a store.

I didn't care about all those bum's clamor, Fred didn't care either and he had just got here. Me and Fred fought over silly things for fun, though. We would argue like children while the others squabbled about who cut or who was next.

It was cold and the snowfall shined a glittery blanket of white below our feet, some yellow. Nearby were drums of fire to warm our hands.

Just up ahead was Nancy, beautiful and kind. She had a soft spot for the children, forgotten, hungry and homeless. From the first time I saw her, I had fallen in love silently with this lovely, kindhearted soul but could never openly admit it. She had run the kitchen for years. Fred walked in past Nancy and I in my blushing, clumsy stupidity bumped her elbow.

"Oh, hello Jason. A new coat, I see. Le chic magnific."

Did I mention that she had a way with words? I had no clue what she had said, was it French? I responded with a shaky and blushing "Thanks Nance."

She responded in kind with her southern voice "No problem, doll. Please enjoy your day, sweetheart."

The steam rolling off of the electric ten well food table was a welcome site indeed. Chili, mashed potatoes and green beans. One cup portion for each person and off to sit.

I sat down with my dinner plate, Fred, with that stupid look on his face. The kind of face that says 'I need my butt kicked' had the bright idea to tell me "So, where did you pick up that mangy thing?"

"My coat? From old man Alistair's pawn. Funny thing. I left the shop, turned and it disappeared."

"Jason, buddy. Please tell me your not drinking rum again!"

"No, Fred. Another thing. This empty wallet."

I placed it on the table. Fred grabbed it, looked it over and opened it. He chuckled.

"Jason. I know you have a thing for Nancy but seriously? A picture of her and her son. Even I ain't that sick. How did you come by that?"

"What are you on about?!" I snatched the wallet from his hand and sure enough, there it was in the picture holder. Looking back at me were the faces of Nancy and Thomas.

“Whats that leather anyway, Jason.”

“I don't think I even know, really. Feels odd.”

“It does? Like skin. If it's real leather you could pawn it off for cash.”

“Well, I intend keeping it, Fred.”

“So, why don't you try and regale your beautiful Nancy with that brand new leather wallet from that mysteriously odd, supposed curiosities shop, huh?”

“I don't know how Nancy puts up with you.”

“It must be my cologne.” Fred replied.

“Yeah, it's body odor.” I laughed.

Talk about odor, a pleasant one was strolling by. Lavender. It was Nancy. She placed a hand on my shoulder. Her red, curly locks bounced a bit as she leaned over me and spoke.

“Hey, everybody! Enjoying your meals? I've got a cool pitcher of water, And if anybody is in need for refills hit me up! I'll fill that glass up right quick. Any you thirsty?”

“Sure, Nancy. Thank you.” Fred replied.

“Thanks Nance.” I said.

Nancy bent further to pour the water for Fred but nothing, it was as if the water evaporated before our eyes. As she backed away, I felt a cold dampness dripping from my pocket.

“Did you wet yourself?” Fred laughed.

“Oh dear me, I'm sorry. I must have spilled the pitcher.” 

“I didn't wet myself, Fred. Nancy's right. It's accidental.”

I pulled my wallet out and checked for any damages. I opened it...

“2 bucks? What? But how?” I exclaimed.

“Hold on.” Fred said, as he reached into his pockets.

“My two dollars! I swear I had two dollars, Jason.”

“Got a problem?”

“Two bucks. That's all I've got. You must have taken it! Give me your wallet!”

I stood from my seat and ran, I didn't know what to do. I panicked and felt backed into a corner so I got out of that kitchen quick as you please with Fred yelling back.

“Hey! I just want my money back!”

I was heading home. I just wanted to burn the wallet. I was going to throw it into a burning trash bin and call it a life. No way was I going to mess with some hoodoo magic stuff or whatever this cursed thing was.

Along the way, I tripped. I thought I had lost my footing however the dim lamplight over my head told me otherwise. A very well suited man stood over me. My coat in comparison to his was night and day. He was in a business get up while I was in last month's trash as far as he must have been concerned. My wallet fell out into a puddle.

“Wow! That's a nice wallet there, son.” He picked it up and started to hand it to me, seeing a peek of faded green edging out from the lining. 

“Whoa! This feels a bit strange. Whats this leather?!” 

I didn't want to bring any undo attention to me or curse another fellow human being even if he were rich. I snatched the wallet.

“Gimme that!”

I got back on route and kept running. I heard him distantly call back to me...

“Hey, thief! You stole my money! Come back! I'm calling the police and they'll sort it all out now!”

I skidded to a stop. I have post traumatic stress dealing with cops in the past. They always thought I was up to something or that I was too shifty so they would arrest me, make jokes and yell at me to get a job. They were one crooked group but I haven't been able to look at another uniform since without getting jittery and that just makes them more questioning. I didn't need that sort of frustration. I turned around and walked back to the man, pulling out the wallet.

“No, please sir. Don't shoot me! It's okay!”

“Oh shut it, mister. Here's your money back. Did you notice?” I asked before dispensing his money and walking away.

“Notice what? You pick pocketing? 

“I didn't touch you at all.” 

"You must have, though." He said, in shock. As I finally turned around and walked away with a two dollar filled, wet wallet and a picture of Nancy and her son I realized I really needed to rid me of the creature forever.

An hour later, I was home. Smells of huddled bodies, smog and burning trash filled the air. Promptly, I found a flaming drum and cast that infernal thing into the depths of Hell and prayed. It was late, I needed to get to my tent. I past people who I saw daily. Chet was sticking to his lawn chair, Mirra, the veteran and Larry, the resident doctor so to speak.

I turned the flap to my home, crawled into my tattered and used sleeping bag. I had hoped to forget the day. I thought I would drift off into a blissful sleep fairly easily but...

"I'M RICH! I'M RICH!"

'No, it couldn't be.' I thought as I quickly jumped from my bag and lurched from the tent.

There it was, without a burn. Chet held the leather wallet in his grasp. I approached Chet and asked... No, it wasn't Chet.

“Alistair? What're you doing here?"

My head began to pound. This man was evil, he poured it out like water. Every fiber of my being told me he was just pure, dark energy and that I was being attacked.

My vision blurred and I was no longer under the bridge but inside that dusty, brick shop. Alistair's pawn.

“Hey, what is this all about? Whats that wallet?"

"You bought it, Mister Jason?"

"I bought a coat!”

“I can assure you, you came into my humble little shop and purchased this very wallet. I play no tricks."

He cocked an eyebrow and smirked eerily.

"I merely deal in items with.. consequences attached."

Alistair paused than walked over to a dark corner of the room filled with trinkets.

"Would you be interested in an actual vile filled with the very solution that Doctor Henry Jekyll used to become the notorious Mister Hyde? Or perhaps the mystical opium flask the great poet Edgar Allen Poe drank from?"

I fell back slightly, feeling lightheaded.

“Is something wrong?” He asked.

“I don't know. Please, don't do this to me. That wallet has to be cursed.”

“It's cursed? No, it's blessed. By the way, Have a look at this old knife.”

“What?” 

“It was owned by Jack the Ripper.”

“What did you do to me?” 

“You look like your not feeling well, Jason.” 

“No. I'd like for you to take the wallet back.”

“I can't.”

“..and why can't you?” 

“It's not tied to my soul. It's tied to your's.”

“Who made this thing? The leather feels wrong?”

He gave me a blank stare.

"Why, the famous serial killer, Edward Theodore Gein of course. Made with the skin of one of his victims I do believe."