Directions

These are Jason's worst directions yet. I try to decipher his rambling text again.

"Once you leave the station go over the bridge with the graffiti and turn left at the jazz cafe with the saxophone menu board out the front" - I passed the right café; I can still hear the jazz - "keep going until you see the really old manor with the bronze lamps and marble lions on the gate on the right is a narrow path to the park we'll be at the third bench from the wishing fountain".

No punctuation, no grammar and no street names; Jason's signature direction style. I don't know why he's in charge of planning the meetup location or why he insists on giving useless directions instead of just sharing his location.

I inspect the empty court I'm standing in again. No buildings here match Jason's description. There's only one building in the court, and I definitely took that left at the café.

The tarnished gold sign reads "Antiques & Oddities"; old yes, but no lions or gate in sight. The store is nestled between an overgrown garden filled with ivy, jasmine and some other fragrant flowers I can't name. The store windows are covered in thick dust, and the gold filament on the window décor has mostly peeled away. I can't make out the inside through the dirt but there are heavy shadows against the window indicating a lot of stock but no moving shadows for people.

I look at my watch. 11:45, I have another 15 minutes before I am officially late to the meetup and the group will be pissed. I agitatedly pull my coat tighter around myself and shift my backpack up on my shoulders. "Argh, damn it, Jason!"

There is a sign hanging off-kilter on the door, "Open". Surely there's someone in there who can give better directions than Jason. I stomp forward, throwing the store door open with more force than I meant to, and a bell yelps to life. 

True to its name the store is brimming with vintage and curious pieces. As I walk further in I spot a rocking horse with a leather saddle to my right and an elegant hat stand with fur coats draped over it to my left.

There are mahogany drawers with intricate carvings and dining cabinets with stained glass filled with crystal and china. Tucked in a back corner is a Victorian chaise lounge, now a dull beige, decorated with an idyllic embroidered garden with sunbeams made of threaded gold. Towering shelves are crammed with bric-a-brac; Jade paperweights, sculptures of marble men and women, ceramic vases with hand-painted flowers and bronze candle holders. There is so much colour and texture to be seen, something intriguing everywhere you could glance.

Directly in front of the door is an unmanned front counter of glass showcasing jewellery that glints of gold, silver and gems. Abruptly the store feels cooler and claustrophobic. I can hear the faintest sound of piano playing, slow and in a sombre chord, maybe from another room.

'How can I help you today?"

I jump, heart dropping, then picking back up to race in my chest. No one was in the store when I first entered, but now someone is between me and the door. The room constricts again.

"Hi, I, ah was looking for some directions, I'm a bit lost you see."

My attempt at a polite smile is more of a grimace as the man approaches me. He's tall and lanky; dressed in dress pants and a blazer. His salt and pepper hair is receding but gives him an air of dignity. He'd be handsome if not for the gauntness of his face; the skin over his cheeks is so taught they could be played like a drum. His smile doesn't reach his brown eyes as he responds, "Of course, where are you going?"

"Ah, I'm not sure of the address but I'm looking for a gated manor with marble lions. It should be around here; do you know of it?"

"Hmmm, I can't say I know it, but I have a map. Come with me."

He leads me to the front counter, his stride long and slow. He gives another tight smile with a slight nod of apology as he begins searching the drawers against the back wall.

With his back to me, I feel more at ease, confident enough to keep looking through the store. There's a basket of children's toys made of hardwood and tin nearby on the floor. I pick up a nutcracker; his jaw hangs slack against his chest, his white hair matted and his red coat tarnished from years of neglect. A clang startles me; my head jerks up to see the man hastily look my way as he picks up something off the floor and forcefully shoves it back into a draw. A shiver runs through me, my heartbeat picks up and my palms are becoming slick with sweat.

I now notice a deer's head mounted to the wall with an old-fashioned rifle displayed next to it. To the left of the counter on a shelf is a terrified taxidermy squirrel, a sobbing Venetian Carnival mask, and surely that isn't a real skull. 

"Butterfingers, but I've found the map," there's a slight pause as he wets his lips, "Has anyone told you our eyes are just stunning? Such a deep, pure blue. I have a piece that would suit you stunningly."

"Um, but I need the directions?" My statement comes out hesitantly, like a question, and falls on deaf ears. He's opening up the display counter and searching the jewellery.

The piano is louder and ominous now but scratchy like an old record. I put the Nutcracker back down next to a porcelain doll with a pretty checkered dress. It's missing an eye from a cracked socket, where a spider is making its home. I look over my shoulder, the path to the door is now clear but I've come much further into the store than I realised. It seems uncannily dark out and there's the red glow of dusk on the horizon. It can't be though, I haven't been in the store long enough. 

"I don't mean to be rude but I'm late to meet my friends, can you tell me what way I need to go from the store? Left or right?" My voice is quiet, meek and instantly swallowed up by the room.

He comes around from the counter, stalking towards me. In his hands is a sapphire amulet set in a thick braided gold chain. It's so short it would barely reach the base of my throat.

"See, isn't this perfect for your eyes? It was meant for you." Another step closer, intense eyes tracing my skin where the necklace might sit, "Here, try it on."

I back away, bumping into a velvet green ottoman – where did that come from? I try to be more forceful, to make my voice be heard this time, "No, thank you. I really must be meeting my friends."

"I insist! This would be exquisite at your throat. It would be a travesty for a piece as special as this one to be parted from its owner." 

The piano record skips a beat in time with my heart. The blue sapphire emanates cold. The man's teeth are too bright as he smiles, his brown eyes reflecting me as he creeps closer.

Screw this. I give up on discretely edging backwards and turn around fast. My coat catches on the knob of a drawer, my foot trips over a wooden toy duck, and my shoulder catches on a statue. The store, trying to make me his captive. I run, not checking to see if he follows, somehow knowing he is.

The man is shouting now, first desperately but his fury can't be masked, "Please wait, take it with you! It's been waiting for you, you can't leave it!"

The store feels narrower and so much longer than before, the curios crowding around me. It's pitch black out the dirty windows. The piano record is blaring through the store as it skips in the player, short, sharp chaotic notes. I push through the treasures that are trying to trap me. Something brushes against the cuff of my coat.

The bell clangs as I yank the door open and fly through it. I have to squint against the glaring midday sun but I don't stop running until I'm panting in front of the café's saxophone-shaped blackboard. Hands on my thighs, bent over and gasping for air I dare look back. 

Instead of a court, there's now a long street, at the end of which there's a Victorian manor with two marble lions guarding over the large iron gate. In front, on the sidewalk, there are two old-fashioned gas lamp posts, just like in Jason's text.

Once I have my breath back I creep down the street, heart pounding. I can see a narrow pathway between the manor and its neighbouring houses to the right, and more houses to the manor's left. No sign of an antique store. I look at my watch, "Shit, 12:01, I'm late."