One Man's trash is another Man's... Demon?

Come on Imogene! This thrift store is supposed to have the best stuff!” I was not as excited as my sister, Kathy, as she tried to drag me to yet another store to look at what she called “ good thrift store stuff”. Lately, I hated thrift shopping. It seemed like every time I picked up an object, I just felt depressed. Over the last few years, I got better about not picking up the objects with violent histories at least, but in a thrift shop more often than not, the objects were just sad. The dishes sold after their grandmother died, furniture after a divorce, toys that still wanted to be played with, but were abandoned when the child grew up. All of it just, not something I wanted to feel. After Covid, the world has gone through a bit of a shift, not that most people would notice. In fact, most people would call me and others like me crazy. But a shift has happened nonetheless. The shift has happened in the margins. The places where people don’t like to look, or are afraid to think about, for fear they themselves will be called crazy. People have developed gifts. Some have developed gifts of foresight, some healing, some the gift to commune with the dead. Not very many of us want to talk about it, we know how people look at us. My gift is psychometry. When I touch objects, I get a sense of their past; who owned them, what the owner was like, if they are alive or dead. Sometimes I can see how the owners died, if it was violent. I can tell if the object was important to the person, if it was well loved. I can tell if the object was lost, or stolen, if it is with its original owner, or newly bought. I wear gloves a lot when I go out. It is easier to blend in in the winter than it is in the middle of July. 

“IMOGENE! Why are you just standing there? Let’s go in!” Kathy waves at me from down the block. I take a deep breath in, adjust my gloves and enter the shop, hoping that there is nothing in the shop that will set off a panic attack or some other trigger. Entering the store, the first thing I notice is the smell of old things. This is definitely an antique thrift store, not the usual store Kathy picks. Looking around I can see bureaus and desks made of wood in a style that is at least one hundred years old. I am actually cheered by this thought. If the original owners of these objects are long past, I may have an easier time. We make our way through the aisles. Kathy excitedly pointing out pieces that she can use in her office, or for possible future clients. She recently started a business staging offices and homes for a real estate firm. She does some interior design for rich homeowners as well, but mostly she stages them for potential buyers. Most of her clients are big businesses in office parks and office buildings who are looking for “ old world charm”. So while she looks at thrift shops, she usually ends up buying new. The rich business owners may want to “look” old world, but they certainly don’t want second hand. She hasn’t had a chance to grow her business past a few clients outside of family or family friends so she still tries to save where she can and still shops second hand for herself however, which is why she still drags me to all of the thrift shops she can. 

Kathy is now currently looking at a booth with a Japanese theme. There is a Japanese silk screen, a Lacquer Kodansu cabinet with golden dragons painted on the front, and various tables and chests. While she is looking at the larger furniture, I wander the edges and look at the paintings on the walls and the smaller items. That is when I notice the umbrella. Or I should say the umbrella notices me. I am standing in front of what I think is a print of “ Under the Wave Off Kanagawa'' when an umbrella tries to attack me or ….. Lick me? Did an antique Japanese umbrella just lick me?

“Aggh!” I whip around quickly checking my surroundings. I duck out of the booth and into the hall to ensure that I am alone in this area before cautiously approaching what I thought to be an antique rice paper umbrella. I slide closer, hands raised in a defensive position “Hello, are you alive?” With a slightly trembling hand I reach out a finger and tap the top of what I thought licked me. To my shock, one large eye pops open and a large grinning mouth with long slimy tongue is soon to follow. “Oh! You were alive.” I stumble a bit in shock. Do you also talk, or only lick? I feel a bit ridiculous talking to the thing, but it could be worse I suppose. I could be talking to one of the creepy antique dolls or ceramic clowns that seem to fill stores like these. 

“Cough, ack, ugh, grr… uh.” The umbrella tries to speak but seems to be trying to clear its throat a bit. “ hell… hello. Who are you? My name is Kasa.” It speaks with a bit of an accent, but not much of one. 

“ My name is Imogene, How is it that you are an umbrella, but can talk to me? I creep a little closer speaking in whispers. I do not want Kathy or anyone else finding me conversing with wet weather accessories. 

“ I am what is known as a Tsukumogami, an everyday object that comes to life on its 100th birthday. You are the first person I have talked to, even though I have been able to talk for five years now. My last owner gave me to this shop after I first became sentient and tried to move around the house. ``Kasa floats to eye level as it peers at me as if sizing me up and judging my worthiness. “ Would you be willing to take me home with you? You don’t appear to be as afraid of me as my last owner. They thought their house was haunted. It was of course, but it was that well before I arrived.” If an umbrella could shrug, I believe it would have then. Instead if just rolled it’s one eye. 

“What will you be like as a house guest I wonder? I do have a job and cannot imagine taking you to work with me each day.”

“I can help you out. I may not have been sentient for all of my years, but I remember them. I can help you with whatever your job is. I can be a good house guest. I can act as your security, your friend, a confidant to confide your secrets in. No one would be more trustworthy. This I swear.” Kasa flies around my head as it explains its usefulness as potential houseguest and friend. I can’t leave the poor thing here. But, I am not sure about taking it on either. As I think about this, I take off my glove. When I reach out to grab his handle I get a flash of the lives that have touched this umbrella. When Kasa was brand new it belonged to a young woman newly arrived in the United States. It was bought as a courting gift by a potential husband the family was hoping would be a suitable match. The marriage did not work out, and so the umbrella was placed in a closet for several years. When the woman was eventually married to another and had children, the umbrella was brought out and given to the daughter of the family and was much used and well loved, until it was lost. Kasa was left behind at a café, a careless mistake. That is the family that eventually sold him to this thrift store. But not after more than twenty years. The last five years, the years Kasa has been sentient, have been lonely. It has been stuck in this booth at this thrift shop. A few people have picked it up and looked at it, but no one has taken it home. I can’t just leave it here, knowing what I know. 

“It’s your lucky day Kasa, I am rescuing you” As soon as the words are out of my mouth Kasa flies to the ceiling and twirls around the room in excitement. I panic and look out again to be sure that no one has seen this, and that no one can hear the commotion it is making as it celebrates the fact that it can now leave the store.

“ Calm down, I have conditions. I will change my mind if you do not stop what you are doing this instant!” I place my hands on my hips and glare up at the ceiling with my fiercest expression. Kasa closes his side and falls back to the floor. He props up on his handle and looks at me with a one-eyed version of the sad puppy dog look waiting to hear my conditions. 

“First, there will be no flying around and attacking or licking my clients when they come to the office. I run a private investigations firm and I need to know my clients will be safe. In exchange I will take you out with me as often as possible, and give you free reign of the house. Second, no more licking. I Hate to be licked. Third, you can go anywhere in the house that you want, but you cannot sleep in my room- if you sleep at all, and you cannot stare at me when I sleep. Also, do you eat? Do I need to feed you? Are neighborhood pets in danger around you? What exactly am I getting into here?” To myself I think that it might be too late to worry about that last bit, but it was probably good to ask. 

“ I can agree to your conditions. As long as you take me out into the sun and rain from time to time. As for what I eat- Meat. I like lots of meat. All kinds of meat. If you tell me that some sources are off limits, I will respect that, but if you don’t say, I don’t know and so I will eat it.” With a disturbing smile and a lick to his lips it then floats back over to me and hovers near my shoulder. “Now that we have settled the rules, I think you should purchase me and we can get out of here. Five years is too long to stay in one place. I want to enjoy the sun and see what kind of mischief I can get up to being your new companion.”

I grab the handle of an antique rice paper umbrella and make my way to the cash register acting as if nothing in the world is more common. But inside, I am still panicked at what I have just done. “Here goes nothing.” I say to Kasa and step into my new life as the master of a Kasa-Obake and hope that I have made the right decision. Only time will tell if it was, but I am sure I am in for one heck of an adventure.