This is one of the stories in my book Seeded From Evil. I hope you enjoy!
The Collector
I was in the antique business. It was a family owned business and I was the third generation to run it.
My wife, Shelly and I, would delight ourselves on the weekends by going to yard sales and garage sales and seeing what treasures we could find. Sometimes we would have a contest who could find the best stuff with five dollars.
Shelly was the best at this. She would always beat me. One time, she did so much smooth talking, she got an antique brass rotary phone for a dollar. Her ability to wheel and deal astonished me to no end.
There was a particular day that Shelly and I went yard sale-ing. We had been out and at it for about two hours when we pulled up to an estate sale.
The lawn was lined with cluttered tables. We nearly salivated on our walk from the car. We could see from the street there were mountains and mountains of treasures begging to be added to our store.
“Oh my gosh Nick!” Shelly exclaimed and held up an Adamantine Mantle Clock. It was in pristine condition for its age. The feet, lion’s head and column capitols all had a pleasant bronze finish.
“How much is it?” I called to her without turning my head from the trinkets I was looking at.
“Only $10!”
“Well get it then.”
Shelly tucked it under her arm and wandered off to a different table to browse. I kept my focus on the table at hand, mentally running numbers through my mind.
You know you are a good antique seeker if you can mentally remember the value of almost anything. You have to know this. In order to turn a profit, you need to know everything’s worth on the spot.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something that made my jaw drop. No way!
There sat perched by the front door was a four-piece set of antique English Jacobean chairs. Their resale value would be insane. I hurried over to check the price. Twenty dollars apiece. I scoffed. You’ve got to be kidding me!
I regrouped with Shelly to pay. We were elated on our finds at this estate sale. We had found nearly twenty things to add to our store and the chairs alone were worth almost one hundred thousand dollars. (I paid eighty for them).
We loaded the car, gave each other a peck and an overjoyed high-five and drove towards the store.
One of the things I love most about my wife is that we share the love of antiques. Shelly can see a rusty trinket that everyone else would say “Eww” and know that if it was shined and maintained, it would be gorgeous and expensive. She was my world. We looked out for each other.
Once we unloaded our finds in the garage at the store, Shelly turned to me, holding the clock.
“Can I keep this one? I really like it.”
I gave her a squinted look – she always wants to keep everything. “Fine. But that’s the only one!”
She chuckled, “Alright, twist my arm. Only this one then.”
After I closed up the shop and had finished logging the new inventory, I investigated the clock. I wanted to check that everything worked. For the price she’d paid I doubted it worked. I wanted to surprise Shelly and bring it home polished and working fine.
I sat in my chair, magnifying glass up to my eye, and gave it a look-over. Everything seemed in decent condition.
There were a few minor scuffs in the bronze, but nothing I couldn’t fix. Then I saw crusty red stuff on the bottom of the clock. It was only the size of a pea. I squinted my eyes and brought the magnifying glass closer. Was that blood?
I shrugged it off. If it was blood, it could have gotten there a million different ways. I cleaned the clock up and fixed the hands. They fired to life perfectly. Shelly would be so excited.
At home, Shelly was in the kitchen pulling some banana bread from the oven and stirring something on the stove. She hummed to herself as she clicked off the oven.
“Hello honey,” she smiled and kissed me.
From behind my back, I pulled out the clock and handed it to her. “Something beautiful for my beautiful wife.”
She tussled my hair. “Ah, you are the sweetest! You cleaned it up for me. Is it working?”
“I had to mess around with it for a bit, but it seems to be working fine now. What’s for dinner?”
“French onion soup and banana bread.”
Once dinner was over, we watched a half-hour or so of tv and then went to bed. Shelly placed the clock on her nightstand on her side of the bed.
At exactly two in the morning the clock went off. It woke both of us with a fright.
Shelley cursed under her breath and turned to face me groggy and apologetic.
“Sorry honey,” she whispered.
“It’s ok,” I muttered and we both tried to fall back asleep.
Just as I felt like I was drifting off there was a horrible banging noise coming from the kitchen.
I jolted upright and listened. Shelly was awake but kept her head on the pillow with eyes open in panic staring at me.
“You should go look,” she murmured, “Maybe someone broke in. Take the baseball bat with you.”
I grabbed the bat I kept on my side of the bed and shrugged off the covers. I made sure my footsteps were light and inaudible.
I made my way towards the kitchen refusing to turn on any lights. There were sounds of shuffling. Not like papers or such, but of scuffling feet. It seemed like there was more than one person in the kitchen and I was terrified.
At the end of the hallway I peered around the wall… very slowly. The Livingroom was dark as well as the kitchen. From what I could tell no one was in either room. That was strange. I could swear I could hear bare feet on the hardwood.
I slowly appeared from around the wall and into the Livingroom. Drifting towards the kitchen with slow cautious foot falls. Go slow, go slow I kept repeating to myself.
I stopped in place right outside the kitchen. I could swear I just heard someone whisper Shhhh. My heart leapt into my throat. I held my breath and stood in place.
I cocked the bat over my shoulder behind my head ready to swing at any moment. Someone was in there.
Moments passed, then minutes. I had no idea what to do.
I gulped down a heavy breath and jumped into the kitchen ready for a full swing. Nothing. No one was in there. Was I going crazy?
Still on alert I roamed the kitchen surveying counters and cupboards. Nothing seemed disturbed. Weird.
Then she was there. Right there. A floating woman in a white dress. Hovering in the Livingroom staring right at me finger to her lips as if shushing me.
I just about screamed. I choked it down with every racing heartbeat and just stared at her.
She sluggishly turned her back to me and glided off out of the Livingroom and down the hallway. I followed in disbelief.
I had to be dreaming. This was surreal. I had never encountered a ghost before.
I followed closely watching her drift. She was not a full person. Her figure was transparent and not all of her facial features were identifiable.
Outside my bedroom door it was as if she slightly hesitated to enter. She half turned, shot me a quick glance and floated through my bedroom door and I’m assuming into my room.
The next thing I knew, there was a blood curdling scream from my wife and the door was thrown open. Shelley ran right out of the bedroom and right into me.
“Did you see her?” She asked breathless and trembling.
“Ya, I saw her,” I replied still holding the bat above my head.
Shelley and I did research that night. We went online and dug up anything we could find on the clock and who had owned it. And after further research we felt like we had some answers.
One of the previous owners died in a home invasion. Her two children were murdered as well. We boldly assumed this must be the woman we had seen because of the shushing.
We put the clock in our store with our other antiques. Decided it best we not keep it ourselves after that night.
Until the clock sold there were unusual, unexplained noises around the store. I was happy when it finally sold.