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I was the proprietor of a very prosperous antique shop just a short ways outside of Nashville, Tennessee. The store itself was almost an antique. I purchased the establishment twenty years ago from someone who owned it for fifty years before me. He inherited the store when his elderly uncle passed away who maintained the business for decades before that. I managed to get most of the antiques I sell for next to nothing, which made my store a very profitable one indeed.
There were so many people out there who had absolutely no idea of the value of some of the things they owned. Many country folk had furniture and household items that seemed old and worn to them, but their antiques could bring me loads of money from the right customers. Uneducated people were my best prey. I could buy many things for pennies on the dollar when people were unaware of what they really had. The trick was to never allude to the true value of an item. If I did this, people would expect to receive that much money from me for it. I had to turn a profit, so I was deceptive and made them believe their things were only slightly sellable.
Periodically I turned the management of my store over to one of my more trusted employees while I went off on one of my antiquing tours. I recently received word from a couple of pickers with whom I was familiar that they found some artifacts neither of them could identify. They called me so that I could go and have a look at them myself.
When I entered the destination into my GPS device, it looked like I had a ten-hour drive ahead of me. That was if I drove nonstop until I got there. If I left at 5:00 am, I should make it to the location by 3:00 pm. I knew to expect serious heat and humidity, so I brought along a cooler filled with plenty of bottled water. Sunscreen and mosquito repellent were essentials in that region. In addition, I brought a duffel bag filled with a week’s clothing, toiletries, and a first aid kit. I also loaded several worn pieces of luggage filled with the sort of clothing one might find typical country rednecks wearing.
I had several sets of forged ID’s. These and the proper attire allowed me to fit in and appear to be more like the people from whom I purchased my antiques. Playing different roles seriously affected my profit margins for the better. When people felt a connection, it was easier to work out a discount, and the bigger the discount was, the more money that ended up in my pocket. Over the years I learned to imitate various accents from around the country, and this allowed me to talk the part as well as look the part as I cheated the locals out of their valuables.
My drive took me near Tunica, Mississippi and its multitude of casinos. What a waste, I thought. These people go and throw away their hard-earned money in these gambling dens. It was like they could care less if they had any disposable income or not. That was not for me, not in any way shape or form. I worked hard for my money and, I would rather go to Hell than to throw it away at a casino.
My ex-wife used to spend my money like there was a well in our back yard full of an infinite amount of cash. Before she left, we fought almost constantly over our finances. We fought so much over finances that it finally ended our marriage. I thank God I had her sign a prenuptial agreement before taking our vows. Otherwise, she would have left with half my money or more. She tried suing me several times, but all she did was waste our time and her money.
I finally got my SUV loaded before the sun rose over the horizon. By the time dawn broke, I was already on the road for thirty minutes. Shortly after I crossed the Mississippi state line, I began to see Spanish moss in the trees. As I drove further, the hanging plants draped over the tree branches more and more thoroughly. The stuff was everywhere, and it increased the darkness produced by the shade of the trees by threefold.
Spanish moss always gave me the jitters. It filled me with the sensation of driving through a dark and haunting forest. The masses of the light green, stringy plant looked to me like giant cobwebs. I always expected a hoard of monstrous arachnids to swarm out from every direction and engulf my car. No matter how many times I drove through this region of the country, I never got over the eerie creepiness I felt when traveling through there.
I found the roads of Mississippi to be rather hilly, and in some places the highways were in serious need of repair. Were I not in my SUV, I would have bounced up and down on my seat like a petite woman on a roller coaster. Caught up in my thoughts, I lost track of time. Before I realized it, I crossed the border into Louisiana. It was like suddenly journeying to another world. The hills and pine trees of Mississippi gave way to endlessly flat land with only a scarce tree here and there. I was unable to see very far into the distance because the intensity of the humidity produced a visible haze.
I passed fields of corn, cotton, and even watermelons. I never knew that watermelons grew on vines, but I supposed that made sense. They were obviously too heavy to grow in trees. Quite frequently, I passed dirt roads leading off into the fields. Several of the dirt roads were actually marked as state highways. I saw highways in bad shape, but never made of dirt. There was not even any gravel on some of the roads, just the iron-rich red clay.
For some reason my GPS device suddenly stopped showing me where I was. The little blue dot indicating my location was still in the center of the screen, but the map showed no roads anywhere near my current location. For a moment I thought of turning around, but I was sure to find a service station or something where I could obtain directions to my destination.
A sense of relief washed over me when I saw a small billboard that read, “Grandma’s Antiques and Broken Cookies.” To be honest, my curiosity of the broken cookies roused my anticipation and wonderment more than the idea of browsing the antiques. I never saw a billboard advertising broken cookies before. I passed several signs advertising the place, each time displaying the number of miles remaining to the destination. I wondered more and more what the signs meant by broken cookies.
I reached the establishment to find it was a beautifully restored plantation house. The building was in immaculate condition, so I figured it was probably restored fairly recently. The grounds were covered with a vibrant green grass, and several moss filled trees dotted the landscape. Rose bushes lined the front and side of the building and displayed beautiful blossoms of yellow and red. The parking area was a large gravel plot located just off the main drive of the house.
The large, wooden front door was wide open, so I walked in without knocking. The downstairs vestibule was converted to a reception area. A couch and several chairs formed a conversation area to my right and a television viewing area to my left. Engrossed in a romance novel, a late-middle aged woman sat behind a desk. I did not want to startle the woman, so I tried to make a little noise as I approached.
“Well hey there darlin’,” the lady greeted me kindly.
For her age, she was quite an attractive woman. I thought her amazingly beautiful blue eyes gave her an angel-like quality.
“Howdy, my name’s Margret,” she said kindly as she placed her book behind the counter. “How can I help you?”
I explained to her where I was trying to go. She informed me I was far off the path.
“See, the problem with those satellite gadgets is they don’t know all the back roads,” she explained. “Ata you leave here, your gonna’ go nineteen miles to da junction ‘a dis road and the highway. Hit L0014, at’ll be on your right. Turn ata way and you’ll be there in a hop, skip, and a jump.”
Before I turned to leave, I had to inquire as to the nature of the broken cookies.
“They’re just that,” she replied. “We make one big cookie in a sheet and break it into manageable pieces. They’ve become something of a novelty in these parts.”
I do have to say I was a bit disappointed when I found out they were literally broken cookies. I cannot say what I was expecting them to be; the name was rather straight-forward. It stood out as odd on their billboards, which I supposed was the whole point. I could not help but wonder how many people stopped here simply because of the unusual advertisement.
After purchasing a generously filled bag of broken cookies, I thanked the kind lady for her assistance and turned toward the exit.
“You might wanna’ consider waitin’ till sun-up,” the woman said, almost sounding as if she were warning. “Most people around here are going to be hitting the bed soon.”
Part of me thought she was only saying that to get me to rent a room for the night. Another part of me took her very seriously. I did not think she was trying to scam me, as she seemed like a very sincere woman.
“Whilst you’re stayin’ here, you’re more than welcome to browse round our antiques,” she added to seal the deal.
I decided to accept her advice and procured a room for the night. I drove almost for twelve hours, and I could really use a shower and a comfortable bed. I did not see any problem waiting until morning to reach my destination. I anticipated the room would be rather expensive, but it was no more expensive than a halfway decent motel in the city.
“How’s about we give you room twenty-two. There ain’t anything on that side to make noise and it’s got a heavenly view,” the woman said. “My boy’ll bring your bags to yer room for ya. When you’re freshed up, maybe ya can come down’n browse the store.”
I thanked the woman for her generosity, took the key, and made my way to the second floor. It amazed me when I saw the room. I expected it to be nice, but it was truly incredible. It was the kind of room I would expect from a four-star hotel and not at half-star hotel prices.
Not even five minutes later, the bellboy arrived with my bags. He bore a striking resemblance to the woman downstairs. It was obvious he was her son, nephew, or possibly grandchild.
I gave the nice boy a ten-dollar tip and inquired as to where I might find a hot meal.
“Oh, well, we ain’t got no menu. But Grandma can fix up just ‘bout innithin,” he said with a strong southern drawl. “Ya jus’ gonna’ hata order soon though. She don’t like stayin’ up no later than nine.”
Such Southern hospitality. People up north were never this polite and accommodating. In a B & B, the boarder ate when the food was ready, not the other way around. It sounded like the woman downstairs would prepare me a fresh meal on the spot.
“Well my boy, you probably know your grandmother’s cooking better than anyone,” I said. “What would you suggest?”
Without hesitation the lad gleefully said, “I’d pick the lamb wit beans’n rice. A bowl of Momma’s gumbo’d go great wit dat. Aint’z hot’z dem Cajuns make it, but it sho is good.”
I asked the boy to bring me the meal he recommended and tipped him four more dollars for his kindness and hospitality.
“Yon’t it now?”
Trying to act kind, I told the boy that I did not want to rush them. I would take the meal whenever it was ready. He said he would bring it up to me in thirty minutes or so. I could not believe it. For these prices, I was even getting room service. With the right marketing strategies, this place could be a Mecca for travelers in the South. These people seemed perfectly content with what they had. There were only four other cars and a rental truck in the guest parking lot. I did not see how they could possibly make enough money to keep this business up and running.
Dinner was fantastic. The soup that was called gumbo in the North was nothing like thick stew this woman made. It had to be one of the most exquisite things I ever ate in my life. Like the boy said, the gumbo was hot but not sufferingly so. The beans and rice with the stewed lamb could go for top dollar in any elegant restaurant.
After I finished the delectable meal, I decided to head back downstairs and browse through the antique collection. The study and toreador of the house were converted into the antique shop. The first object to catch my attention was an obscure artwork that I only ever saw in a book, a very old book. The tome describing the item was so old it was written in a very early English.
The item consisted of a mass of thin metal bars comprised of a variety of metals. The bars twisted, split, intertwined and again converged with one another. It was a depiction of an ancient god that possessed no corporeal form. Therefore, it was sculpted as things twisting, combining, diverging and reemerging. I tried to stow my excitement as I picked up the object to examine more closely. From what I saw, this was the real deal. This thing was thousands of years old, and these people had it on display with a collection of other, mundane objects.
This was the find of a lifetime. The family only had it marked for two hundred dollars. There was no doubt that I could resell it for thousands of times that amount. As I searched around some more, I found that almost everything in the shop was underpriced. Some of the things were ridiculously underpriced, so much so that I was confident I could make a great profit from them.
I found a jasper obelisk standing a little more than a foot tall. The edges were lined with pure silver and dotted with a color sequence of tiny gems. The metal capping the top was very strange. It looked like gold at first, but upon closer inspection I realized it was something altogether different. It almost looked like quartz filled with tiny flakes of gold and platinum.
Inscribed on all four sides of the obelisk were small, strange hieroglyphs. I knew by their obscurity that the obelisk was four thousand years old at minimum. The type of jasper from which the obelisk was carved was completely mined out even before the birth of Christ.
I suddenly jumped when I thought I saw something moving behind the stands of rare items, but when I turned my head to look, I saw nothing. I wanted to try to get a look behind the display cases to see whatever it was. Unfortunately, I could not get to it without overturning some of the tables. I was sure it was probably just a play on the shadows, an optical illusion of sorts. Nothing could move back there without at least bumping the tables.
The last thing I found made me want to erupt with excitement. It was a carving grossly mislabeled as a Chinese bird figurine. The object resembled a glider, the type of glider so popular in the 1980’s, but the aerodynamic design would even be an improvement on today’s predator drones. This thing was incredibly ancient, yet whoever created it had to have a deep understanding of aerodynamics.
I could see that it was painted over many times, but I was sure of what I was looking at. Another object such as this one was found sealed in a sacred chamber in Egypt. Another was found in a recently discovered pyramid in India. Now I stumbled on a third.
I continued to casually browse. I did not want to let on to my excitement over these finds. I examined the artwork of twisted metal bars and acted like I thought two hundred dollars was too much to pay. In reality, I knew that I could get millions for it. Finally, I brought the three items, along with some other worthless pieces, and started to the reception desk.
Through my peripheral vision, I thought I saw a man moving behind the tables in the far corner of the room. Again, when I turned to look, I did not see anything. There was no possible way someone could be back there. The tables were pushed up against the wall. No one or nothing could fit behind there. I watched for a few minutes but saw nothing but the stationary shadows alongside the display cabinets.
A very polite gentleman, who turned out to be the nice lady’s husband, told me he would pack the items securely and have them ready for me in the morning. As I walked up the stairs to go to my room, I passed another man dressed in business clothes someone would wear forty or fifty years ago. I greeted him with a hello, but he did not respond.
The older man sitting at the desk said in a quizzical tone, “Hello.”
I did not know why he thought I was talking to him, but I was tired and was looking forward to climbing onto that large comfortable mattress. I went on to the second floor, got to my room, and hit the bed hard. Bizarre dreams disturbed my night. I did not sleep well at all. I could not remember what my dreams were about, but there seemed to be an ever-present darkness stalking my slumber. I woke up feeling extremely paranoid and nervous.
My purchases were safely packed in corrugated boxes stuffed with tissue paper waiting for me to pick them up. I asked the man if he would mind helping me carry the more than a dozen boxes to my SUV. He called his son and the two of them lifted up some boxes. The father walked out of the exit first, but then that rude man from last night walked in the door. I almost fell trying to avoid running into the man.
“Watch where you’re going,” I said to him rather snidely.
“I’m sorry,” the boy behind me replied.
I turned to look back, but I saw no one except for the young boy. The man that so rudely pushed his way past me was nowhere to be seen. I thought maybe he went into one of the antique shops as soon as he entered the building. Still, it did not make sense for the lad to respond to me if he saw the man in question.
The two loaded the packages like professionals, taking great care not to break anything. I gave them each a twenty for their help. What I recognized as appreciation was in fact their eagerness to depart with the three extremely valuable items. I always prided myself as being a good judge of character, but these people had me fooled.
After the boy brought my bags down to my vehicle; I packed up, thanked the family, and set off on my way. I adjusted the rear-view mirror so that I could take one last look at the kind family. I saw the father, the mother, and the son all standing there. Just to the right of them was that strange dark man with the old hat. I rubbed my eyes and looked again, and the man was gone.
I am not one to believe in ghost stories, but this guy was really making my skin crawl. I saw him three times, but no one else apparently saw him. Even in this bright daylight, the man appeared to be shrouded in shadow.
I got back onto the main road and started my journey back home. I did not even continue to go on picking antiques. This find would bring me more money than anything I have found to date. These items were going to make me extremely rich.
I reached up to adjust the mirror properly and found myself filled with indescribable terror. The shadowy man was sitting in my back seat. I slammed my foot on the brake pedal as hard as I could. Thank God for anti-lock brakes, or I would have probably gone into a skid on this old, worn highway.
As soon as my vehicle came to a halt, I grabbed my knife from the center panel. With one fluid motion, I flicked the knife open and spun around to put the blade to the man’s throat. When I turned around, no one was there.
Now I was a logical person. I saw the man last night and twice this morning. Those sightings I could probably rationalize away, but there was no way I could explain what just happened. The only possible explanation I could conceive of was my difficulty sleeping last night and the nature of my dreams were making me see things.
I was so happy when I finally reached home late that evening. My driveway was such a welcome sight after driving those southern roads. I thought I saw that man once more during my drive. He was sitting at a bench in front of an old gas station. I knew there was no way he could have gotten that far ahead of me, but I was so sure it was him.
Most of my load I left inside the SUV for the night. The only things I brought in were the three priceless items and one of my old suitcases. I planned to lock the rest of the things in the garage in the morning. For now, the alarm on my vehicle would warn me if anyone tried to steal anything.
I found no rest that night. I felt something drawing me to the packaged objects I left sitting by the doorway. Eventually I could no longer resist this nagging urge. Moving as quietly as I could, I made my way out of the master bedroom and down the wide staircase. I froze when I thought I heard something below. I swore I heard someone walking around on the squeaky floorboards in the dining room.
Of the antiques I personally collected, swords were one of my favorites. Beside me on the wall hung a centuries old katana, what most people call a samurai sword, and I cautiously removed it from its stand. Sliding it from its padded scabbard, I went sword leading, making my way down the stairs. I was very mindful in taking care to avoid the squeaky boards. Before I reached the last step, the sound in the dining room stopped.
At first it seemed nothing was out of place. I could hear nothing, not even someone’s stifled breathing. I turned on the lights and my body almost melted in horror. The three boxes still stood by the door, but all of them were opened. All three of the artifacts were arranged on the dining room table.
The objects were placed in a triangular shape with the face of each pointing to the center. All the obscuring paint on the mislabeled bird was gone to reveal the jasper figurine underneath. Now I could see that the surface of the glider was covered in those ancient hieroglyphs. I also noticed something I somehow missed before. The warped bars of metal comprising the piece depicting the formless god were engraved with long thin rows of the strange hieroglyphs. Without previously looking at them very closely, I thought the thin lines were no more than added decorations.
After checking the door to see if it was secured and a thorough search of the first floor, I turned the lights off in all but the living room and the stairwell. I had an intense sensation that someone was staring at me from behind. I turned to look into the dining room and saw something move in the darkness.
Brandishing my antique sword, I slowly made my way back into the dining room. Approaching the doorway, I reached over and turned on the lights. When the lights came on, they were much dimmer than usual. I thought it might be an electrical problem, and then I noticed a ghastly shadow blocking their glow.
In the far right corner I saw that dark man. That shadow specter that followed me was now standing in my house. I held the sword up like a baseball bat and demanded he tell me who he was.
“I am the one who dwells in-between,” he said with a slight northern accent.
The cryptic response in his raspy voice meant absolutely nothing to me. I stepped forward and brought my sword up as if to swing it and insisted the man tell me who he was.
“Who I used to be matters not. I am he who dwells in-between,” the shadow man repeated.
I warned him not to move and shifted the shiny blade so that I could hold it in one hand. My cell phone was in my bedroom, so I reached over and picked up the receiver for the landline. Instead of hearing a dial tone, the phone produced nothing but static. Buried in the static, I could hear a chorus of voices speaking in a garbled tongue. Absolute terror finally took me. My bones tingled and my skin stung. Bursts of light filled my eyes and my soul cowered down to the very deepest of my being.
When I hung up the phone, I must have taken my eyes off the ghostly man. I looked up, he was right in my face. I swung the sword and hacked a hole in his hip. He did not move at all. I took the sword in both hands, made a two-step backward and ran the blade tip first through his chest.
Right before my eyes, this man who haunted me began to age rapidly, decaying in only seconds. Before his face was too far gone, the rasping voice said, “Thank you. Now it is yours.”
The man’s body instantly crumpled into a pile of white dust on the floor. His aura still stood there, and he gazed at me with his heavenly blue eyes. The shadow man nodded his head as if to show me his appreciation and vanished in a wisp of vapor.
After he was gone, and after I came to my senses, I realized I dropped my valuable sword on the kitchen floor. I knelt down to retrieve it, never taking my eyes off of that awful pile of dust. I must have missed the grip of the sword and I reached again. I could not feel the hilt of the ancient weapon in my hand; I could not even feel the floor. I looked down to see my hand pass through hilt and floor alike.
Ethereal images of things not there before began to appear. Everything real around me became transparent and murky. The only thing that stood out, the only thing that looked real to me were the shadows. It was into these shadows that I felt myself drawn. I was somehow trapped in a space between spaces, a place that was part of no world but touched upon many.
Standing in the ghostly image of my house was an obelisk twenty feet high and eight feet wide at the base. A massive door of gold, silver, and that strange metal I saw in the antique shop stood tall on one side of the structure. Also on this obelisk were the same hieroglyphs I saw on the items I purchased yesterday.
This time I could decipher the writings. Without even knowing what language this was, I was as easily able to read it as I was English. As panic built up inside me, I wanted to turn and run, but where was I going to run. My world was now nothing more than an ethereal specter.
From this time forth, it was my duty to make sure the door to this massive structure stayed closed. The hieroglyphs gave no indication of what was imprisoned inside the mineral obelisk, but I could not let it out. If the being, force or entity trapped within was ever released, it could bring about the destruction of every world with which this ethereal purgatory connected. In order to enable me to do this, I had to take the place of the former guardian and become that terrifying shadow in the corner.
Copyright © 2018
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