Tell Me a Story

Tell Me a Story

The bell hanging from the door of the antique store jangled as it always did every Saturday when Jared walked in. The smell of old furniture, books, and dusty objects filled his nostrils and while it wasn’t a pleasant smell it was a familiar and exciting one. He passed by some old jewelry boxes and china cabinets as he made his way to the counter with the shop owner.

“Afternoon, Dale!” he said enthusiastically. “How was your week?”

Dale looked up from a book he was reading and beamed. “Jared didn’t think you would be coming today.” He stood up from his chair and approached the counter.

Jared looked at some trinkets on the counter, picked one up, and examined it as he responded. “Yeah I got caught up longer than I wanted to binge watching TV.” chuckling at himself.

“I know how that can be. Can’t say I haven’t been there before myself.” Dale said laughing about a memory from just the night before.

“Well, get anything new lately?” he said gently placing a small metal statue back on the counter.

“For once I can actually say yes to that. Just won a bid on a small estate two days ago. I put all the books on the top shelf to save them for you.” Dale said coming around the counter shuffling his way to the book sections of the shop.

“You treat me too well. You didn’t have to do that!” Jared said smiling as he followed him.

“Well, I know how much of a collector you are and I would hate to see a good one go to someone who doesn’t appreciate it as much.” Reaching the books section, Dale grabbed the small step stool behind another shelf. “There you go! Top shelf up there. Can’t miss them. I’m sure you have the books memorized by now, ” Dale said laughing to himself as he headed to help a customer waiting at the counter.

“Thanks Dale, you’re the best, as always.” Jared said as his eyes turned to the first book carefully examining the cover.

There were about fifteen books or so leaning against each other. There were some classics that Jared already had and some that turned out to be old cook books. One he found was a collection of short stories by Nathaniel Hawthorne. After containing his excitement for the find he placed in on the shelf below for his “keep” pile. Immediately after he found a book full of common phrases and sayings which he added to the “keep” pile as well. The rest seemed to be books he already had or weren’t what he was looking for. As he finished looking at the last book that seemed to be an old children’s song book. He placed it back on the shelf and leaned it against the others.

However, the book slid and fell flat on the shelf. Reaching up to fix it he noticed the book was on a slight incline. He picked it up and felt around near it. His hand brushed against something that felt like another book resting flat against the shelf. He gripped the edge of it and pulled it up. It was a little black book. Maybe six inches by nine inches. On the front a small faded compass was embossed into its cover.

Intrigued by the book, Jared opened it hoping to find journal writings or something interesting. All that was inside were blank pages. The book seemed to be in relatively good condition compared to the other ones. The small price tag on it said five dollars. So, he added it to his keep pile and placed the song book back on the top shelf with the others. He descended the step stool with his books and headed to the register.

Dale sat with a thumb in his mouth reading his book intently. He looked up as Jared approached, closed his book, and stood up. “Found anything good?” he asked as he grabbed the books and began typing prices in the register.

“Yeah, I did. There are some good ones. Even found a new writing journal.” Jared said gesturing to the black book.

“I knew you would like that. It’s amazing no one has ever written in it before.” Dale said idly as he flipped through the pages.

“I was thinking the same thing” Jared said as he handed over his card to pay.

After Dale ran his card and gently put his books in a paper bag, he thanked Dale again, and walked out of the store into the windy Fall air. He purposely stepped on leaves on his way back to his car down the street. All the way home he kept thinking of what he could possibly write in the book. It needed to be something significant for such a special book. As he pulled into a parking spot at his apartment he hurried and rushed upstairs, eager to add the books to his bookcase that was filling up fast.

Nearly throwing the door open as he entered the house, he took two large steps across the small living room to the book shelf that covered most of the wall. He placed the Nathaniel Hawthorne and common phrases book side by side admiring that they completed the rest of the middle shelf.

He held the small black book in his hand, flipping it over to look at the back of it. He kicked off his shoes at the from door and walked into his room, abandoning his coat on the bed. He turned on his desk lamb, placed the book on top, pulled out his chair and sat down. He grabbed a pencil from his drawer sharpened it and opened it to the very middle page. It easily stayed open on its own without resistance.

Jared stared at the blank pages trying to decide what would be good enough to write in it. He mindlessly poked his head with the eraser as his eyes went out of focus. He had to write something. He could always erase it, he concluded.

As he started to write the date, something peculiar happened. He couldn’t write anything. The pencil didn’t or wouldn’t make a mark. Puzzled he grabbed a pen out of his desk drawer, and tried to continue the process. Still, nothing happened. He grabbed a permanent marker out of his drawn and tried to scribble anything on there. The page remained blank.

“Why is this not working? No wonder the pages are blank. No one could actually write in this thing!” Frustrated that all his excitement was all for not. Jared shoved it away. He sighed and stared at the book. “What you want to write your own story? Alright, let’s see it! Tell me a story.” The book lay flat and still unamused by Jared’s taunts. “Go on. Tell me.” He said, exasperated.

Immediately after he said that something peculiar happened. Text started to appear on the pages. It was as if a ghost was writing. Jared jumped up and back from his chair nearly tripping and falling on his face. Small indistinguishable whispers filled the room. He couldn’t even get a word out and only felt a tightening in his chest and waves of goose bumps flowing over his body.

The whispers stopped. The writing stopped. And Jared slowly approached the book. It read:

Jared walked to the nearest gas station at 6pm and bought a scratcher

Jared just stared at the words and as he read them felt something take over him. The tightening in his chest returned and he felt the need to go to the gas station. He grabbed his coat stomped his shoes on and was walking to the gas station on the corner before he could even thing about what he was doing.

“One scratcher please.” He said having never bought a single one in his life.

“Just any kind?” the tired, but kind woman behind the counter asked.

“Yes, just any one would be fine.” He said knowing that somehow that was the right answer.

She handed him the scratcher and he handed over the cash for it, walked out of the store, and headed back to his apartment. He entered his room and sat back down at his desk. It felt like a blur. One moment he was watching a book write on its own and next thing he knew he was holding a scratcher. As if the moment before was a vivid daydream.

Still shocked and overcome. He felt the need to see the outcome of his scratcher. He grabbed a stray coin off his desk and rubbed off the coating.

He couldn’t believe his eyes. It couldn’t be real. The first space he scratched off showed that he had won $20,000 dollars. His eyes wide and his heart racing. The whispering returned and finished the sentence with, …and won $20,000 dollars.

Twenty minutes must have passed before Jared spoke. “How…how did you do that?” he asked the book. “H-how did you know?”

What he didn’t expect was an answer, but an answer is what he got.

The whispers returned and the book began writing. There seemed to be a tangible force present in the room.

You told me to tell you a story, and a story is what you will receive. Your story. A story where you are my main character. Are you ready for your story, Jared?

After having won $20,000 dollars those words should have been comforting, but they felt more like a threat. The money seemed now like a false sense of trust, and that it was possibly part of a beginning of something. He stared at the book and immediately felt he should destroy it. Reaching forward to grab it. However, something paralyzed him. The whispers returned, and the threatening presence followed suite. The book began to write.

Jared felt hopeless…and his story was just beginning.