Stairway to Discovery

(I didn’t have a chance to work on the prompt but here is my entry to Florida Weekly)

I found myself standing at the foot of a staircase that piqued my curiosity. A sign on each riser proclaimed where the contents of the room above had originated: Barns, Estates, Cellars, and Attics. Best of all, everything is “half off.” Half off what exactly is a mystery. By striding to the top of the stairs, would I be entering a treasure trove of unique antiquities or a room full of other people’s castoffs? Only one way to find out—I climbed.

At first glance, the room resembled an attic in a Victorian-style house. Propped against the walls were old paintings, various sizes of mirrors, empty picture frames, and wall clocks ranging from mechanical wind-up drive to battery-powered. Rows of furniture, mostly bedroom chest of drawers, nightstands, and dining room tables with matching chairs, occupied the floor space. It was a typical junk shop.

I meandered up and down the rows of items with nothing sparking my interest until I reached the last row. Locked in a glass display case was a pocket watch identical to the one I had in my pocket. My watch is a family heirloom passed down to the eldest son of each generation since 1750. According to family lore, this watch was a custom made, one of a kind piece, given as a gift to my ancestor for saving a nobleman’s life. The duplicate watch was even engraved with the initials, PG, identical to mine.

Searching for an answer to this riddle, I roamed the store looking for the proprietor. At the rear of the first floor was a small room with the door partially ajar. A man and woman were involved in a heated discussion about the value of a particular item she had sold to him.

“It’s worth three times what you’re paying me. I need more than this or I want the watch back,” demanded the lady.

“You know the rules. You get half the black-market price.  All deals are final. I don’t care how you came by the item or what your financial issues are. Either you take the money, or you don’t, but you need to leave—now!”

A muffled bang, similar to a large book dropped on a desk, came from the room. The woman pulled open the door and brushed past me as if I wasn’t even there. I looked into the office and saw the man slumped in his chair, with an expanding red patch in the middle of his chest. The female voice I had heard in the room sounded familiar.  Seeing her rush by me confirmed my suspicions. It was Elenore, my ex-girlfriend. I ran through the shop and back up the stairs because I knew where she was heading—to reclaim my watch.

The thought hit me like a locomotive. If Elenore was going to retrieve my watch, then what was I carrying in my pocket? I took the timepiece from my pants pocket and stood still, examining it thoroughly. Once again, Elenore came towards me, watch in hand, and ran not around me but through me. She stopped for a second and shivered as if being hit by a blast of cold air before continuing.

Baffled by what had just occurred, I searched for an explanation and found it in front of a full-length mirror. Instead of my reflection, I was able to make out a hazy transparent blur of a figure. I was dead, killed by Elenore while I slept. She had planned my demise the day I had shown her my watch and told her of its value.

What Elenore didn’t know was the reason why the watch had stayed in my family all these years.  The nobleman who bequeathed the watch to my ancestor was very adept in the black arts. He placed a spell on the timepiece, binding it to my family. I was the last one to possess it, so I am tied to the watch until it finds its way back to a family member. Tonight, Elenore will discover how the return process works.