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funsway Inner circle old things in new ways - new things in old ways 9982 Posts |
I hope it is not too early for a spooky story with a touch of magic
No Bones About It Anyone who acquires an old house knows of hidden treasures and mysteries. Why did a child cram a doll behind that board? Did they search long for the brooch sequestered in the heating vent? That painting behind the stove – placed or fallen? After a year, Jacob thought that he had found most everything – his remodeling taking him into every attic corner and cobwebbed corner. He had even reopened the ancient kitchen chimney vent, beneath which he planned to place a pot-bellied stove – just for fun. He could imagine the immense wood burning range and oven that once stood there and came to sitting in a rocker of an evening as if the edifice of chrome and iron still dominated there. It was then that he noticed that the cats never walked across the space, carefully defining in a lazy way the dimensions of the stove. At first this cause amusement and he would toss ‘Cuddles’ into the space just to see her leap high and spin about. Then it became a curiosity. Then a vexation. Surely the cats had no ethereal memory of that roaring blaze. The problem had to be something in that space right now! Or below it. Jacob rationalized that he would eventually replace the linoleum anyway, and set to work with knife and scraper. The revealed floor boards were in such good shape he considered sanding and finishing them instead – except … There is the middle of the space once claimed by the stove was a section of cut boards – not a trap door – just a section cut and replaced. Now a sensible person would have left the mystery alone and just worried about the floor; but there was this cat thing, after all. So, with regret that he would destroy that section of clear cut spruce, he gouged and pried up those old planks just to see what was hidden there. He instantly recognized the tarnished urn for what it was – still sealed with wax and all. He shook it just to make sure it didn’t hold coins or jewels and weighed it too. It seemed about right for the ashes of a smallish man or woman – he wasn’t about to look inside for sure. Satisfied, he considered the options. No reason to contact the police as it seemed the workings of a legitimate crematorium – Smythe and Son’s was engraved on the bottom. He could put it back under the floor and suffer feline indignation - no. So he set it upon the mantle in the parlor, and found the cats would not enter that room at all! “Guess I’ll bury it,” he mused. “But where?” It should be no surprise that everywhere he tried led to disaster. The nearby plants withered and died. Birds no longer chirped in the overhanging branches. Even the poison ivy shriveled – well it was good for something. Toss it in the garbage? – didn’t seem right and proper. Inspiration! He carved a deep hole under the concrete driveway and pushed it in with a hoe handle. Trouble was his car sputtered and died every time he backed out – sigh. “Well, I will just have to live with it,” he pondered. So Jacob tried various places in the house and discovered a small shelf high up over the basement steps – just behind the chimney. The cats took no notice, but the step vibrations threatened to walk the urn off the shelf. “A few screws and some wire will fix that!” A few boards were laid out to make a platform to hold the step ladder and he set to the task. The mystery may not be solved but the pesky thing would be out of mind forever. We all know better! A board cracked, he teetered, grabbed and failed. The whole Rube Goldberg affair came tumbling down – ladder, urn, Jacob and tools. He was a little overweight, but didn’t bounce well on the wooden steps, and the concrete floor at the bottom did not help at all. The injuries may not have been fatal save that the lid came off the urn and dumped ashes over his face pinned beneath the collapsed ladder. His mouth and throat was filled with cloying, fetid dust. He cried out – only to make it worse. He knew he was going to die and slowly gathered his memories. The last thing he saw so vividly was the spinning lid coming to rest before his eyes. There was an inscription inside – the name of the deceased and a date. He screamed, of course, but only inside and forever. for the date was that very day, and the name …
"the more one pretends at magic, the more awe and wonder will be found in real life." Arnold Furst
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Bill Ligon Inner circle A sure sign of a misspent youth: 6437 Posts |
Interesting conclusion, Funsway!
Author of THE HOLY ART: Bizarre Magick From Naljorpa's Cave. NOW IN HARDCOVER! VIEW: <BR>www.lulu.com/content/1399405 ORDER: http://stores.lulu.com/naljorpa
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Irfaan Kahan Veteran user 346 Posts |
Pardon my intrusion, but if an urn I found were to cause those effects; I'd high tail it out of there screaming like a little girl.
I'm a Magician playing the part of an Actor
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Gilgamesh_The_Librarian Elite user 408 Posts |
Darn, don't you just hate it when that happens !!!
Good story...thanks |
KOTAH Inner circle 2289 Posts |
Very good and entertaing story Funsway. I thoroughly enjoyed its dark playfullness. Interesting premise for a routine as well. Jars made to resemble urns, a living and dead test. the chosen jars lid removed; athe dead name or that of the spectaror revealed. N.W. or orher device might provide a method. good food for thought.
Kotah |
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