~Luck Devil~

Lucky me…

Out of frustration, I considered giving it a swift kick in its “elegant design”, as I glared at my phone that laid face down on the pavement.  After I had picked it up and my suspicions were confirmed, I had to restrain myself from hurling it into the wall next to me.  No, no! I thought to myself; staring into the cracked screen of my now useless smartphone.

“Everything all right, buddy?”

My heart nearly jumped into my throat, when I heard a raspy voice slur its inquiry from behind me. It was nearly midnight before my phone had fallen onto the concrete walkway; and from what I could remember, I was alone. I spun around and a sloppy looking fellow - from what I gathered by his appearance, homeless - stared back at me. A bottle of Beam in hand and a lopsided grin stretched across his face.

“Um, yeah,” I stuttered for a moment. “I mean, not really… My car broke down outside of town.  I was trying to use my phone’s G.P.S. to find a repair shop, when the stupid thing slipped out of my hand and cracked itself on the curb. Leaving me totally fucked!”

I couldn't help myself; I did not know why I was telling him any of it. I mean, the guy didn’t look the type that was going to help me with his triple-A membership anytime soon. But I was beyond pissed at the luck of it all. I had to vent my frustration. Even if I had to express it to my newfound, odious ’friend’. The first person I ran into since I hiked into town: A place I would have considered deserted, if I had not noticed a few illuminated windows in the surrounding buildings. It seemed like I was in the downtown district of…

Wait! Why couldn’t I remember the name of the place?

I remembered seeing the name on my way into town - I could picture in my mind the lettering flaking away on that decrepit sign posted by the road. But I couldn’t figure exactly what was written on the face of the billboard, in all actuality; which bothered me even further. Leaving me with that nagging feeling, when trying to recall details of a dream.

“Well, you’re shit out of luck, buddy. Everything’s closed!” The stranger wheezed, as he let out a disturbing series of gasps; revealing a series of blackened teeth, that left me cringing.  His way of laughing, I had guessed.  He then took a quick swig of whiskey from his bottle and pointed at the phone in my hand. “But if you need another one of those things, I know a place that’s open.”

I considered his offer, for a moment. Thinking to myself, at the very least I could contact Sean to come pick me up. From where my car had broken down, he should be able to reach me from Reno in an hour or two.

“And where’s that?” I looked him over, suspiciously.

“‘That’,” he smoothed out the lapels of his stained, tanned leisure coat, before slurring out the rest of his sentence “would be The Paw. It’s one of them consignment shops you can find anything at. It’s two blocks down behind ya, then take the way to your left.  It’ll be right when you notice it.”

'Right when I notice it'? What is that supposed to mean?

But before I could ask him, 'Mr. Staincoat', held out his hand.

“Some change for the help?”

“What happened to the change that came with the bottle when you bought it? Not good enough for you?” It may not have been the wisest thing to say, but the guy creeped me out! And anyway, I felt like I could have taken him in a fight; that was if the cirrhosis didn’t take care of the problem first. However, he made no move against me. Instead, the grubby little stranger simply flashed another one of his award-winning smiles - this time around I was compelled to turn away from him. I desperately wanted to avoid catching another glimpse of decaying enamel. 

“Look, thanks for the advice” I continued, eyeing the area he was directing me towards, “but I’ll figure something out.” After I didn’t hear a response from him, I chanced a look; only to find that he was no longer where he had once stood.

H-how? Stealthy little stumblebum, isn’t he?

As unsettling as his disappearing act had been, a bigger issue was at hand: How was I going to resolve my transportation issue?  But, no sooner had my mind began to become plagued with worry, the answer came to me in the form of a small sign posted on a door before me...

Paw Consignments and Necessities

Somehow, I had found myself at the very place I was trying to avoid! For all I knew, old Jimmy-boy back there, could have been trying to pull a hook on me.  Baiting me towards some friend of his lurking in the shadows. But knowing how my luck was going lately, instead of swigging from a bottle of whiskey, his buddy’s hands would be brandishing a blade. 

Get a grip, Darren! You’re here and nobody has ambushed you, yet... Might as well see if someone inside can help me out.

  I reached out to give the door a knock, just as its latch gave way, and slowly opened without a sound.  I hesitated.  The air around me was heavy and lifeless, and yet, it must have been the wind. Even though I couldn’t feel the slightest hint of a breeze, there was no other explanation! Either way, my flesh tingled with goosebumps, as my arm remained outstretched. But, soon thereafter, a voice from inside, beckoned.

“If you would please, at your leisure, come in…”

An unexpected invitation spoken by a timid voice, which allowed me to choke back the unease I had felt in the moment, allowing me to cross the store’s threshold.  The place had a sickeningly sweet, musty smell to it; almost like aged incense, but there was none around from what I could gather. All I noticed were an assortment of trinkets.  Many of them antiques – I would have even gone as far as to call most of them ancient. After scanning the room for a while, my eyes finally settled on whom I had safely assumed was the lady behind the soothing voice, that had invited me in.

She stood, silently, with raven colored hair draped past her shoulders: strands of which shrouded the left side of her face, blending in with the dusky colored corset and skirt she wore.  Her skin, with hardly a blemish and as pale as the blouse tucked under her laced bodice, looked almost translucent; especially with her slender frame set against the darkened ambiance of the dimly lit shop. She had this alluring glow about her; as a zoetrope of light and shadow cast by the wax candles that hung from the chandelier above us, danced across her pallid features.  Beneath a carefully applied shade of ruby lipstick, she smiled, and waited patiently for me to say something.  

“Um, hi… sorry,” I was a little tongue tied, as I continued to study her over for a moment, before I averted my eyes. Any longer and I would have been guilty of ogling. The young lady stepped from the counter she was stationed behind and approached me.

“May I be of some help to you?”

“Um, I’m not sure. Some guy down the block told me I could get a new phone from here. But,” I gestured towards an old phonograph sitting in a corner to the left of us, “I think he may have been mistaken.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that, sir.  The procurement and solicitation of technology and other contemporary items are usually handled by Mr. Devlin: The owner of this establishment.”

“Mr. Devlin, huh? So that would make you, Mrs...?” I prodded even further. 

“That would be 'Miss' Devlin.” Her cheeks flushed a little. “Lucille Devlin. Thomas Devlin is my father.”

“Well, Ms. Devlin… may I call you Lucille?”

“Lucy is fine.”

 I had caught myself leering, again.

Keep it together, you idiot. You got a girl. But a split second later, bitter reality had settled in. Had a girl.

“Are you alright, mister…?”

“Chance. Darren Chance. Sorry, I spaced out a little. But anyway, Lucy, is your father around?” I had taken out my broken phone and showed it to her. “If he does handle this kind of stuff, I really need to speak with him so I can call a ride. I was on my way to Reno to meet a friend of mine, but my car broke down a couple of miles outside of town, and apparently no repair shops are open this late.”

“Oh my,” Lucy responded, as she held out her hand. “May I?” I handed it to her. “Wait a moment, while I take this to my father in back. I won't be long.” After she disappeared through a door behind the counter, I decided to look around the store for a little bit. I figured if her father handled the tech, I wondered if that meant she dealt with the antiques they had on display around the shop?  It seemed strange that the younger of the pair would want to deal with such mundane items - extremely old and obsolete, the entire inventory seemed misplaced in time.  But from the way Lucy had behaved herself, in fashion and demeanor, maybe she saw me as the weird one for not seeing the appeal.

I continued to browse the room for a while, eyeing the various curios around me; but I found myself drawn to an unusual item on display, inside of a glass case tucked away in a secluded corner.  At first glance, it looked like an old piece of beef jerky sitting on top of a tiny wooden platform encased in glass.  But as I got closer to the object, I began feeling queasy, when I had recognized it as a withered, severed hand! To my relief, however, it was not human. The thumb was positioned a little lower than most opposable units, and along with the remaining digits along the edge of its wrinkled palm, it seemed unusually elongated - when I compared them to those on my hand.

What the hell is this thing?

“It's a Monkey’s Paw.”