Did you miss Part 1 of Superstition? If so, click here to read it.
Sam was attractive in a waspy conservative sort of way. Her hazel eyes were inquisitive, studious, and she wore her brown hair in a fashionable bob cut. She was almost always stealing glances across the shop at Darren on Saturdays and he knew it. He would occasionally find himself sneaking a look at her in return.
Darren had the distinct impression that there was something meant for him in this manuscript and that it would somehow help him to feel whole again. He was hardly a wealthy man but he was so sure of the importance of this purchase he took out a loan against his 401k to buy it. All the incredible details of the book that Fletch had shared with him over a string of successive Saturdays only fueled his desire further.
Fletch lightly placed her hand on Darren’s shoulder and glanced from side-to-side to make sure no one else was within earshot.
“The auctioneer we bought this from said the previous owner acquired it a decade ago a flea market in Paris and found an old letter written on vellum tucked between its pages. The letter told of how the book had a way of finding the person who needed it most and shared stories of how past owners’ lives were magically transformed for the better after acquiring the book...”
Fletch stopped speaking as a few new customers noisily filed through the door. There was a look in her eyes that told him she had more to say.
“Well, we could all use more magic in our lives,” Darren chuckled.
Mr. Wimbley wrapped the book in brown paper and expertly tied it off with twine. Darren eagerly handed him a cashier’s check for ten thousand dollars. Mr. Wimbley removed his white gloves and held the check up and studied it watermark in the light. He then paused, slowly twisting the end of this handlebar mustache.
The pause lasted a bit too long for Darren’s liking and he feared Wimbley was having second thoughts. Wimbley then shot Darren a look of concern, flicked the check with his finger.
“Darren, you’re now among the ranks of a precious few. You have the privilege of being the caretaker of something very special.”
“Sir, I’m very grateful,“ Darren said, exhaling deeply.
As soon as the shop door closed behind him Darren cradled the book against chest. He decided he wouldn’t risk unwrapping it until he was home but could swear that he felt the power radiating from it.
The train ride home was a blur all he could think about was being alone with his treasure. He unlocked the door of his apartment, carefully cut the twine with his Swiss army knife, and slowly peeled back the brown paper. The cover was an emerald green leather and was in remarkably good condition for its age, only slightly faded.
As Darren opened it to the first page he was in awe at the vibrancy of colors and elegant flourishes of the calligraphy. He started to read and from the first word Darren felt wisdom and vitality pour over him. Immediately he got the distinct impression that, piece by piece, the puzzle of his life was being completed and this book contained all there was for him to learn.
Each morning Darren arose an extra fifteen minutes earlier to allow time to devour another of the book’s passages. He read them repeatedly until they were committed to memory. As the days wore on he began to notice that men treated him with more respect, women began to notice him, and the day’s events seemed to suddenly flow in his favor.
“As the days wore on he began to notice that men treated him with more respect, women began to notice him, and the day’s events seemed to suddenly flow in his favor.”
On Wednesday of the following week Darren’s phone buzzed as he was grocery shopping, he glanced at it and noticed, Wimbley’s Books scrolled across the screen.
“Hello,” Darren said as his heart raced.
“It’s Fletch,” she paused, “I don’t know how to tell you this but I just couldn’t go through with it.”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Darren said as he continued bagging his apples.
“There’s something I need to tell you.” Darren could hear the nervousness in her voice.
“Sure, what is it?”
“I made it all up about the book,” she said, starting to cry.
Darren dropped two granny smith’s and they rolled across the produce aisle, “Made what up? I’m not sure what you mean.”
Fletch continued nervously, “I mean the book is very old and it was likely written by an Irish monk but I made up the part about the magic and the letter, there was definitely no letter."
"I don't understand." Darren responded, feeling short of breath.
"I had good intentions, I really like you. All I wanted was to see you happy and get a chance to get to know you a little better...maybe go out with you or something. Please forgive me.”
Darren looked bewildered as he walked away from his grocery cart and began to pace furiously from side to side.
“You liar! There is magic in it, I feel it already!"
"Darren, listen to me....you still have a two days to get your money back." Fletch whispered, “I suggest you do it.”
"Ha. I get it. You just want it for yourself, don’t you? Well, you'll never see that book, or me, ever again.” he said, calming himself, as he tapped the end call button.
Darren forced a smile, slid his phone into the pocket of his trench coat, and continued shopping as though it was just another day.
~Eric Vance Walton~
The End
(Gif sourced from Giphy.com)
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