The New Owner

Turner surveyed the shop - his very own shop, now - with complete satisfaction.

It was hard getting a foothold in this tiny little town. Everyone knew everyone, everyone was related to everyone, and some days it seemed like unless you married into one of the old families and settled down within the town's defined borders, you were still an outsider, no matter how many generations had lived there.

But the old families were getting fewer and fewer as they married into each other. The Smith family? More like the Smith-Harper-Jones-Shoemaker-Diller-Miller clan now, and the Tanner-Folk-Carson-Clancy-Adams-Delancy mob, and the- Ugh, best not to think too hard about it all, he was getting that headache again. And with all the family bickering and politics, it was hard to run a store anywhere near here without Our Nancy saying something about Their Clara and it would all explode. Some days, it seemed like all the town needed was a Hatfield, and a McCoy, and the place would explode like a tinderbox.

The previous owner didn't put up too much of a haggling fight. He'd been even newer blood than Turner's small family, and probably couldn't take it anymore. He certainly packed up and hightailed it out of town fast enough! Turner had double-checked the books to make sure there wasn't any funny business going on, to make him run so fast.

Everything looked legit. He hoped.

Well, time to tidy up, take inventory, see what's in those dark corners where time and dust have been standing still for decades....

It took him only three days to find the locked cabinet. Behind a wall of heavy stock, like cans of tinned sardines from the last century. These could have been sold to museums! What on earth was so valuable that it was locked up? When was the last time these boxes were even moved?

It took him another two weeks to find the right key. In the meantime, the curiosity almost ate him alive. He strenuously contemplated taking the hinges off in desperation, but the cabinet itself looked like a hideously expensive antique, and he could hear a certain set of twins from that antique show screaming in his head about making permanent "adjustments" to something like that before an appraisal was complete.

Whatever. Maybe he finally found the skeletons in a real closet...

(Finding the plaster skull a bit later did make him scream like he was five again, but the card from a local apothecary's shop and the fact it was mounted on a wooden base made his heart beat at a slower rate. Eventually.)

Some things were very cool - the old real tortoiseshell combs, the ivory hairbrush, some silver candlesticks that were heavy and solid enough to knock someone out cold. (He did check for bloodstains when he thought his wife wasn't looking. She wasn't, she was happily humming as she adjusted a front corner by the window for her hand-sewn handbags and hand-knit scarves.)

Some things....just made no sense. Why keep an old leather-beaten satchel in a locked cabinet? Some old bone dice? A box of bone-handled toothbrushes, with real pig bristles? Lice combs? Why bother keeping this stuff, why not just, well, sell it?

He moved and old dented lard can out of the way - yes, it still had half the lard in it, sooo dangerous it had to be locked up? - and saw an old brown box in the corner.

He pulled it out. No dust in the cabinet, but this thing still looked... Old. Really old. It was wrapped in brown paper, but the cords and seals surrounding the paper made it look ancient. The paper wasn't peeling or brittle, so it must have kept rather well in that back corner. What was it about? The red cords cris-crossed over it, with pewter seals stamped at every intersection. A lot of thought had been put into keeping this package intact.

There was a letter tied to one cord with a matching string. It looked like....he squinted - real parchment?

Scribbled in ink over the envelope was a cryptic warning: Do Nott Open Thys Parcel! Reade Mine Contents Fyrste!

Well, never let it be sayd - er, said - that Turner didn't follow the rules! He read the letter:

"To The Owner: Pleaseth Thou, Do Nott open thys parcel. 'Twas bought and paide in fulle to be delivered, unopened, to a Personage whom shall appeareth on thy door-stoop in the Year of Our Lord Two Thousandd, and Twenty and One. On the thirtye-fyrst daye of the month of Julius, shalt a Stranger appeareth, dressed in Fulsome Greene, and shalt lay rightful claim to said parcel. And thus thou mayest delivereth it to the Right Personage. The Silver Coins within are thy payment for thy Troubles, and Storage, and the Sixpence is Their Rightful Changge."

The envelope was heavy, and did indeed contain six small silver coins. He tilted them out into his hand, watch them shimmer in the light in the back room. He shook his head. He had a Mystery on his hands.

He took the coins to a buddy who owned a pawn shop in the local city. Small city, really, but with enough small mom-and-pop stores to get some discrete answers. He hoped.

Andrew grinned when he came in. "Ah, found the package, did you?"

Turner's jaw dropped. Andrew just chuckled. "Drove the former owner mad, he wanted to open it so bad! But things kept happening - one of those darn cans fell on his foot and laid him up at home for six weeks. Another time he wouldn't talk how he got the dent in his head, muttered something about a candlestick? So that's when he decided the whole blasted place was haunted, and sold it lock, stock, and barrel."

Turner swallowed hard, thinking of the candlestick. And looking for blood. He didn't check the base.

"Anyway, not many know about it. Old Man Cooper's family held the place for as long as anyone can remember, and as far as we know, they've kept the promise. But old Coop only had daughters, and they didn't want the store, so it got sold when Coop finally died. Bisby bought it from them, and he brought the coins in when he found 'em. I'll tell you what I told him: five are solid silver shillings, and one is a solid silver sixpence. Those shillings are worth about three to five hundred each, and the sixpence about a hundred. Originally the shillings were worth the equivalent of four hundred dollars each, so that's an amazingly expensive rent over the centuries. They're in great condition, from towards the end of Elizabeth's reign. Most likely original to the package, when it was shipped or brought over with the family, or whatever. No, no one knows, Bisby asked around real careful-like to avoid suspicion. Probably forgotten in the back room, behind that wall of boxes, for generations. I'm guessing that wall was put there to prevent curiosity from killing the cat. I didn't ask the family, and neither did Bisby, if curiosity has killed a 'cat' or three along the way."

Turner swallowed again. Couldn't add much to this conversation, really, anyway.

"Luckily, you only have a few months to go before someone comes in wearing a lot of green, and you can hand over the package. If you're lucky, ask 'em to stay and open it, then let me know? I'd love to find out, myself. Too bad Bisby ran for it without leaving a forwarding address."

************

It drove Turner mad. And it didn't help knowing it had done the same to others.

He wasn't dumb enough to take the package; he knew "accidents" would prevent it. The one time he'd thought about it and went to the cabinet, some boxes in the corner suddenly broke and spilled some rattly stuff on the floor. So he'd cleaned it up and wised up. And then just stayed out of the room.

But he thought about it all the time. Lots of thinking.

And hatched a plan.

Another city trip, to buy green sweatpants. And a green t-shirt. And a green coat - then thought about July weather, and put the coat back. But bought a green baseball cap. That should do it, he thought.

He told his wife he'd be out of town that day, could she mind the shop? He hadn't told her, for some reason. Luckily she didn't even seem to notice. She loved chatting with everyone who came in, so she was usually the cashier anyway. And local gossip hub. Hard to confide a secret this big to the town's central news carrier.

On the day, he left town. Stopped in a driveway at one of the farms, changed clothing when no one was coming. Drove back in. Marched up the steps, opened the door.

His wife looked at him, all flushed and sweating in anticipation. Didn't seen to notice. "Oh, Honey, you just missed it!"

"What?"

"Some strange man just came in, asked for a package in the back room! I had to unlock the old cabinet, and hunt that old paper-wrapped box out, but he had an old receipt for it, so I read the note - what strange writing! - and gave him the box and the sixpence -"

He didn't hear the rest. He ran outside, panting.

No one was there. No car to run to, no tracks to trace.

He whimpered a bit. There, near the parking lot, were a few shreds of brown paper, some red cording, neatly cut, and one of the seals.

Gone.