Shadow of Greed

Kiernan couldn’t say what compelled him to enter the confessional, he just knew he had nowhere else to turn.

“Hello?” he asked, speaking to the strange partition between himself and what he hoped was salvation.

“Yes, my son,” responded the voice behind the partition. “What troubles you?”

There was hesitation in Kiernan’s voice. “I don’t really know where to begin.”

“Why don’t we just begin with the last time you’ve given confession?”

“Well, father, I’ve never done this before. I’ve never really been the religious type. Is- is that bad? Should I leave?”

The priest could hear the desperation in the pleading voice. “Heavens, no,” the priest said in his best reassuring voice. “We are all of us His children, He loves us all equally.”

Kiernan sighed in relief. “Oh, thank you. Thank you. I don’t know where else to go.”

“Calm, child,” the priest said. “Just start at the beginning.”

⁎

It was a chill autumn afternoon when, on a whim, Kiernan entered the bookstore.

Nestled snuggly between a second-rate electronics store and a shuttered cleaners, the unassuming little store went unnoticed by most who walked by. Hardly anyone noticed the sign hanging from the storefront which simply read “USED BOOKS” swaying in the breeze. Even Kiernan, who walked past it every day to and from work, never gave the store a second look. This time, though, it was as if he was lured by a siren’s call.

The store was a mess of dusty stacks of books dimly lit by an assortment of barely functioning lights. Even so, there was a soothing sense of calm within the establishment, like the feeling of coming home.

“Welcome,” said the old woman behind the counter. “Need help finding anything, hon?”

“Just looking,” Kiernan replied.

He set about exploring the cluttered bookstore. He inspected books of fiction, collections of biographies, and stumbled across the odd cookbook or two, but none called out to him. It was not until he reached the far end of the store where he found his siren.

Hidden among the stacks of books, Kiernan spotted a black, leather-bound book. He picked the book from the shelf. Where the books surrounding it were worn and tattered, this small black book was pristine, without a single stain or crease. Flipping through it, he found he held a notebook, half-filled with what appeared to be journal entries. What he found most interesting, however, was the inscription written on the inside cover:

Whosoever inscribes their name upon this logbook

Shall be granted bountiful fortune

Do not be frivolous with this gift

For avarice is ever the folly of humanity

Following the inscription was a list of almost a dozen names. Previous owners, each of their names crossed out. How this strange little notebook found its way here he didn’t know, but some ineffable force drew him to it. He had to have it. He felt as if it was meant for him.

Kiernan rushed to the counter and placed the notebook in front of the old woman tending the shop.

“Find everythi—” the woman abruptly fell silent upon seeing the black notebook before her. “Where did you find this?” she finally said.

Kiernan pointed toward the back of the store. “It was on the shelf back there.”

“No, this isn’t for sale. I’m sorry.”

Before he could question her as to why, the store’s phone rang.

He moved without thinking, drawn to action by the book itself. He had to have it, no matter what. When the woman looked toward the ringing phone, Kiernan swiped the notebook and ran. By the time she realized what had happened, Kiernan was out the door and lost among the crowd of faceless people outside.

He clutched the notebook to his breast as he rushed home to his apartment, moving with care through the mass of people as to not allow them even to lay eyes on it. It was his, after all. Why should they get to look at it? It called to him, not them. He was spellbound by this innocuous little book—by the supple feel of its leather binding and the delicate touch of its pages—but he couldn’t exactly say why.

He arrived home and frantically locked the door, panting as if he had just run a marathon. He paced around a few moments before settling down on his couch—held together by duct tape as much as its own frame.

He placed the notebook on his lap and flipped it open. He poured through the pages, reading the entries left behind by its previous owners. This mysterious little notebook had exchanged hands many times over its lifespan, found owners in all sorts of people, but what each of them had in common was that their lives suddenly changed for the better the moment they signed their names into the book.

One owner described marrying the woman of his dreams. He had always been too afraid to even talk to her, yet when he signed his name into the book, she had appeared at his doorstep to confess her love for him. Another owner described finally landing her dream job after being unemployed almost to the point of homelessness. Sure enough, as soon as she signed her name, she received a call from a headhunter offering her a job.

Kiernan flipped back to the first page, stared intently at the list of crossed out names on the inside cover. His mind swirled with questions. Should I sign my name? Why shouldn’t I? It chose me, didn’t it? But- is that even possible? How could a notebook choose someone? Am I going nuts? Where’s my pen? What will I receive? Money? Fame? True love? Where’s that damn pen?

He lifted himself off the couch and searched his meager apartment, finding a pen in a kitchen drawer. Shaking with excitement, he signed his name.

The phone rang.

His breath caught in his throat. Time seemed to come to a standstill. After what felt like an eternity, the phone rang again. Ring ring. Ring ring.

Kiernan swallowed, picked up the phone, and placed it to his ear.

“Hello,” said the woman on the other end. “I’m looking for Kiernan Mallory.”

“Speaking,” he responded.

“Mister Mallory, my name is Cecilia Mountebank, I’m a lawyer representing the estate of your great-aunt Desdemona.”

Kiernan didn’t remember having a great-aunt Desdemona. In fact, he was sure he never heard the name in his life.

“I regret to inform you that your aunt has sadly passed.”

“Oh, I- I see.”

The confusion in Kiernan’s voice was not lost on Mountebank. “I realize this is all rather sudden but she’s bequeathed a portion of her fortune to you. A modest sum of twenty thousand dollars.”

“Twenty thousand?” He had to repeat it to know it was real. He looked at the notebook sitting on the kitchen table, his heart pounding. The phone rang the moment he completed his signature. Was it coincidence, or did this book really contain some unknown power? Twenty grand from a distant relative he had never known about sure pointed to the latter, but he had to know for sure. “Are you sure this money is meant for me?”

Cecilia Mountebank explained that while it took some digging to confirm a familial connection, the money was indeed his as this long-lost aunt had left a place for him in her will.

The next morning, Kiernan left Mounteback’s office with twenty thousand dollars in his pocket and a spring in his step. He thought of all the ways he could spend his newfound wealth. Paying off his student loans, finally getting a new couch, or even a car. God knew he needed one.

He stopped in front of a convenience store and an idea struck him.

He went inside and bought himself a lottery scratch-off ticket. He reasoned that if the good fortune the notebook bestowed was real, surely he’d have a winning ticket. He scratched furiously at the ticket with a coin the cashier let him borrow. He gasped when he saw he had just won another twenty thousand dollars. With hungry eyes, Kiernan looked over the selection of lottery tickets behind the cashier. So much money to be won, he thought. And now I have a foolproof way of winning it.

With the money he received from his great-aunt Desdemona, Kiernan purchased an irresponsible amount of lottery tickets. But it didn’t matter to him, he knew he’d win them all.

“Give me the notebook,” said the cashier suddenly.

“What?” Kiernan couldn’t believe his ears. How could this cashier know about the book?

The cashier lunged over the counter, grabbed him by the collar. “Give it to me!” he shouted. It was like he had suddenly become possessed by some wicked rapacity.

Kiernan broke free from the cashier’s grasp and bolted out the door but he soon found he hadn’t escaped his predicament. The people around him immediately stopped what they were doing and pierced him with loathsome glares. One by one, they began demanding the notebook, just as the cashier had. They then began clawing at him. They tugged at his shirt, pulled his hair, and dug their fingernails into his arm as they grabbed him.

With a strained roar, Kiernan pushed through the mass of people and ran. Everywhere he went, however, he was met with the same evil glares, the same desperate hands vying to take the notebook for themselves. It suddenly dawned on him that someone may even try to kill him for the book.

There was no escape.

⁎

“I just kept running,” Kiernan told the priest. “Everywhere I go, people keep attacking me. I don’t know what to do, Father. Please, can you help me?”

There was no answer from the partition.

“Father?”

The confessional’s curtain was suddenly flung to the side, revealing the priest swathed in a blanket of rage.

“Give me that damned book,” the priest growled through clenched teeth. “You don’t deserve it!”

The priest grabbed hold of the notebook, but Kiernan was not about to let go of his future. It was his! The money he attained with this magical book, and the money he could yet attain, was his alone.

The priest was deceptively strong, pulling Kiernan out of the confessional with ease. They each tugged at the book, battling for ownership of it. The scuffle sent a fright to the scant congregants in the church’s nave.

Kiernan pushed the priest hard and shouted, “It’s mine!”

One of the congregants yelped. The priest fell, hit his head on the corner of a nearby pew. The sickening crunch of the priest’s head colliding with the pew sent a wave of shock over Kiernan, and he let the notebook fall. With mouth agape and fingers trembling, Kiernan watched helplessly as blood poured into a pool under the motionless priest. The congregants who had witnessed the event were now in a mad frenzy, loudly pleading to God to save them from this wickedness.

The wailing congregants fell silent to Kiernan’s ears as he looked down at the notebook at his feet. Its cover had fallen open, allowing him to see the inscription written within. He had given no thought to the warning it gave, only its prize—that is, until now.

His eyes scanned the list of previous owners and found that his own name had already been crossed out.

A police officer who happened to be walking by, heard the shrieks from the church and sprung into action. The officer burst into the church with gun drawn.

The sudden commotion sent the congregants into a frenzy and they rushed the door, desperate to escape. One of the fleeing congregants was knocked into the officer, in turn pushing the officer against the open door and causing the gun to discharge.

The final thing Kiernan heard was the gunshot echoing across the church’s chamber.