The Balance is Too Heavy

When will these people quit? Terry thought.

The demolition continued as scheduled. The new housing project was going to be built over the remains of several grand old Victorian homes. Picketers still walked around carrying signs that read “Save Our History” and “Restore Not Bulldoze Old Homes” while Barry and the rest of his crew worked to pull out any salvageable items. After they finish, the heavy machines will move in and level everything.

Terry was working in the largest of the old homes, the “Willoughby Manor”, named after the original family. It was a rundown mess now. Walls were covered in graffiti, empty beer bottles, and used needles littered the floors. It had a reputation of being haunted; the original family was savagely murdered, save the husband. There was little of value in here, but his job was to look find anything to save. He was in the master bathroom now. The sinks and old toilet were garbage, but the cast iron clawfoot bathtub in the corner had value. He struggled to loosen the pipes that held it in place. He would never be able to remove it alone. Not only did it weigh about 400 pounds, but the bathroom was also on the second floor. He would need to ask the crane operator for help.

With a sudden crack, the pipe fittings let loose and several porcelain tiles crashed to the floor. Behind the tiles, he could see a package wrapped in canvas. He reached in and pulled it out. As he began to unwrap it, a piece of paper fluttered to the floor. He picked it up and read a handwritten message.

“I tried to destroy this. It wouldn’t burn. The best I could do is hide it. Do not open it. Keep it hidden. The balance is too heavy. G.A.W.”

The balance is too heavy? he thought. This is weird. Suddenly, the noon-whistle startled him. He stuffed it in his jacket pocket and went to eat.

That evening, he returned home and as he removed his work clothes, he remembered the package. He pulled it out and looked at the note. Someone must have thought this was a funny joke, and it had hidden it as a prank. He finished unwrapping it and saw a small black notebook, with the Chinese Yin-Yang symbol embossed on the cover in silver and gold.

This may have some value after all, he thought and opened the front cover. He immediately saw a flash of intense light come from the book, and for a moment, he saw nothing but bright flashing lights in front of his eyes. As his vision returned to normal, he saw a list of names carefully written in ornate calligraphy. These must have been previous owners of the book, and then read quietly, “Ezra Stuart Black. William Peter Johnson. Samuel Elias Golding. George Allen Willoughby.”

He paused, mouth gaping open as he hoarsely voiced the final name on the list: “Timothy Terrence Higgins.”

How did my name get in this book? He turned the page to find a clue as to who hid this book. Am I being punked? On the found the same yin-yang symbol as on the cover and these words below it:

“Your choice is to give or receive. With every choice, there will be a balance within 24 hours. You can only turn one page at a time. If you leaf through all, you will see nothing. You start at the beginning and make your way to the end. After each balance, tear out the old page if you want to continue.”

Without thinking about it, he riffled through the pages of the slim book. Everything was blank, but he saw that there were pages removed, torn remnants still in the binding. He closed the book and stared at it. This is ridiculous. He opened the book and turned to the page after the list of names. Where there had been nothing, now he saw “$1.00”. Okay. This is getting Twilight Zone odd. He closed the book, ate some dinner, and watched some Netflix before going to bed. He needed to be back at the job site early.

At the end of the next day, he picked up his mail. He sat down and looked at the pile. A past-due bill, junk mail, a bill marked “Final Notice” in a red so bright that it screamed off the paper. And another piece of junk mail, with Nielsen Rating as the return address. Depressed by the others, but curious here, it opened it hurriedly, and in the process, gave himself a messy paper cut. He pulled out a letter.

“To the occupant: You have been chosen for a local survey. Your participation is optional, but in anticipation of your assistance, you will find a token payment.”

A crisp, new one-dollar bill fluttered to the floor.

The book?

He opened to the second page, and instead of seeing “$1.00”, he saw that a line had been written through it. Without thinking, he turned the page, and it was still blank. Then he remembered and he tore out the $1.00 page, only to find “$20.00”. I don’t know how they are doing it, but this is a great practical joke. He ate his supper, thought about how he would pay these bills, drank a few too many beers, and fell asleep on the sofa.

He woke up to a message on his voicemail. “Work is canceled for today. The protestors have us tied up in court. Check back tomorrow.” Great. A day without pay.

He went for a walk to see if he could find any day labor, but without any success. As he returned home, he saw that someone had tucked a note into the windscreen of his old motorcycle. He opened it and read, “You weren’t at work, so I thought I’d leave this here.” And with that note was a $20 bill. The note was unsigned. The twenty did not cover what he lost by not working, but it was better than nothing.

When he walked up to his flat, he saw the book on the coffee table in front of the television. That’s not where I left it lasts night. He opened it and saw “$20” was crossed off. He tore the page away and saw “$5”. And he had an idea.

He ordered a sandwich for delivery. When the Uber Eats driver arrived, the bill was $15. With only a little worry, he gave the driver the $20 and told him to keep the change. I hope I’m right. That was the last of my cash.

As he finished the sandwich, the phone rang. He let it go to voice mail. It was the job foreman. “Terry, I’ve got news. Sort of the good news-bad news. Give me a call ASAP.”

He dialed his boss. “Terry, I have a lot of calls to make, so I’ll be brief. I know you were at home today without pay. And the court has put everything on hold, so we are shut down. That’s the bad news. The good news is I have a new job. It is a complete restoration of an old monastery. The new owners want you to be foreman. It pays double what you were making. It’s a huge job. This will take years to do it the right way. The offer has a five-year contract, renewable at the end, with a starting bonus of $10,000. Interested?”

Terry stared at the phone. That’s the “balance” for $5? He immediately agreed to the new job. Without really thinking, he tore the page from the book and wrote the address on it. Then he saw the new page. “$500.”

He grinned. This book was really paying off for him. He went to a local pawn shop and asked what he could get for his old bike. After a quick dicker, he left with $600, and instead of a check, asked for twenty-five $20 bills. He walked a few blocks to where a homeless shelter stood. The line to get in was forming, and he quickly walked from person to person, giving each a bill. When he got home, he had none left.

Sitting at his small kitchen table, he wrote out checks to pay his overdue bills. That night, he was able to sleep without the half-dozen beers.

When he awoke, he looked at the book, but the figure was not crossed off. The balance must still waiting.

He walked to the bus stop and rode to the new job site. Just as described, it was five stories of Gothic style. This was going to be my life’s work. He spent the day walking the grounds and every floor from the attic to the sub-basement. He took detailed notes. In each room, he used a penknife to scrape away the paint to determine the original color schemes. From the leaded glass windows that were gilded with gold to the burnished bronze doorknobs, every room was filled with new possibilities. He talked with the owner’s representative and they agreed to meet at 7 am, to sign the contracts and deliver the bonus.

He got off the bus a block from his apartment and saw the man sitting on the stoop. He was dressed fussily, with a suit and tie that did not fit this neighborhood. That doesn’t look good. But maybe it is the balance. Excited and nervous, he approached the man.

“Terrence Higgins?”

“People call me Terry.”

“Very well, Terry. I represent a company that owns your previous apartment building.” That dump? This place isn’t pretty, but that old place was rat-filled and had a weird smell that never went away. “Let me be frank. The owners are being sued in class action, for health violations. We are reaching out to previous tenants and asking them to not join the suit. In exchange, we are prepared to give you this check,” he reached into his briefcase, “if you sign a waiver of all claims.” It was a check for $20,000.

Terry reached out for the check and held it up to the light. There’s the watermark, and that’s a legitimate bank. He knew that if they were offering that initially, they would be willing to pay more. This was just their opening offer.

Terry handed it back. “Come back with a real offer and I’ll consider it.” He hurried up to his apartment, leaving the attorney standing in front of the building. When he opened the book, the $500 was crossed off. So, that lawsuit payoff was the balance. He thumbed the corner and paused. Before he tore it off, he peeked at the next page. There were only two pages left in the notebook, and they remained blank. After a momentary hesitation, he tore the page. Afraid to look, he finally opened his eyes and saw: “$10,000.” He immediately looked to see if the attorney was still there. Shit! I need that check to cover this balance. The attorney was gone.

That night he drank too much, and as he was leaving to stop at the package store, he fell down a flight of stairs, badly twisting his ankle. He managed to crawl back to his room. The $10,000 was not crossed off.

He woke with a drumbeat headache, the light spiking into his eyes. First, he noticed that it was 11 am. Then the voicemail message on his phone was flashing. “The first day on the job, and you don’t show? Don’t bother. We’ve replaced you!”

He glanced at the book, and as he watched, a line slowly crossed out the figure.

He hobbled to the book. He thumbed the corner. There was a single page remaining. Do I dare risk it?

His hands moved without conscious effort. The sound paper being slowly torn filled the room. He stared at the number, closed his eyes, and sank to the floor, sobbing.

He whispered, “One million dollars.”