The Desk

It was an unassuming, old, wooden desk, tucked in the corner of the garage at the estate sale. Barely visible under the figurines, vases and other items with price tags it held, it had gone unnoticed by dozens of bargain hunters. Somehow, it called to Roger.

As politely as possible in his inexplicable rush, he pushed his way through the small horde of people shuffling their way through the neatly arranged, stacked, piled and otherwise displayed items. Items, Roger sadly mused, that had been rejected by the heirs. Or, perhaps, they were the only remnants of a bloodline that was now severed, waiting to become heirlooms to a new family...

Enough of that! Just check out the desk! Roger silently admonished himself for letting his mind start writing stories about things and people he knew nothing about. It was one of the pitfalls of being an author – everything had a story and it was his job to find and tell it.

Finally reaching the clunky piece, he ran the fingers of one hand down the worn front edge. He imagined a slight tingle as the dust fell away at his touch. The finish was worn through along a section about a foot long. Curious, he leaned over and laid his forearm along the spot. As he'd suspected, someone had spent a lot of time leaning there, facing parallel to the front of the desk. Reaching underneath the edge, he found the bracket on the drawer-less right side that confirmed his suspicions.

Spotting a woman that appeared to be keeping an eye on things, Roger caught her attention with a wave. She made her way to his side with a weary smile and a polite, “Did you have a question about something?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Roger replied, “Is this old desk for sale? I don't see a price, and it looks as if there's another section that should be attached, here.” He indicated the bracket with a tap.

“Oh, yes! It's for sale and there's a narrower section that extends out this way, a credenza, I think it's called?”

“Yes, that's the piece I'm talking about. Is there a chance I could see it?”

“Of course! It was too crowded earlier, but let me have the boys bring it out.” She stepped to the door into the home and talked to someone inside. A few minutes later, two teenage boys came out, making much more work for themselves than necessary, but cheerfully placing the missing section, complete with it own set of drawers, in place. Roger thanked them and they hustled back into the house as the woman he assumed was their mother returned, blowing her disheveled bangs from her eyes.

Before she had a chance to speak, Roger reached for his wallet and simply stated, “I'll take it. How much?”

Caught off guard, the woman admitted, “Um, I haven't really been able to decide on a price. It was my father's desk, where he did all of his writing.” Roger noticed the tears welling up in here eyes, which she had obviously been fighting. “I'm sorry...”

“No need to be. I'm sorry to have upset you. You see, I'm a writer, too, and this is exactly the style of desk I've been looking for. Maybe you should - ”

“No, it's fine. Really,” she said, wiping at the tears that were now flowing freely, “I have to tell you, though,” now choking on the words, “he died at this desk.”

People were staring, some of them glaring at Roger. Spotting a nearby folding chair, Roger quickly slid it over and the woman gratefully seated herself, then quickly grabbed Roger's hand while she composed herself. Roger was both touched and grateful, since the crowd apparently decided he wasn't a monster. He leaned over to cautiously place a hand on her shoulder, to which she responded by throwing her arms around his neck and holding on for a long minute.

Releasing her hold as the onlookers went back to the business of shopping, she introduced herself.

“I'm Nancy.”

“Roger. Very nice to meet you, Nancy.”

“Thank you, Roger, and I apologize again for making a scene.”

Interrupting him before he could speak this time, she looked him straight in the eye and said, “I want you to take this desk.” Speaking over his objection, she continued, “Please. He would want you to have it. I'll have the boys load it up.”

***

The desk had proven to be so much more than a new tool. Roger smiled as he again settled comfortably into his chair, left forearm on the desktop, facing his laptop on the credenza. Five years and six best-sellers later, he was ready to draw inspiration from his writing companion again.

From the first day he'd sat here, stories had simply flowed from him to the keyboard. Beautifully horrible stories. Stories of brutal murder and torture and gore and monsters. The awful tales that had been trapped in his imagination came to life on the pages. And people read them. Couldn't get enough of them.

Today, he was preparing to complete the fourth in a series about a tiny, buxom prostitute with a very large knife. The advance from the publisher had been substantial and Roger was living very comfortably.

But today, something was missing. No – there it was. Not missing, but wrong. As he felt the connection to the desk, Roger felt the energy begin to drain from his body. Panic seized him and he tried desperately to pull away from the desk, but unseen hands had clasped his arm and it was locked to the bare wood. Slowly, the room grew dark and Roger's head sagged to the desk, his consciousness leaving with the light.

***

The sound of laughter slowly pierced the peaceful silence of Roger's mind. Though he tried to fight his way back down to the stillness, the sounds persisted. As his senses slowly returned, the dark remained. He felt the presence of others in the black void. A multitude of others. Others whose lives he knew by heart. He became aware of a soft, warm, obviously well-endowed body pressed against his own, which was somehow nude. Along with that came the sensation of cold, hard steel caressing his manhood.

A male voice some distance away spoke with a matter-of-fact tone, “Welcome, Roger. I'm Andy. Nancy's dad. And we're screwed.”

***

Mary didn't like garage sales. Why she'd had the urge to stop at this one had been a complete mystery, until she spied the old, wooden desk in the corner.

***

This is my entry for Challenge #4 in James' & Oneg's Summer Challenge Extravaganza.

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