Story for a Rainy Day

The notebook didn’t look like it belonged in the bin. The spine was intact, the cover wasn’t peeling, the pages were barely yellowed. At first, Raine thought it was Mr. Mayfaire’s. He was getting up there in years; it wasn’t impossible that he had misplaced it. Picking it up, Raine marveled at the quality. Soft black leather cover with a red silk ribbon bookmark. On the inside cover, in neat handwriting, was a message. “For Morgan and all your wonderful stories. Love, Grandpa.” Raine smiled. They put the notebook in their shopping basket next to an old scarf and a chipped china figurine.

They browsed for a bit longer before walking up to the checkout counter. Mr. Mayfaire, the antique store owner, stood behind the counter, rearranging some jewelry. He noticed Raine and waved.

“Hello there, Raine.” Mr. Mayfaire smiled as Raine set the basket on the counter. He punched in the prices for the scarf and figurine. “How goes the business?”

“It goes,” Raine sighed. “Slowly, but it goes.” They picked up the notebook. “This yours?”

Mr. Mayfaire inspected the notebook and his brow furrowed slightly. “No, not one of mine, I’m afraid.” He glanced up at Raine. “Where’d you find it?”

“In the Buck-A-Book Bin.”

Mr. Mayfaire’s face scrunched up. “Odd. Very odd.”

Raine nodded in agreement. They pulled out their wallet and handed Mr. Mayfaire their card. He rang up the items and bagged them.

“Mr. Mayfaire,” Raine pointed to the notebook. “You forgot that.”

Mr. Mayfaire flashed a smile and winked. “That one’s on me, raindrop.” He put the notebook in the bag and handed it to Raine. “For my favorite customer.”

Raine took it and smiled. Mr. Mayfaire was an old friend of her father’s; they’d have better luck arguing with a brick wall.

“See you next Friday, raindrop.”

“See you then.” Raine walked out, the little bell above the door chimed happily as they left.

Back at their apartment, Raine emptied out the shopping bag on their workbench. Assorted projects in various states of repair littered the workbench. Tools of all types hung on the wall among shelves of paints, threads, and fabrics. Raine paused at the notebook. Opening it, they noticed something odd. On the top of the first page, written in red ink were the words, “Tell me a story, please.”

Raine raised an eyebrow. Picking up a pen, they thought for a moment. They did have a story. An old one their dad used to tell them. Chuckling a little, they started writing, “Once upon a time…”

“…and they lived happily ever after. The end.” Raine set down the pen and stretched. Checking their watch, they were slightly surprised that two hours had passed. A slight stomach growl caused them to stand up and wander into their tiny kitchen. One TV dinner microwaved, and one whiskey and coke poured later, Raine made their way back into the living room.

Just as they were finishing up their dinner, they noticed something. Checking the notebook, they saw another red ink message materialize on the next page.

“Thank you for the story. Who told it to you?”

Raine’s soul left their body with a groan. The pen clattered onto the ground.

“Oh, fuck nope.” They slammed the notebook shut. “Nope nope nope.” They nearly backed into their dining table. “None of that shit.” Collapsing onto the couch, they stared at the notebook. Every fiber in their being was screaming for them to not give in to the same stupid logic every horror movie character did. “Fuck.”

Raine stood up and walked over to the workbench. Taking a breath, they opened the notebook. More red ink had formed another message.

“Sorry for scaring you.”

Raine picked up the pen from the floor. “Can…can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

Raine’s brain was replaying every horror movie scenario that played out from dealing with shit like this. “Who are you?”

The notebook flipped back to the inside cover. The name “Morgan” in the message was underlined.

“Ah, I see.” Raine picked up the notebook. “The hell?” The back cover was significantly heavier than before. Upon closer inspection, Raine could feel something there. A seam on one of the corners had started to peel off. Raine picked up a letter opener and gently removed the back cover. Several hundred dollars in assorted notes tumbled from the opening onto the workbench.

“Whoa.” Raine’s eyes went large. Picking up one of the dollars, they held it up to a light. Legitimate, it seemed. Or a very, very convincing counterfeit. “What the- “

The notebook flipped back to the previous conversation.

“For you. As thanks for the story.”

“All this?” Raine skimmed over the money. “There’s-there’s gotta be, like, a couple thousand bucks here. At least!”

“Yeah. About $20,000, I think.”

“All that? For a single story?” Raine sat in their chair. They sighed. “Ok, what’s the catch?”

“The catch?”

“Yeah. I mean, there’s gotta be a catch to this.” Raine sat forward and looked at the book. “What do you want? Are you gonna suck out my soul the more I write in this notebook? Is some demon gonna pop out and demand a human sacrifice or something?”

There was a pause before another message appeared. “You have a vivid imagination.”

“It’s called I watch too many movies.” Raine idly stacked the money on the table. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Another pause. “All I want are more stories.”

“Huh?”

“Part of my spirit has been embedded into this journal. I can’t really explain it. But all I know is that I’m lonely and I’ve been alone for a while.”

Raine understood that feeling. “Ok, so…Where did you get the money from?”

“I dunno. I just found it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I wanted a way to thank you, and you seemed like you needed the money.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just know.”

Raine slumped back in her chair. “Cryptic as all hell.” They thought for a moment. “Anything else I should know?”

“All I ask is for your company. Just for one year.”

“Only the one?”

“If you like. All I ask is for your company. And your stories.”

“And what do you get out of it?”

“Well, my Grandpa used to tell me stories all the time. I started telling my own after he died. Stories are how I feel close to him.”

Raine thought for a moment. “And after that year is up?”

“You can put me back where you found me. Or give me away to someone else. Or you can keep me around. Your choice.”

“And the money?”

“Once a year. For you. For the stories you tell me.”

Raine’s thinking was interrupted by their watch beeping. “Ah shit!” They sprang up and sprinted up the stairs. “I’m late!” Grabbing a duffel bag by the door, they sprinted back downstairs. Pausing at the door, they turned back towards the notebook. It sat open on the workbench. Raine thought for a moment, then the lightbulb went off.

“Hey there, Raine.” The receptionist cheerily waved as Raine badged in.

“Hey, Janet.” Raine pocketed the notebook in her scrub’s pants. “How’s it looking tonight?”

“Well, Mrs. McAllen still needs to take her meds. You know how she is.” Janet handed Raine a clipboard.

“I think I got an idea for that.” Raine patted a bag at their side. They walked into the room. “Hello, Mrs. McAllen. I got something for you.” They reached into their bag and pulled out a beautiful scarf.

“Oh, raindrop! It’s beautiful!” Mrs. McAllen took the scarf and draped it around her shoulders. “Oh, I had one like this when I was younger! I’d wear it on dates with my husband.” She took Raine’s hands in her withered ones. “You have no idea how much we love what you do for us, raindrop.” She fondly held the scarf to her face.

Raine smiled. “Now, I know you don’t like taking your meds. But they’ll help you feel better.”

Mrs. McAllen smiled. “Alright, alright.” She reluctantly rolled up her sleeve and sat on the edge of the bed. Raine gave her the medicine, while Mrs. McAllen held the scarf for comfort.

“There. That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” Raine pulled out a plastic box and opened it. Mrs. McAllen looked inside. There were a few dozen homemade cookies, still warm, sitting inside. Raine winked and placed a finger over their lips. Mrs. McAllen took a cookie and quickly scarfed it down. “Come on. Let’s go to the game room. It’s storytelling night. You love that.”

Mrs. McAllen smiled at Raine and stood up. With Raine’s help, they made their way into the game room. A few other elders were already sitting around a large wooden table. Raine managed to sneak a cookie to most of the elders before the other night shift nurse walked in with the last elder. Raine walked over to them.

“I got this one, Rachel. You go on and man the front desk.”

Rachel dismissively waved as she turned around and walked away. Raine turned to the old man in the wheelchair.

“Hey, dad.” Raine placed a wooden figurine into his slightly shaking hands. His fingers steadied as they closed around it. “I finally got you the perfect birthday present.” Their eyes lingered on the carved figurine. It depicted a small family, a mother holding a child, with a father holding both in his arms. Raine turned to the other elders gathered around the table.

“Alright everyone! It’s Raymond’s birthday today. So, let’s all wish him a happy birthday and get this storytelling night started.” Raine smiled as she wheeled her father closer to the table as the elders sang a well-meaning happy birthday. “Who’s first?”

Mrs. McAllen eagerly raised her hand. “This one’s from one of my husband’s birthday parties, so it’s perfect…”

Raine pulled up a chair near her father. Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew the notebook and opened it to a fresh page. She smiled as she started transcribing the time Mrs. McAllen’s late husband managed to throw the best birthday the whole neighborhood had ever seen.