The Mystery Man

This was no ordinary black book. No siree, this little beauty was adorned with rivets of gold and grape-coloured jewels. Gingerly, the twelve-year-old Charlie scooped up the treasure from its gift box, slowly caressing its cover then flipping it over to feel and inspect more of its soft, smooth and leathery dark surface.

The letter “J” was embossed on the front panel and accentuated in gold ink. The twelve-year-old was curious about who the book belonged to and the contents it held. Each delicate page was framed in golden flecks like the edges of a biblical text. The paper had yellowed slightly and had become somewhat brittle. Charlie’s young mind couldn’t stop wondering what secrets were held between the covers.

Several pages had been repaired with tape as though the book had been rescued from being ripped in half. The adhesvie on the cellophane had turned into a brownish goo, yet still did the job of holding all the pieces together.

His back propped against a maple tree and sitting with his legs stretched out in front of him, Charlie stared at the front page in amazement. In bold, black, Times New Roman capital lettering read, “THIS JOURNAL BELONGS TO...”. “Jack Jones” was neatly hand -written in cursive using blue-black ink. It was dated 1945, over 75 years ago.

Charlie loved his grandfather Jack, and had heard all about his wild adventures from his single mother Gabriella, Gabby for short. Gabby had been raised in the house across the meadow, the place Charlie could barely see from his seat under the maple, and would soon call home. Grandpa Jack grew up on the same homestead. Gabby's parents Jack and Annabelle had met during the second World War in England and married shortly afterward in a shot-gun wedding. Her mom died during child-birth and she was raised by her paternal grandparents while her father drowned his sorrows in the gut rot. He died last month. Left the house to Gabby. Charlie and her are clearing out the place before they move in.

In a dark, tiny cob-webbed corner of the cement storm cellar was a shelf of preservatives. Carefully labelled and dated peaches, pears, pickles, relishes, jams and beats were still sitting untouched from decades ago. A flicker of shiny, golden light caught Charlie’s eye behind the jars while he was exploring the dank pit. He reached up and felt a small box, hidden behind the last jar on the shelf, next to the wall. Inside, wrapped in tissue was some kind of little black book but it was too dark to observe any details.

Charlie popped the book and its box into the waist band of his jeans as he exited the cellar up a rickety, old staircase, through a wooden planked, iron- latched door out into the open air of the yard. He ran through the tall grass and wildflowers over to the Maple tree and plunked himself down under it in the shade, after removing the box from his pants.

The object of his curiosity lay before him. Like the small, shiny jewels encrusted on the journal’s cover, Charlie’s eyes sparkled and glinted with delight as he flipped through the pages and recognized his grandfather’s penmanship. How exciting to read Jack’s words. In a comforting way, Charlie felt like his grandpa was sitting there with him, beneath the huge Maple.

These notes captured the horrific details and action of Jack’s last weeks at war. With fascination, Charlie skimmed the pages, promising himself to read the full details later.

Something changed as Charlie reached the book’s mid-section. It was thicker, padded with extra paper that was folded in half multiple times. “Hmmmm”, Charlie murmured to himself. “I wonder what this is” he mused. Slowly and methodically he carefully unfolded the mysterious centre-piece, one delicate corner at a time. He realized this portion was not originally part of the book but had been placed inside its middle, hidden from the world.

It was a map. Charlie became excited when he realized, the map was a representation of the property he was on. It was barely legible; the thing was so ancient. The ink lines had faded, and he could hardly make out the shapes, squiggles and curves that meandered their way to its centre. He could see that a giant “X” originating in the bullseye zone had mostly melted away and only the barest outline remained. Above the “X”, Charlie’s eye -now adjusted to the daylight-recognized the outline of a baby Maple tree. He wondered what the story was with this map, what it meant and why it was concealed in his grandfather’s little black book. He scanned the rest of the land chart and discovered the tiny seedling was the very same giant Maple tree he was now sprawled out under.

“Why the heck would Grandpa Jack make a map pointing to the Maple tree?” Charlie wondered. “And what did the “X” mean printed underneath it? Was it some kind of clue”? “There’s only one way to find out” Charlie decided, on his way to the garden shed. He grabbed a spade, shovel and gardening trowel. Then made his way back to the tree. He figured digging a hole where the map indicated the “X” might reveal an answer.

The ground was dense, but Charlie persevered. After an hour of purposeful digging, the spade struck a hard object. The boy knelt, then stretched out on his belly, bent over the hole and reached as far down as his arm could go. But, no luck. It was too short to reach the hard thing. He got back to work digging around the spot he had started, widening the gap. Now, there was room for him to climb down. On his knees, he used the trowel to sift through the dirt beyond the unbreakable surface he had struck. Eventually, the outline of a metal box began to take shape. It was a 2ft cube with a lock attached weighing about 10 pounds.

Charlie broke the lock off by bashing it with a rock several times until it became loose, then jostled it around some more until it gave way. He held his breath as the squeaky hinge allowed him to open the old chrome chest. Inside were a bunch of papers. So disappointing! The young lad was hoping to find a treasure trove of gold and silver, diamonds and pearls, rubies and jade just like in the movies. Nonetheless, he unearthed the bin and carried it into the house to show his mom.

Gabby was flabbergasted! She discovered a false bottom in the chest where 200 one-hundred-dollar bills were camouflaged by the worthless papers on top. She laughed with delight, “Daddy never did trust the banks. Where did you find this?” Charlie told his mom the whole story and showed her the little black book he had found. “Incredible”, she said. “My dad, the Mystery Man”.