Maybe

I always loved going to thrift stores, auctions and estate sales. Rummaging through other people's old and discarded belongings fascinated me. I'm not sure why, but it did. Every now and then I would stumble upon something worth taking home and calling my own. That was the fun part. Maybe that's why it fascinated me. Maybe.

I haven't been to an auction in a really long time. My keepers won't let me go out anywhere. Money. Making money. That was the other fun part. Finding something valuable that everyone else overlooked was like winning at a slot machine in Vegas. Not quite that exciting, but close. The thrill of the hunt added to the excitement. Maybe that's why it fascinated me. Maybe.

I once bought two Murano glass bubble ashtrays at an old country auction for ten dollars. I sold the pair to an antique dealer in Aspen, Colorado for one hundred and fifty dollars. At the same auction, on a different day, I needed a box to pack up some items I bought. I went to the dumpster outside to search for one. I found one full of papers. I began throwing the papers back into the dumpster and when I reached the bottom of the box, there was a tiny box. I opened it and, to my delighted and creeped out surprise, there was gold in the box. The creeped out part came with seeing a gold tooth. The real human tooth was still attached. Major YUK, but okay. The jeweler said the gold was worth approximately one hundred twenty five dollars. The jeweler also made up a new policy on the spot. They would accept the gold but they would not remove the tooth. I had to do that myself. I did.

I never made a lot of money with my finds. I didn't need to. I had a job. A mundane job. A 'do the same thing every friggin day' job. I worked in a factory making car parts. It paid well. I hated it. I felt confined.

Most of the things I brought home from my hunt were just practical, useful things that I bought at a bargain price. Some were nice things I chose to keep, like a few glass paperweights signed by the artists. Those things were as good as money to me. Most of the memories of my hunts have faded, but a few like the ones I mentioned, have remained. Those, and one more. One I’m not allowed to forget. The book. The little black book.

People don't believe me when I tell this story. I understand. I don't really blame them. I'm writing this story because I know I won't be here much longer. I need for people to believe me. You, the one reading this, you probably won't believe me either. Unless I'm gone and no one knows how or why I'm gone. Maybe then you'll believe. Maybe.

I was at an estate auction one day. It was a normal estate auction. The only unusual thing, was that both the husband and wife had been declared deceased after being missing for the allotted amount of time. Odd. I was looking through a stack of books. Most of them were old and tattered. Nothing interested me until I got to the bottom of the stack. There was a plain black book. The kind you can use for journaling or drawing. Anything, really. The book was blank. New. The only thing marring it was the number code D887 written on the inside of the cover. That meant nothing to me - then. I used to draw a lot when I was in high school. Back before life got in the way. My mind drifted to my days as an artist. I knew I needed the book. It was perfect. I could start drawing again.

I took the book home, threw it on a table, and forgot about it. Several weeks passed. I was at home on a Saturday afternoon and bored out of my mind. I remembered saying I was going to start drawing again. I remembered the book. I grabbed my pencils and the book. When I opened the book, there was a one dollar bill inside the front cover. I knew it wasn't there when I bought the book. Strange because I paid one dollar for the book. I thought maybe, just maybe the auction company decided to let me have it free. No complaints from me. I decided I would keep the one dollar bill in the book and use it as a bookmark.

I drew a horse. It wasn't perfect. Not even close. I didn't berate myself too much over it. After all, it had been a while since I'd drawn anything. Realizing I needed to keep at it if I was going to get halfway good again, I drew on several more pages. Random objects. Just to get the feel of drawing again. I laid the book on my coffee table and went to bed. The next morning I fixed a cup of coffee and decided I would spend the day drawing. It was Sunday and I had all day to lay around and do whatever I wanted. I sat my coffee down and noticed something sticking out of the book. I thought it must be the dollar bill. I opened the book and the dollar bill was gone. There was a one hundred dollar bill in its place. You would have thought the book scorched me if you had seen how fast I dropped it back onto the coffee table. The book slid, hit my coffee cup, and splashed my coffee all over the table and the book. I grabbed the book and started wiping the coffee off. I laid the book aside and cleaned up the coffee.

I sat looking at the book for most of the morning. I wouldn't touch it again. I just kept glancing over at it. Around noon, I got up enough nerve to pick the book back up. I opened it and took the one hundred dollar bill out. I held it up to the light to see if it looked real. It did. I didn't put the money back in the book. I put it in an envelope and left it on my dresser. I decided to stop being a wimp and start drawing in the book again. I spent most of the afternoon drawing. I was getting the hang of it again. Even though I was staying busy drawing, my mind wouldn't let go of the one hundred dollars. I went to my bedroom several times that day to see if the money was still there. It was.

I had a restless night and woke a couple of hours before my alarm clock sounded. I drug myself out of bed and went to get coffee. I glanced at the black book. Something was sticking out of it. I hesitated, then opened it. Eight one hundred dollar bills. I dropped the book. Thirty minutes before my work shift started, I called in sick.

I lost track of time. The last time I counted the money there was over fifteen thousand dollars. I never made it back to work. The drawing and the money continued until I reached the last page of the book. If you've stayed with my story this long, then maybe, just maybe you believe me. If so, I hope you continue to because you need to. When I reached the last page of the book, I tried to draw on the back of each page. The pencil wouldn't leave a mark. Nothing would. I gave up trying and went to bed.

I hadn't had a nightmare in years. This night changed that. I found myself in a cell of some sort. It was all high polished black walls, floor and ceiling. There was and old, huge wooden door on one wall. There was a chain around my ankle and the chain was attached to the middle of the floor. It looked like the chain just disappeared into the floor rather than being anchored to something. I was confused. The door opened and a man like I've never seen before stepped into the room. He wasn't hideous or anything. Just strange. He looked like the DNA from a human, reptile, insect and bird got jumbled up together with something else I couldn’t place. He walked on two legs like a human. He had scales all over his arms and legs. Feathers covered his head. He had very large insect like eyes. No clothes. He didn't look menacing but I could tell he was. He scared me.

"Did you enjoy the money?" That's all he said as he stood there looking at me. I just blinked in confusion. "Did you enjoy the money? The twenty thousand dollars?" I said 'no'. He tilted his head and said "You must have. You did nothing else once you realized the book could give you money." Again, I blinked in confusion. I finally blurted out, "Who are you?" He tilted his head again and said; "I am the owner of the book. I am also the owner of you, number D887." D887. That's the number in the book. I asked him what D887 meant and he said; "That is your cell number." I looked around and that's when I panicked. I started tugging on the chain so hard my leg was bleeding. He looked at me and said; "You might as well stop. It's useless. You will not be kept right now. When your time is up in your world, you will report here and become my property."

I woke thrashing my legs and sweating. I was sure it was only a dream until I took a shower to wash off all the sweat. My leg was bleeding. I knew it had to be a dream. How could it have been anything else? I thought I must have done something to my leg while I was asleep. Besides, at last count, I had only had fifteen thousand dollars, not the twenty thousand like he said. After my shower, I went for my usual cup of coffee. Passing the book, I saw something sticking out. More money. I counted it. Five thousand dollars. I ran to the bedroom and counted the rest. It totaled twenty thousand. I heard a deep laugh. I don't remember much after that day. I'm not sure how I got here. They say this is a hospital for the mentally impaired. It's a room like any other bedroom, but it might as well be a cell. They won't let me out and no one believes me when I tell them about my future owner showing up every night to remind me that I'm number D887. He said I won't die a typical death. He will just come take me when it's time.

During his nightly visits, I have learned that there are many entities in the world, universe, time and space. Some of them we see and don’t even realize it. Others, we never see. Some are benevolent. Some not. He will never state his reason for making me his prisoner and I’m not sure I want to know. He has told me that money seems the easiest way to trap humans. I can understand that.

People don't believe me when I tell this story. I understand. I don't really blame them. I'm writing this story because I know I won't be here much longer. I need for people to believe me. You, the one reading this, you probably don't believe me either. I couldn't expect you to unless I'm gone and no one knows how or why I'm gone. If I disappear from this locked room, maybe then you'll believe. Maybe.