Older Obligations

An old, bent man in a slick black trench coat walked towards me cautiously looking melancholy and miserable. His gnarled fingers removed the gray plaid flat cap from his mostly bald head. Thick unruly eyebrows crowned his sunken but bright blue eyes and his gray beard obscured his lips. “Don’t open the notebook.” That was all he said as he thrust a dirty manilla envelope into my hands. I tried to resist accepting the package, but his arm was alarmingly strong and his gaze intense. Hesitantly, I complied. He repeated, “don’t open the notebook,” and took his leave of me. I folded the brass clasp securing the flap so I could see the mysterious contents. Inside was a little black notebook with a worn leather cover embossed with the name Simon Keel and an elastic band holding it closed. A smaller white envelope containing a signed cashier’s check for $20,000 was tucked under the elastic band. It was already made out to me.

I stared after him for a while wondering what had just happened and hearing his words echo in my head. A check for 20 grand and a notebook I was not to open. What a strange encounter. I made my way from the park to my modest apartment on the 3rd floor of an older building. It was clean and quiet at least. “Should I open it?” I asked myself. Hesitantly, I retracted the black elastic from around the front cover. It hung with a little slack off of the back of the notebook. I ran my fingers over the faded gold embossed name. I slowly opened the cover to see... nothing printed there, nor on any page after. Why was the old man so insistent that the notebook was not to be opened? There was no reason apparent to me. I closed the notebook and set it on the small wooden kitchen table, retrieved the white envelope and headed out to deposit my newly gotten gains.

I arrived home around midnight after treating myself to a nice dinner of Australian Wagyu filet mignon and bacon wrapped asparagus washed down with a black cherry old fashioned cocktail or three. I turned on the light to notice that the notebook was sitting where I left it, only it was opened to the first page. Strange, I thought. As I got closer, in red ink, there was writing where there wasn’t before…

“You have dared to disregard the warning, and you have been paid.”

SK

Not sure what I was seeing and being under the influence of one too many old fashioneds, I went to bed for the night.

Horrific dreams haunted my sleep. Falling, burning, dying; crushed and eaten; tortuous nightmares pushed me back into the realm of the conscious. I sat up soaked with sweat, breathing heavy and feeling exhausted. On my nightstand, was the notebook…

“Until your task is complete, the burden of the elder is yours to suffer.”

SK

I had no idea what that meant. My task? The burden of the elder? I closed the notebook again and left it on the rumpled covers. Shaking off the odd feelings, I went into the bathroom to wash the sleep off of me. The face in the mirror was mine, but it wasn’t. I looked years older than my current 28. My hair was thinner and turning gray and I had a few wrinkles that before were areas of smooth skin. I convinced myself that it was just a bad night of sleep and went about my day.

As I walked, thinking about what I should do with the rest of my unexpected fortune, the old man haunted my thoughts. Who was he? What was his purpose in giving me the notebook and the money? The more I thought about him, the more familiar something… was. The eyes, those bright blue eyes in that old man’s face. They reminded me of… but no, he is my age. My high school mate Ted? Ted Yanko and I were good friends along with Matthew Cullen; “Matt!” he always exclaimed. I hadn’t seen either of them in about 10 years and we lost touch a few years after that. I put it out of my mind. That just didn’t make sense.

After no more than a mile or two, I strangely started to tire. “I must be getting ill” I though to myself. I was fairly athletic in my time and still made it to the gym a few times a week. Now, however, my legs were tired, and my feet were killing me. I decided that I was just fatigued, considering the lack of sleep I had the night before. So, I decided to return home and get some rest.

When I entered my living room, I was startled to see the notebook on my coffee table. Again, open and where I hadn’t placed it. There was another entry on the page that lay open…

“Rapid aging your curse is, until the next bearer is found.”

SK

“Jesus,” I exclaimed out loud. I kind of jumped a little at the sound of my own voice. Was I really feeling the effects of a curse? I headed quickly to the bathroom mirror. What I saw there has to be the most terrifying image I have or will ever have seen. That person staring back at me, mouth agape and clearly bewildered, could not be me. My eyes in the face of someone else. I wasn’t just tired, I was older, much older! My blonde hair thinned and graying; my red beard peppered with coarse white whiskers. Creases across my forehead and lines emanating from my eyes and the corners of my mouth. No, this was not me! What was happening to me?

Back in the living room on the coffee table, the notebook held yet another message. I did not want to read it this time. I was utterly frightened and starting to panic. I picked up the notebook…

“Teddy got older while he found you, now you must find Matthew and transfer the burden of the elder to him.”

SK

That was Ted. He was only two weeks older than me and he looked like he was 80 when he handed me the envelope. That is not possible; what is happening to me is not possible. Yet, it is happening. This started with Ted, he handed it off to me and now I am supposed to find Matt and do the same to him? Why hadn’t Ted warned me? But he did, didn’t he? “Don’t open the notebook.” It was at that moment I had clarity.

It was Simon. Simon Keel. I did not recognize the name when I saw it on the cover of the notebook. It was almost 15 years ago that he disappeared. We bullied him. He was from a poor family and he was awkward. He smelled weird and he dressed funny. He was always drawing and writing in his little notebook. We would often take it from him and toss it around teasing him. Occasionally we would open it and laugh at his poems and drawings. I always thought they were actually pretty good. I would never tell him that of course, it would ruin the fun we had.

The last day before his disappearance, we were joking and teasing him as we always did. There was something different about his demeanor this time though. He was not ashamed or timid like usual. He was bigger somehow, stronger in his bearing. We all sensed it, but we persisted. Ted grabbed his notebook and tossed it to Matt. Simon didn’t flinch. I grabbed the notebook from Matt and jumped away from Simon. Again, nothing from Simon. In an almost startling tone, he said “don’t open it.” Ted playfully said, “what did you say Simon?” ”Don’t open the notebook,” Simon mischievously replied. I defiantly opened the notebook and found the last entry.

“My tormentors, I will curse you all to grow old and die.”

I said, “you’ll pay for that, Simon.” I remember his response. “I will? How much will I pay Jimmy?” Ted blurted out “$20,000! Each!” Simon snatched his notebook back, smiled wryly and agreed. “Deal.” With that, he turned away, walked out of the school and out of our lives, or so we thought apparently.

He had made good on his promise. I do not know how he did it, but he did. First Ted, now me, and I must pass this on to Matt. How do I find him? Should I even try? Thoughts and feelings reeling around my head, I picked up the notebook again.

“The burden of the elder will be lifted only when it is passed to Matt. You may only tell him not to open this notebook, nothing more.”

SK

This time there was another small white envelope under the notebook. Inside was another cashier’s check for $20,000 and it was made out to Matthew Cullen. I did not want to die yet, but I was torn about subjecting my old friend to this curse. My fear led to an urgency to find Matt and be rid of this curse. I searched for him around the area we grew up and found that he had not gone far like Ted and I. He was just one street over from his childhood home in our small Ohio town.

I could barely make it up the short staircase to his front porch. I approached his front door and before I knocked, I caught a glimpse of myself in the window. An unrecognizable old man looked back from the reflection. A man who used to be me but was closer now to death than youth. How could I pass this on to my old friend? With tears in my eyes, I knocked feeling a sense of pain in my knuckles as they hit the wooden door. After a few moments, the door opened and there was Matt. He looked good, still young and ready for the rest of his life. He looked at me with a fleeting hint of recognition that quickly passed. “Can I help you sir?” he asked. Pushing the envelope toward him as he reached out to take it, I told him “don’t open the notebook” and slowly walked away.