JOHN JACOBS

John Jacobs had been driving for hours. He was on his way to meet his sister at their parent's place, but he'd been running a few hours late. It was raining but everyone he'd spoken to gave hope to it letting up soon.

His sister had called just earlier to say she was turning in for the night

"Not to worry John", she said "I'll return and meet you first thing tomorrow". He understood and apologized for running behind. Just another hour or so and he'd be there.

On pulling into the driveway, John felt a strangeness seeing no other cars parked to await him. He stopped the car and nearly turned around, preferring to visit in the comfort of daylight and make through the greif and belongings in familiar company.

Though the rain had indeed let up, there was a persitent air of missed connections throughout the day, so he decided to checkmark this particular box by stepping inside for just a brief look around.

Stepping inside and into a hallway he hadn't seen in years, John first noticed an acrid and familiar wooden smell followed immediately by an involuntary synapse of memories, flashing through decades in mere moments of acute clarity amongst simultaneous pangs of nostalgia.

Moving along he found an open drawer, perhaps forgotten by his sister earlier on. There was much to sort though and one couldn't be expected to close too many doors the the same time.

Inside of the drawe was a notebook.The black leather bounding was worn and nearly faded entirely into the dark metal casing it was resting in, He nearly missed spotting it altogether.

Carefully, he picked up the notebook. Always one to appreciate pensmanship, John felt instinctively drawn to it. There was an age to the cover but also a toughness, a tool built to outlast its craftsmen. At some point, the initial black had given way to slightly lesser shades, but still one wouldn't call it gray. There was a permanence of identify inherent to an object that had been carried for so long.

Another wave of nostalgia came rushing past. He seemed to recall his mother telling a story several times before, a favorite of hers. The book had belonged to her father, a prized possession she always said, following with something about "luck, thrill and adventure".

He thumbed through a few pages.

He came across poems, love letters and loving thoughts perhaps never spoken aloud. Next was a ferris wheel, etched in black and white ink but highlighted on the edges, screaming of neon. John liked this immediately.

Another page seemed to notate the score from a hot dog eating contest. Apparently his grandmother won, with an impressive 21 etched next to her name. She had often joked and boasted, telling this story, but John always thought of it as hyperbole and fable. Could it be she really did champion 21 hotdogs all those years ago?

The next page was a bit harder to decipher. It was an ink drawn image of a carnival game displaying several briefcases arrayed across shelving for display, but then in pencil, it was as if someone had come back and a later date and crossed all of them out.

John decided he'd had enough for the day. He'd retire to the hotel and come back for a fresh start in the morning. He wasn't here to get lost in pages.

Promptly he returned to his car and made his way into town, slipping the notebook he was still squeezing from his hands almost unnoticed into the back pocket of his jacket.

Time for a drive. He'd get back to the hotel and relax, perhaps have a spot of whiskey to settle in for the night.

John nearly made it all the way to the hotel without a second to pause his thoughts. It was a route he was well familiar with, but just in the last mile or so, he saw a roadblock and was jolted from his wandering thoughts.

He blinked. The roads were closed because there was some sort of carnival in town. There was a ferris wheel. He blinked again, hard and deliberately this time.

Suddenly he felt the black notebook in the back pocket of his jeans. The chromatic lights of the towering wheel felt unmistakenly like the sketch he'd opened up to earlier, the same sketch now accidentally on his person.

"Call it serendipity", he said aloud, the weariness of travel quickly vanishing, "I'm going in".

At the ticket counter, he felt childish, somewhat squirming with impatience and becoming increasingly agitated at the woman in front of him. She was taking ages to locate the coin purse in her shoulder bag and it just didn't seem fair she could be holding up everyone behind her like-so.

John couldn’t quite see past the gate, but the shiny silver metal of a stand selling funnelcakes strongly reflected a warped view of the neons and merriment waiting for him in the reflection.

Oddly, he couldn't shake the feeling that the night bore a little too much resembalence to the notebook still riding shotgun in his pair of jeans, but there was a warmth to the entire experience and this sort of ageless bliss was exactly what he needed at the moment.

Admittedly and entirley in the pursuit of cotton candy, John stumbled across an alley of games and contests. Historically, this was his least favorite part of the carnival. The games were ALWAYS rigged and he HATED wasting his cash.

Eyes down he thought, I'll just keep to myself and avoid any of their goading and charisma. I'm definitely not interested.

Still, a barker laid eyes on him. This loudmouth was dressed head to toe in vertical white stripes, but still called out John for his faded denim, publically offering a special discount to the carelessly dressed charity case.

"Sod off", John replied "I've a special assignment for my wallet and my stomach - the deal is much sweeter than anything you can offer".

Then he saw the briefcases. 25, maybe 30 to choose from. He couldn't help but be caught entirely in his tracks.

The barker must have traced his gaze, promptly latching on and asusring John that one of the cases was filled with riches, "small diamonds, a bit of gold and cold hard cash as green as any grass he'd ever seen" - all you had to do was follow the clues and pick the right one, "some estimate the value as high as twenty, count it twenty-thousand dollars".

Once again, John felt the weight of the black notebook in his pocket. He couldn’t be sure if his night was aligning with pages, but part of his instinct was bubbling up, he felt sure there was a trick to this. This game was not meant to be won, still he felt innately as if he had the answer carried within him.

Stepping up towards the wooden counter with a strange confidence, he paid the entry fee and heard the instructions.

He was to be blindfolded while the barker placed the prize inside of a random briefcase. After this, John would have one chance to guess the correct recepticle and would rightfully recieve the full contents of his prize possession.

John was pensive, carefully thinking about the drawing he had seen in the notebook and wondering exactly how to intepret it. All of the suitcases had been crossed out. It didn't clearly show a correct answer.

Meanwhile, the barker beaming, loudly teasing John about his inability to commit and once-again about his choice of denim. John was getting flustered. He needed to make a decision.

Thumbing the back pocket of his jeans, John felt an impulse to go against everthing he would usually go with. He knew there was too much coincidence in the evening to be looked over.

"EVERY. SINGLE. ONE." was crossed out he said. Fine, let's do this.

John told the barker that his choice of briefcase was in fact, nothing at all. "I choose nothing and this game cannot be won, goodbye". Then John stormed off, a bit annoyed his kiddish evening had been cut short. He was, once again, headed to the hotel for some rest.

Just outside the makeshit carnival gate, a furtive sort of slender, well-dressed man approached, he pulled Jacobs to the side as a matter of urgency.

His extended fingers settling on John's shoulder in a cascading pattern..

Quick, he said, no time for a lot of questions but take this prize and move along. We don’t publicize the winners as it would give away the game.

"You've caught our game and that's all I have to say, take this briefcase and promise not to tell", said the strikingly slender man in rapid fire. "Quick now, move along, the prize in all of its promised glory is fully inside, we don't want to see you again".

As a manner of respect, John moved along. Rather than head to the hotel, he returned back to his parent's and restored the book to its initial resting place, but not before carefully tearing out the page about the breifcases, adhering to his word to the carnival and flush with a new briefcase full of prize and potential, but most importantly "luck, thrill and adventure".