The Duck Decoy

“Our next item is a vintage Pintail Drake Duck Decoy. Impeccable condition, a real collector’s treasure. We have a minimum opening bid at just $5600. Do I have $5600?”

Miriam hung awkwardly at the back of the auction room, an outdated, stuffy village hall with stained carpets and yellowing walls. She’d never attended an auction before and felt out of place amongst experienced collectors and murmuring discussions of period pieces. She had been waiting for the duck decoy to be mentioned, for her decision to be spoken into existence for this odd, but surprisingly adept, crowd. She straightened her scarf, for the fifth time in the last ten minutes, an anxious twitch.

When she’d happened across the worn, wooden duck three weeks previous, she’d been immediately inclined to pack the relic into the boot of her second-hand, light-silver Ford Focus and head straight to the household recycling centre. Miriam had just moved into the top-floor flat that day. With little to explore (a galley kitchen, small living area, bedroom with attached bathroom), she’d found herself rummaging through the eaves storage to take her mind off her recent break-up. While blindly wafting away fossilised cobwebs, her own body blocking the range of the dim energy-saving light-bulb behind her, her knuckles had grazed a cardboard box. She had dragged it out into the light and blew away the settled layer of dust- a decision she immediately regretted as her throat tingled irritably for the next ten minutes. She’d gingerly prised it open to find a wooden duck. More specifically, a hand-carved cedar wood decoy, with sinuous curves worn with markings. It must have been at least a century old, she had speculated.

“We’ve got $8,900 from the man with the tweed cap to my left. Do I have $9,000?”

Do you have to talk fast to be an auctioneer or is it something you learn on the job? Miriam wondered, absentmindedly. This was going well though, she allowed herself to think. You see, in the cardboard box, tucked neatly underneath the duck decoy there had been a small, black notebook. The pages had started to yellow and curl and the black cover was worn with unidentifiable smudges. The finding was accompanied by a musty yet familiar aroma, like the comfort of an old bookshop. As Miriam gingerly fingered through the book’s contents, she found pages of hastily scribbled numbers- totalling scores, she assumed. The original owner of the decoy had been an avid shooter, utilising the duck to lure in and capture waterfowl. By the looks of the numbers on the pages, it had been successful, as the totals climbed with every successive entry. However, several dozen pages into the notebook, the numbers were replaced with a slanted, old-fashioned handwriting. Miriam had to concentrate heavily to decipher the faded ink and flowery script but eventually discerned that the original owner claimed the duck decoy had some kind of spiritual power, attributing his shooting success to the figurine. In his final entry to the black notebook, he wrote how he was coming to the end of his life but wanted to leave the duck decoy behind to be found by a new owner, and that he hoped it would bestow the same luck unto them. A seemingly selfless or spiritual man, he believed this kind of luck did not belong to a single human. Miriam had been surprised to find its succeeding pages filled with a range of distinct ink colours and hand-writing styles. It had transpired there had been many previous owners of this particular duck over the years. Each had documented their experience of this seemingly significant antique, ensuring these would be found by a new owner alongside the duck. While some entries documented brilliant, life-changing events seemingly brought on as the writer came into possession of the decoy- marking the end of a couple’s decade of fertility troubles, the return of a long-lost sister, a surprising rocketing of share value from a foolish investment- others mentioned dark twists of fates they attributed to their discovery of the decoy. The book told their stories of woe, and Miriam had spent the night reading of wives taking ill, the possessor being made redundant and one occasion of a sudden onset of baldness. They could have sworn the duck decoy was cursed. She had rolled her eyes- she wasn’t naive enough to believe in things like that. But she had then spent the night researching the duck decoy to find that, over the years, the hunting device had accrued an immense value for collectors. The numbers had been promising but this was surpassing her expectations.

“$16,600 from the lady in green. Do we have $16,700? Anyone for the Pintail Drake for $16,700?”

Miriam couldn’t help but think this was a sign. She had recently managed to escape a toxic relationship- in fact, that was the reason she had moved into the attic flat in the first place. Her savings had only just allowed her to put down a deposit to rent the musty, basic accommodation. The author of the last entry in the notebook had found herself securing a dream job in an exotic location, and Miriam assumed the box had been waiting in the eaves ever since the woman had departed, anticipating its next owner. She thought that this was now her chance for a life-changing opportunity- a sign that her life, after years of emotional abuse, was turning around for the better. Though her thoughts kept flirting back to the black notebook, that now burned in her back pocket, the stories riddled with pain, bitterness and hollowness of those that blamed their poor fortune on the antique on the stage at that moment. Years of anxiety that her life could never be anything promising continued to nag away at her.

“$20,000 folks. Anyone for $20,500?” The auctioneer scoured the audience with his captivating gaze, his fingers itching on the gavel.

The buzz of the auction room was slowly starting to ebb. Miriam could sense the deal was soon to be closed. She gripped her scarf tightly and realised she had been holding her breath for the last few minutes. The ricochet of the hammer hitting the podium pulsated from every wall and quivered in Miriam’s ears.

“$20,000 sold to the lady in green!” The auctioneer’s voice rang out.

Miriam blinked four times, stunned. She was elated. In spite of everything, her anxiety and doubts, she had been right, she knew it would work out amazingly and be her turning point. This was a game-changing amount of money. She found herself imagining the possibilities that now lay in her hands. She could put a deposit down on a place of her own, so far away from her previous life. Treat herself to a luxurious holiday, the kind her previous partner would have called a self-indulgent waste. She felt dizzy with possibility and decided to leave the auction and get some fresh air, she could deal with the logistics later.

As she approached the door, she paused. Something had come over her, a feeling she couldn’t quite place. A man tapped her on the shoulder, dragging her out of her short reverie. He gestured that he was also trying to leave the auction room. He exuded an aura of being wealthy- something to do with his posture and smart, crisp suit that made him stand out from the bustling auction-goers. Miriam stepped aside- after all, she was in no rush, she had just come into an obscene amount of money. She fancied her near-future self as wealthy as the man as he breezed past her, ignorant or just apathetic to the door slamming behind him. She had always known there was more to like than manipulative boyfriends and dusty flats. With shaky hands, she shoved the laden door open and emerged into the crisp autumn breeze, leaving behind the musty village hall and filling her lungs with hope and ambition. Miriam took the first steps of her new life, one full of opportunities and new beginnings.

But, blinded by promise, she hadn’t noticed the delivery lorry, careening around the corner, straight towards her.