Part One: The Ninth Harmonic
Paranormal Fiction | Short Story | The Antique Trading Post
Props
The bell above the door clanked. Rust and age had ruined its tinkle. Justin stepped inside, immediately overwhelmed by the smell. As he ventured further, he spied a sleek black cat slithering between towering shelves. A gaunt woman with antique vellum skin watched him from behind the counter.
Justin delivered the Polaroid camera and hand mirror as requested, even though he wasn’t exactly gracious about it. He lit up when he saw Lily’s reaction. The writer/director/producer thought his finds were brilliant.
Given the subject, a haunted house, Lily decided on the spot that they needed to add a séance scene. Despite her irritation with him, Alice was relieved Justin told her about this place. At first glance, The Antique Trading Post looked like part thrift shop, part graveyard. Dust lay thick over rusted depression-era tools, a church pew piled with books (presumably religious), war medals, and cracked porcelain dolls.
Determined, Alice ventured further. The air smelled like mildew and someone else’s memories. Truthfully, she was most comfortable in places like this. She absentmindedly picked up a postcard of a Victorian neighborhood with an illegible handwritten message, considered it for a moment, and then replaced it.
A Victrola stood out among the menagerie, record in place, ready to go. The title, Do Not Break Light, seemed more like a warning than a song. Curious, Alice slipped the record from the turntable and held it to the light. Deep grooves shimmered oddly, like the inky surface of a lake at night. Somehow, the glistening seemed to set off her scar, making it itchy and inflamed. Her mind went briefly to a full moon spell casting that might have been a mistake, but she let the recollection pass swiftly. She did what she had to do.
Alice cranked the Victrola’s handle and placed the needle on the record, but something kept it from settling into place. She gently pulled it up and off the turn table and flipped it over. Stuck to the backside was a yellowed slip of paper that fell open accordion style, soft and musty. It dislodged from the record. Alice caught it before it hit the ground. Looping script, written in fading ink, spread across the folds.
The first panel read:
Begin with the Opening of the Circle. All must be still. Do not break light.
The paper slipped, and Alice read the instructions out of sequence.
Review of Scripture -“For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face...”
~ 1 Corinthians 13:12
Alice put the record on the turntable and wound the Victrola’s handle. Once the thing was rolling, she gently placed the needle on the thick vinyl surface. The record hopped and skipped. Scratchy sound full of sorrow and static spilled from the Victrola’s horn. A woman’s voice murmured over a mysterious musical progression.
The record spun and crackled. So did Alice’s head. The woman’s voice, the spell, were all too familiar. Almost immediately, the temperature dropped. Alice could feel the charge in the air. Instinctively, she lifted the needle and shut the Victrola down. Folding the spell, she replaced it in the record sleeve.
This is EXACTLY the kind of stuff Lily will die over. Uneasy but determined, she continued her search for séance props: candles, a crystal ball, a Ouija board, what else? She made a mental note as she carried the Victrola to the front of the shop. Out of breath, she gently sat it down.
The shopkeeper looked up from a dog-eared book. He squinted at the Victrola. “Can’t help you carry that out. Bad back.”
Alice gave the man a tight smile. “That’s fine. It’s for a shoot. I can handle it.”
“You ain’t gonna shoot no one with a record player. We have a whole collection of guns.” It took a minute to register what he said.
“A film shoot.” He just stared at her. “Never mind.”
His eyes flicked to the record she’d tucked under her arm. “Old séance recordings. Interesting taste.” Almost like an afterthought, “I’ve got a crate, here in the back that goes with it—odd stuff. Wanna take a look?”
Alice hesitated. Part of her said no. That voice. That feeling she’s being naive.
“Sure.”
He led her to a dank back room. The whole time, she wondered if it was a mistake to follow him. Thankfully, it was worth the risk when he revealed the rest of the loot.
“She was a medium, ” he explained.
Literally, every prop Alice had noted mentally (and then some) lay there boxed up and ready to go. She could keep the best stuff for her personal stash. At least that would make it worth the trouble.
“What do you think?”
“I’ll give you $300 for all of it.” Lily had given her $400 and told her to keep the change for gas.
“$350, and it’s yours.”
“$325.”
“I can do that,” he snorted, “but I can’t.”
“I know, bad back.” Alice laughed despite the low hum radiating through her chest.
As she hauled out the last box, the shopkeeper hollered, “No returns.”
To Be Continued.
In the meantime, discover more about Alice.
