The Bridal Chest

A short story by, J W James

Copyright July 8, 2002

           Mira walked through the rows of tables and blankets, slowly searching for something interesting to add a look of antiquity to her new apartment.  It was still fairly early, but the bright, summer sun was already baking her alive.  Browsing in one particular area, where the antiques and old furniture was usually sold, she looked over at least twenty, small coffee tables, a few bookshelves, and a large, ancient looking arm chair.  She was just about to give up and move on to another dealer, when something caught her eye.  Sitting all the way in the back of the dealer’s area was a huge, vintage steamer-chest.  She moved quickly past everything else, pulling the blanket that covered the top of the chest and gave it a closer look.

            She could tell at once that it was very old, some of the leather on it’s surface beginning to show the cracks of time and wear.  Looking it over, she found that it was in fairly decent shape, its weathered look making her want it even more.  Moving back around to the front of it, she examined the archaic latch, her fingers moving over its smooth, black surface.  Fumbling with the mechanism for several minutes, she found that she simply couldn’t manage to get it unlocked.  She began to wonder if it was even worth the trouble, knowing that it would not serve too much of a purpose if she couldn’t get it open.  Beauty was one thing, but with such a small apartment, functionality was a must.

            “A very interesting piece,” the man’s calm, quiet voice said, behind her.  “Definitely a steal for the price.”

            Mira jumped, the suddenness of his words and the eerie calmness that he seemed to possess, enough to make her feel unsettled.  “I was just looking,” she said, standing and turning to find herself facing a very strikingly handsome man, his crystal blue eyes reminding her of ice and winter’s coldness.

            “This trunk has been collecting dust in my attic for more than ten years now,” he said, his voice beginning to make her feel incredibly uncomfortable.  “I finally decided to bring it out here and see if I couldn’t fetch a measly twenty dollars for it.”

            Mira grew suddenly excited.  Judging by the prices that had been marked on some of his other merchandise, she thought for sure that he’d have been asking for at least a hundred dollars.  “Only twenty dollars?” she asked, hoping that the excitement in her voice didn’t make her look like an anxious buyer.  “Why sell it so cheap?”

            The man’s eyes suddenly felt as if they were actually looking into her mind instead of simply falling upon her face.  “As I said earlier,” he began, taking a step towards the chest, “this has just been sitting in my house, taking up space in my attic.  I have no key, so I’ve never been able to open it.”

            Mira thought for a moment.  She definitely wanted the chest, especially at such a low cost, but there was something about the man that made her feel incredibly suspicious.  “So there could be something of great value inside, and you’d never know it?” she asked, waiting to see if he gave her some kind of information as to the original owner of the chest, or even some elaborate, made up tale of its origin.

            “It is quite possible,” he said, his icy eyes making her feel entirely too vulnerable for her taste.  “The price doesn’t change though. Twenty dollars for the chest, thirty if you need it delivered.”

            She truly wanted the chest, but there was just something about the man that made her feel awkward.  She had no idea why, but her instincts were screaming at her to just say no and walk away.  Ignoring the little voice in her head, she dug her money out of her purse.  “How soon could you have this delivered to me?” she asked, her eyes moving from his face back to the chest, and then to his face again.

            “Give me the address and I can have it there this afternoon,” he said, his steady gaze giving her no ideas as to whether she could trust him or not.  “And if it makes you feel more secure, you can pay my men when they bring it.”

            “You’ve got a deal,” she said, slipping her wallet back into her purse and retrieving a pen to write down her address.  “Can you have them bring it around four?”

            The man nodded, extending his hand to shake hers.  “I can have them come at whatever time is best for you,” he said.  “Accommodating the customer is the best way to insure repeat business.  Is there anything else that I can interest you in today?”

            “No,” she said, feeling just a touch more comfortable with him.  “But I will definitely keep you in mind for any future purchases.”

            Mira browsed at a few more places before finally heading to her car and taking the short drive back to her apartment.  Spending a few hours rearranging things, she set up the perfect place for the steamer chest.  She wouldn’t know for sure, exactly how it would look until it arrived, but she was ninety percent certain that she would like it in the spot she’d chosen.  Looking at her watch, she decided that she would have a bite to eat and then take a shower.  It was two thirty, which gave her plenty of time to do that and not have to worry that she’d be tied up when the deliverymen came.  She felt silly all of a sudden, her excitement building over the simple addition to the furnishings of her place.  She had no idea why this seemed so important to her.

            At exactly four o’clock, she heard the scraping sound of shoes on the stairs, outside of her apartment.  Opening the door, she was surprised to see the man from the flea market standing there.  “Here is your merchandise, Mira,” he said, his eyes slipping over her shoulder for just a moment before quickly locking onto hers.  “Just show them where you want it and we’ll be on our way.”

            Mira gave him the thirty dollars and slipped each of the deliverymen a five-dollar tip.  Seeing them on their way to the stairs, she went back inside and closed the door.  She stood for a moment, admiring the chest, wondering again about the way she had decided to have them set it.  Deciding that it was perfect, she went to the cupboard and retrieved a small, flat screwdriver.  Her curiosity over the interior of the trunk was getting the best of her.  She’s always been one to hate surprises, know how antsy and exciting she got whenever she didn’t know what something was.  She’s always been the one out of the four sisters in her family to snoop around Christmas and birthdays.  Not knowing if there was anything hiding inside the chest was driving her crazy.

            Pressing the tip of the screwdriver into the old locking mechanism, she listened carefully.  She wiggled the thin blade up and down, and then side to side, slowly turning the blade in an attempt to figure out the right motion that would cause the springs inside to release.  Pressing just a bit harder, she felt a change in the movement of the device, the telltale click letting her know that it was coming open.  The mechanism suddenly let loose, causing her hand to slip and the screwdriver to pop out of the lock.  “Damn it!” she squealed, dropping the screwdriver to the floor and shoving her injured finger into her mouth.

            The cut was not deep, but it was enough that she would need at least a butterfly stitch to keep it closed.  Feeling a bit pissed off, she kicked the trunk, her thoughts fading from the pain in her finger as a new one formed in her foot.  To her surprise, the lid to the mystery filled chest flipped open.  “Yes!” she exclaimed, shoving her bleeding fingertip back into her mouth, her words muffled as she continued to talk to herself.  “Now let’s see what’s inside you.”

            Knowing that she wouldn’t bleed to death from the wound, she got down on her knees and peered into the velvet-lined innards of the trunk.  Unable to see if there was anything there, she slid her uninjured hand along the sides and bottom, her thin fingers stopping as they came across a small object there.  Rummaging for just another second, she wrapped her hand around the object and drew it out of the chest.  To her surprise, the object was a small ring.  Filled with joy, she hurried to the kitchen.  She wanted to put something on her sore hand and get a look at this in a better light.

            The ring looked like it might be valuable, the large, oblong stone in its center appearing to be a dark ruby or an amethyst colored jewel.  Turning it over in the light, she noticed something that was barely visible inscribed in the back of the platinum band.  Unable to make it out, she moved to the counter and opened one of the drawers beneath it.  Rummaging through several other draws, she finally produced a magnifying glass and went to the kitchen table.  Sitting down, she resumed her inspection of the ring.  She could see the inscription now, but since it was not written in English, she couldn’t make out what it said.  Slightly disappointed, she sat the magnifying glass down onto the table.  Without another moment of hesitation, she slipped the ring on.  It was a size or two too big, but she figured she could get it resized if need be. She really liked the look of this newfound treasure.

            She jerked her hand as the band slipped all the way on, a sharp, stinging pain making her jump.  She could see a small trickle of blood running out from beneath the edge of the band, which was now an exact fit for the finger that she’d put it on.  She tugged at it, but the harder she pulled, the tighter it seemed to fit.  Freaked out, she moved to the sink and ran her hand under water.  Trying desperately to get the ring off of her hand, she found that it was going to be a difficult task.

            She spent the next hour using all kinds of things to try to lubricate it enough to remove it, everything proving to be as futile as the water.  Feeling somewhat defeated, she went and sat on the couch.  Her mood shifted from the semi-ecstasy that she was feeling earlier to a somber blueness.  She figured that she would have to make a trip to the hospital the following day and have the band cut away.  She hated to think that such a beautiful piece of jewelry was going to have to be destroyed.  She wished suddenly that she’d been more careful with it.  Trying to think of any other way of removing it than what she’d already tried, Mira sat there in silence.  Without warning, she found herself slipping quickly into sleep.  It took only seconds for the blackness to swallow her.

            Mira awoke several hours later, the lights in her apartment extinguished.  She couldn’t remember anything of the time that passed, her unconsciousness apparently dreamless.  She was just about to stand when she heard a soft rustling sound behind her and then felt the strong hands that slipped over her shoulders.  “Hello, Mira,” the calm, steady voice of the man from the flea market floated into her ears.  “Do you like the ring?”

            Mira spun in her seat, her eyes locking immediately onto those of the pale figure that stood before her, recognizing his face as the man from the market.  “What do you want?” she questioned him, his expressionless face frightening her.  “What the hell are you doing in my apartment?”

            “You called for me,” he said, his voice sending chills down her spine.

            “Look, just take the chest back,” she said, still backing up as he came around the couch and towards her.  “You can keep the money.”

            She felt her heart pounding with fear as he came closer, his eyes making it difficult for her to avert her gaze.  “I know nothing of money,” he said, calmly as he step up in front of her, the wall behind her making it impossible to go back any farther.  “You called upon me and awoke me from my slumber when you put on the ring.”

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she exclaimed, a small squeal following her words as he pressed himself against her and began to sniff her hair, the tears rolling quickly down her cheeks.  “Get away from me!”

            His hands latched onto her shoulders, his grip like iron.  Mira screamed, bringing her knee up hard into his groin, the blow having no effect on him.  With lighting speed, he dropped his mouth to her throat, his sharp teeth breaking the flesh like two needles.  Mira fought against him, her nails digging into the black cloak that he wore, the pain in her neck turning rapidly into an intense burning sensation.  She screamed, louder and louder, her voice straining as the attacker refused to feel any of her defensive strikes.  She was slowly losing her ability to withstand him.

            The room began to spin violently and Mira seemed to be floating, her head growing light while the rest of her became heavy.  She felt cold, as if her body had been thrown into a pool of icy water in the dead of winter.  Her hands and feet began to burn, feeling almost as though she had frostbite.  Struggling for breath, she tried to cry out, but it was useless, her dry throat incapable of even so much as a grunt.  Slowly, her vision began to blur, the spinning of the room accelerating with each passing second. Then, finally, she slipped away. She could no longer feel, think, or see.  Everything turned to darkness.

            The door of the apartment opened slowly and the three men stepped inside.  Moving quickly, the two larger men crossed the small living room and lifted the trunk off the floor.  Unlike the previous day, it was much heavier, the weight of the young woman’s body making it more difficult to maneuver.  “Quickly!” the other man said in that same calm tone that he’d become known for.  “My brother’s thirst will not stay quenched for long, and you both know what will happen if he does not have a new bride waiting for him when he awakes again.”

THE END

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