I don’t trust nobody, and I mean not anybody, let alone some somebody who makes outrageous promises. I mean would you? But, this weren’t my first rodeo and certainly wasn’t the last time I’d ever put myself into some sticky sort of situation. But, what I will say is that this time certainly was different.

Well, there I was anyway, pulling up to this mansion out in the Ballantyne area somewhere, well past the city limits. It was the sort of place I didn’t even have the imagination let alone the money to dream up. But wouldn’t you know it? I knocked on the door anyway. Like an idiot. Or more appropriately, someone else’s stooge. But, I had to y’know? I was invited, and against my better judgement, even against what seem to be my own will, there I was.

Strange.

Anyway, a short gentlemen dress to the nines opens the door and asks my business. I open a red duffel just a pinch and he peers inside then gestures me to follow. Next, thing you know he’s leading me down a long hallway. And, trust me on this, you don’t even want to know what was in the bag.

See, I’ve done my share of underhanded deals. But grave-robbing? Like seriously? What the hell is this the friggin’ seventeen-hundreds?!

But that’s my M.O., y’know? Paid to deliver, not to ask questions. Sure, it’s an odd request, full-on mental if you ask me, but they didn’t and neither did I.

Spot-on crib though. They never gave me any name, fake or otherwise, but old boy runnin’ this place, whoever he was, sure was into vintage. Every piece of art and furniture in there looked like it was looted out a museum. Hell, from what I heard of the boss, maybe so was he.

But, I knew well enough to keep my mouth shut. Y’know, make the trade, grab the cash and get out with my better-half still attached.

Well, at length, we come to a waiting room where the funny little man tells me to stay put while he gets someone. Figured I’d be met by one of the boss man’s right hands. But time comes, and out walks the boss man, himself. Never identified him as such, you could just tell by the way he walks. Old boy was so smooth, you would have sworn he glided right over the floor.

"Mr. Bryce," he addressed me in a highly accented but smooth tone.

Surprised, I jump up to my feet about as fast as I knew how.

"Calm now, sit," says the tall man with a mustache.

And just like that, I immediately loosen up and seat myself. Strange though it was like I didn’t even have to decide for myself, rather like my body was listening to him, not me. Guess, I was just scared out of my mind.

"And vwhat do you have for me today, Mr. Bryce," he asks.

I quickly unzip the duffel and lay it with its contents on a big glass table.

He looks it over, seems pleased, zips back up the bag.

His eyes dart over to the little guy, and he snaps his fingers. Never thought he could move so fast, but almost immediately there he was picking up the bag, handing me over a nice, fat envelope.

"It’s all there, count it if you vwish," says the boss.

I peak inside and give a reassuring nod.

"You and I," he continues, "Have never formally met have vwe?"

"No, sir," I utter rather impulsively.

"Then you vwill join me for dinner, your bosses speak highly of you."

"Thank you, sir, yea, sure," I reply.

"Vwait here, make yourself at home, Mr. Bryce."

He then goes into conversation with his servant, which all seems quite innocent at first. But then, I begin to notice the short man’s hand along the side is twitching slowly, but then more noticeably as the conversation moves on. Rather unnervingly if I may add.

I begin to sweat, undoubtedly, something is off.

The tall man leaves, the servant leads me to the hall on the right, after a minute we come to a stairwell leading down to hell knows where.

Hell, maybe hell. I don’t like it.

So, we come to this room. And I tell ya, this place was old-old. Not part of the rest of the construction. Whatever it was must have been a basement from the Civil War or something.

Table was already laid out, and I was seated.

About twelve minutes pass and walks in the boss with three women. Figured they must’ve been floozies but, no, tells me they’re his wives! Now, I’m not one to tell another how to live but must be expensive. Doubtless on whether you could afford it or not.

Well, we get down to eatin’ and talkin’. Local happenings and what not, old boy was really into books. Food is good, real good. Respectfully, I decline the wine. Last thing I’d want is to say something that’ll embarrass him in front of his women.

Plus, kind of felt the dark haired one was eyeing me, did my best not to notice.

It starts to get late. Would have asked to be excused an hour ago if it were anybody else, but it weren't. So, y'know, I lock up. At length, the boss says, "Oh I beg your pardon, I have kept you too long, I fear, I hope you’ll excuse me, I favor the night, and must admit, I forget sometimes others need rest."

Whatever that meant. I’m not sure. But I thanked him kindly for his hospitality and wished him well.

He told me the short guy, Mr. Renfield, he called him, would see me out. And, man oh man, I couldn’t wait to get out of there, didn’t show it though. And, I tell ya, I almost got one hand on the door before he says, "Oh, just one last thing, if you’ll indulge me."

I turn and what do I see sitting on the table right by the food, mind you? Wouldn’t you believe it? It was that cursed red duffel!

Of course, I would indulge, figure must be some show of power, and I’d be dead to refuse.

Can’t say I didn’t feel sick to my stomach as he reaches in and pulls out what could only be described as the "husk" of what was left of Private First Class Jean-André Armond Grandville, 20th North Carolina Infantry Regiment, Confederate States Army.

"Do you know vwhat you have brought me tonight, Mr. Bryce?" he utters.

"Somebody sir, but look, I don’t care what you want with ’em I just—"

He laughs, continues, "Oh, it is not him that I vwant but vwhat is on the inside that interests me."

At that moment, I was sure I was gonna be sick. He outstretches his hand and without tools perforates the rib cage. Man, that sound that isn’t easily forgotten, might I add. And then he pulls out something, something with a kinda sheen to it.

He takes it then carefully brushes it off with a kerchief.

"Ah! this! This is vwhat I came for," he continues, "See, just before the end of your Civil War, the Confederates moved items of great interest to their last capital at Charlotte. And—" as he gazed down at Grandville’s remains, "Unbeknownst to our friend, this hilt here, pilfered from native trade network, is of meteoric iron forged into this shape 50,000 years ago."

"Oh wow, well, I guess I understand. Yea, I bet it will look real nice in your collection up there," I reply.

Suddenly, his mood changes entirely, and fires back coldly, "You, Mr. Bryce, understand nothing, but you vwill understand this. It is of the greatest importance that I have the blade to this tool. The blade of Tal-Kaul. You vwill retrieve it for me."

Terrified, I bounce back, I let ’em know, "Of course, you’re the boss."

"I am your master, now," he sneers.

I nod.

"Vwell then, Mr. Renfield vwill show you out, until then."

He shakes my hand. His grip is cold, unnerving, and hard like steel, and eyes, piercing. He retires himself and Mr. Renfield leads me back upstairs and down the hallway. Where I suddenly begin to feel faint. And, that’s when I knew part of me would never leave that place.

In fact, I don’t ever remember leaving. I remember well enough being back in my apartment, money in hand. But after two months, I still don’t feel right. I still can’t shake this feeling I’m being watched. I’ve never spoken to him since. But, his boy, on the other hand, comes to see me, gives me instructions from time to time. Odd jobs here and there. He assures me the ”big one” is coming. He says his “master” can’t wait.

But boy believe me, when I say, “I can.”

Huh, funny the things that can go down when some folks invite you to dinner.


— END —





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