Artifacts Story
Matthew Ryan Fischer
Gerald had been an artifact collector, so his son Scott had become
an artifact collector, but his father had given him this warning – stay away
from family artifacts and heirlooms. If and when Gerald finally did die, he
told Scott not to take or keep anything. He had taken many precautions to have
his possessions sold, recycled or destroyed, all through an independent
contractor. Gerald wanted Scott to stay out of it. Still, Gerald was well aware
that he couldn’t plan everything in advance. When closing out an estate there
was a very good chance his next of kin would have to be involved in some
fashion. He warned Scott over and over and pleaded with him, making Scott
promise not to personally touch anything and to use someone unconnected with
the family to do whatever remained that needed doing. Scott privately laughed
about his father’s precautions, but publicly he made every promise his father
wanted made. Scott didn’t believe in everything that his father believed in,
but he did trust the man. It didn’t matter if the danger was real, what
mattered was that his father believed it was real. Scott knew that when the
time came, he would do as his father asked. When the time did come, Scott did
just exactly that.
Scott’s father had died six years ago, when Scott was forty-three.
Scott had no next of kin of his own, but was pretty sure that if he did, he
wouldn’t go out of his way to scare his son with the same lessons Gerald had
scared Scott with. But Scott didn’t know that. He couldn’t know that. Not until
he was faced with a son of his own. Not that that seemed likely with the
current situation being what it was. But still, Scott didn’t know what his
future would bring. He did know that he had seen enough and believed enough of
what his father believed to be at least somewhat cautious. There were enough
strange and dangerous things in the universe that Scott knew for sure that all
his father’s warnings came with at least an ounce of truth.
Scott went to a lot of estate auctions. He liked the artifacts of
the recently dead. Those held the freshest of the leftover spiritual energies.
Scott had his father’s ability – the ability to recognize the spiritual and
magical power in an object. Telepathic Animism ran in the family. Scott didn’t
know how many generations it went back, but from what his father had said, it
went back many.
They saw things differently. Their powers were alike, but
different. Gerald was into peace and harmony and finding the objects that
promoted balance and wisdom. Not Scott. Scott liked finding the objects that
contained certain key elements – love, loss, and regret – the really powerful
emotions. Usually he could find that in the jewelry... Not the fancy stuff. Not
the things that people only wore once or twice in a lifetime if at all. The
things that had the most juice were the everyday items – the items they wore on
a regular basis, that were with them when all the major events in their life occurred.
Those had the most energy. Those had the real spirit of the person. It was a
real connection.
Gerald had warned Scott.
Stay away from family. Family was strong. It was too close. There was
too much of a personal connection back to them and their bloodline. Scott would
be consumed by it – absorbed by it instead of absorbing it. Scott had a strong
bloodline. They were thick and determined. They didn’t give up on life easily.
Gerald thought it was dangerous. Deadly.
He was a scared man, and received what he deserved, thought Scott.
He was cautious to a fault. Scott would be smart, but he wouldn’t be that
cautious. Scott was after power – power that his father was never able to achieve.
At estate auctions Scott could usually make out the aura of exactly
the item that he wanted. He tried to negotiate to buy single items, but
sometimes had to buy whole lots of junk just to get the one thing he was after.
He threw most of it out. Most of that had nothing worth taking.
There was the occasional bidder than saw things the way Scott saw
them. He had the price driven up on him a few times. It used to make him mad –
he was not a rich man from a rich family. But Scott started making friends and cutting
deals and for the most part he and the few others began to stay out of each
other’s way and even set up a trade and swap system to unload unwanted relics.
During one sale, Scott fell in love with a ring. He didn’t know
whose it was or have a complete family history for the seller. But it was
beautiful with an amazing green energy flow. Scott usually had an apprentice or
partner or friend handle the items first. Scott didn’t like to touch a lot of
items. He didn’t want unwanted feelings or emotions getting in the way of what
he did. He didn’t want to feel the entire history of everything he handled. He
didn’t need to know that much of the past, when usually it was something
pointless.
But this ring... it was a glorious ring.
And he was all alone at this auction.
Scott bid more money than he had money to afford. He had to have
it.
For once he wanted to wear the ring before he destroyed it.
He could feel the power rippling throughout his body as he slipped
it on.
It was incredible.
Then, he felt something else…
He wasn’t sure what he felt.
It was old. And tough. And vicious.
It took a bite out of Scott and dug its claws in. Scott didn’t
know what was happening and it was happening too fast for him to figure it out.
Something was inside him. Some spirit. Some life.
The ring… it had been the ring.
Scott felt something familiar yet foreign. He felt something that
was a part of him.
An ancestor.
Somehow he had arranged for Scott to find the ring. He put it in
Scott’s path. Made sure Scott was alone that day and that Scott would see it
and become infatuated enough to touch it.
So many generation ago. So many steps removed. But not enough. It
didn’t matter. This was a powerful man, a powerful ancestor.
A family of warlocks, witches and sages. They were not prone to
give up on life. They were not easily defeated, even in the face of death.
There was always another way, and this ancestor had found one.
His father had warned him. His father had told him to steer clear
of family. Gerald must have known this was possible. This was what any of them
could have done. Gerald, who lived his live in such constant fear, turned out
to have gotten a thing or two correct. Somewhere his spirit must have been
laughing at Scott.
The spirit invaded Scott. It ripped and clawed into him and tried
to push him out. It wanted his body. It wanted his life. It wanted to be again.
“Fuck that,” thought Scott. This thing might be his ancestor back
for an unwanted visit, but Scott was just as much a member of his bloodline as
this spirit thing was. Scott, too, was stubborn and strong and a bit of a prick.
Scott was not the type to go quietly – he wasn’t about to lose his body without
a fight. If his great great great piece-of-shit whatever it was wanted to start
a war, Scott was going to give him a war.
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