Fallen Leaves: Chapter One

I have always thought that autumn is the time for memories. Sweet, faded, curled and frail with age—unbidden recurrences swirl like the leaves I see on the path before me. I am reminded of shadows of the past that crunch and tear beneath my step. All of my favourite memories belong to this season; first days of school, the feel of a soft woolen sweater, crisp air, pumpkins, spices, and always a strong sense of renewal. To me, spring only meant the return of rainy days, and the reminder that the empty stretch of summer months was not that far ahead. It is in autumn that my reminiscences lose their old stings. I can ruminate to my heart’s content, knowing that after I air out the bitterness, I can carefully fold the thought back up and pack it away in a distant corner of my mind.

Many autumns have passed, and this story has been incubating in my mind for the last thirty years, preparing itself for telling. I was in my early twenties then; I am approaching my mid-fifties now. It’s not that I feel I’ve become that much wiser with age, but I am finally ready to properly examine the events that my twenty-one-year-old self had readily dubbed as “crazy”. It’s funny, because no matter how much technology in 2045 increasingly resembles what we once called magic, it pales in comparison to the real magic I experienced.

At the time, I was incredibly worrisome. I had to have things planned out just so, and really hated any deviation from my plans. Growing up, my parents had the concept of the “life plan” ingrained into my bones, and I was often called “Predictable Addison” by friends and family for a reason. At that age, I was so straight-laced that it was as if the expectations I had for myself encaged me much like a tight corset. It was always hard to breathe, but I could not bear to even think of ever removing it. It was probably for this reason that the Wizard came to me.
I was very emotionally attached to objects (I could love them unreservedly; they never disappointed me as people often did). I admired anything antique, and my best friend Elaine shared this passion for vintage.

I had slowly begun to get disillusioned with the life I had been building brick by brick since childhood. I feared hardening into the rigid, hateful, unchangeable adult I was sure I was going to become. I always felt at odds with myself, knowing I needed to untangle myself from my own knots, but being too fearful to try anything. Why mess with a life that worked well enough, even if I was deeply unhappy? I didn’t know that my doubts would lead me toward a magical trap. Unlike my own plans, this had not been of my own devising. I would have much rather spent the day doing something sensible and goal oriented: maybe studying for one of my final exams (I was in the last year of my General Arts degree), working at my part-time job at a little campus bookstore, or even chattering about nonsense with Elaine. Instead, the actions of that particular afternoon led me into later trying to convince myself that I had somehow daydreamed almost three months away.

Some force that day convinced me that I just had to take Elaine and check out the opening of a small, offbeat antique shop that was happening a block away from where I lived. I had seen quite a few advertisements for it, you know the kind; they were generally wrapped around poles with a large picture of the place that took up most of the page. Emblazoned at the top of the page in very large, bold black print were the words “GRAND OPENING: TREASURES UNTOLD”. Frayed, slim strips at the bottom of the poster bore the address of the shop. The promise of being able to find new (well, old) pieces for my wardrobe or bedroom was a significant point of intrigue, it’s true, but when I gazed upon the image of the little store, I knew I had to be there. The lettering of the shop’s name was written in a loopy script that appeared reminiscent of the late Victorian period. As far as my limited knowledge went, no shop had existed in this spot before. The more I blinked at the black and white photocopy, the more determined I became to visit this place.

It was just too much for my curious brain to handle: I simply had to go. It was an inexplicably spontaneous desire for someone so seemingly staid. Elaine would be up for it, I knew; for all of my rigidness, Elaine was willing to try anything, was often spontaneous, and could never pass up an opportunity to either try something new or to break some kind of rule. I clearly remember ripping one of the advertisements off from a pole and throwing it on her small, apartment-sized kitchen table that Sunday afternoon.
“I thought we could hit this place up. It’s a new antique store. Just look at that sign! It’s so vintage it doesn’t even look like it belongs there!"

Looking at the picture a second time, I felt a sudden sense of deep, unshakeable longing for this strange place.

Elaine’s eyes lit up with interest; as I expected, she was game.
"Whoa," she breathed, "this place looks like a goddamn museum. A relic! How could we not have noticed this place before? I mean, a place like this, it had to have always been there. No one nowadays just builds something that looks so, I dunno, out of place. When does this store stay open until? It’s Sunday, so..."
She trailed off and checked her cell for the time, and I did the same. It was 4:10 PM. Usually stores around here closed at about 6:00 PM on a Sunday, so if this was the case for this place, we’d have to hurry.

“Let’s go then," she commented with a disinterested shrug. An unbidden grin played on my lips, making me feel foolish, but continuously growing wider. I had no idea where this sudden sense of elation had come from, but I felt stupid for feeling this way. I generally wasn’t a very overexcitable person, so although my stomach was a-flutter with nervous excitement, something still felt slightly wrong. But how can one shrug off destiny? I was fully intended to be heading to this shop, and not even my worrisome nature was to stop me this time.

"This must be the place," Elaine concluded, her brows furrowed as she glanced out of the driver’s side window and up at the storefront. I followed her gaze, realizing exactly why my friend seemed perplexed at what she was looking at. The style of brick, the latticed windows, even the blocky capital letters that proudly declared the shop’s name didn’t seem like it belonged here. I really felt this when I opened the door; the door’s bell sounded garbled and distant, and my ears drums popped, almost as if I were ascending in an airplane.

If my steps had been slow, Elaine took at least a full two minutes before she joined me inside. Normally bold Elaine was actually taking her time, and she swallowed hard once she was inside. An all-encompassing shiver shook me to my core, and cold perspiration was beginning to bead on my forehead. It felt as if I had something very important to do that completely slipped my mind, like a seminar presentation for one of my English classes that I had forgotten to do and wasn’t prepared for.

Automatically, I began to rifle through the various shelves and check out different displays. When Elaine caught my look of consternation, she furrowed her eyebrows, trying to read me. She looked uncomfortable and prodded at things cautiously too. She paused, picking up a small vial with pink liquid in it, emblazoned with curling purple script that simply said "Love".

"What," she scoffed, "like this is actually love in a bottle? Uh-huh."
I half-heartedly sniggered, still trying to remember what I was supposed to do.

"And what about this?"

She thrusted a bejewelled box into my face, this time with the word "Secrets" engraved into the top of the wooden lid.

"Pandora’s Box?" I kidded, still not entirely focused on my friend.
I didn’t know exactly what I was searching for until, as if my life were some animated movie, I saw something glint, catching the light of the sun through the large front windows.

I drifted toward that telltale glint, not removing it from my sight. I felt as if my steps had been forcefully slowed, almost as if to ensure that I would not accidentally miss the object I was after. The hairs on my arms stood up on end as a chill slowly slid down my spine. There it was, precariously balancing on what seemed like a mountain of trash.

It was the fattest, most overly embellished pendant that I had ever seen. A large, pale blue, rectangular gemstone surrounded by intricate, white gold curlicues hung from a fairly heavy white gold chain. Little, sparkly white stones winked from each curlicued corner of the gemstone. The necklace was very dirty, yet in spite all that, the stones all seemed to have a peculiar gleam to them. I remember studying the larger stone for a moment and feeling slightly nauseated as I looked at it. The strangest part was that the backing of the stone felt very warm, and so out of surprise I turned it over to see what the source of the sudden heat was. Engraved on this backing, just where I had felt the heat, were the words: “Frigore Torpentes.” I fingered the engraving for a moment, and then heard the sound of beads rustling against one another. Feeling strange eyes upon me, I looked up.
Staring at me fixedly was a tall, gaunt man with the colour of eyes that matched the gemstone in my hand. He was wearing a shabby, grey tweed suit and a brown tie. He was balding, though he still had wisps of thin white hair that grew from the tips of his ears down to his thin, pointy chin. His lip twitched as if he was trying to hold something back, and his vacant eyes did not betray the desires of the twitching mouth. The concentrated intensity of the look that he gave me was hard to bear, and I found myself getting acquainted with my shoes.

"I’m sure you already know that this necklace is yours," he stated in a deep, matter of fact tone. I looked up again, eyes wide, wondering if I had heard this man correctly.

This had been all too much for Elaine, who in this moment slipped between me and the man.

"Uh, buddy, whatever you’re trying to sell, she’s not buying." Her arms crossed in a defensive stance, and her glare had no trouble meeting the man’s look.
He smiled thinly, looking at my best friend as if she were a slight nuisance that needed dealing with.

"My dear," he began, his smile becoming wider, "I just simply meant that the necklace should belong to your friend. It matches her so well, don’t you think?"
Elaine snorted, a telltale sign that she was about to launch into a tirade, but I interrupted her in a small voice.

"I like it. It does kind of suit me, Elaine. He’s right."
I will never know, to this day, if I really did think this about the horrid thing, or if it’s power had already taken a hold of me and was laying groundwork. In either case, I remember that it intrigued me, and I couldn’t just leave this object at the shop. I needed it, or so I thought.

Elaine was not having this. Ever trying to be in control of a situation, she brushed me aside, creating a barrier between me and the old man, and returned her attention to him.

"Excuse me sir, and you are who exactly? What makes you a qualified expert of necklaces, huh?"
It was obvious that Elaine had meant this question to be rhetorical, but he took her at her word.

The man stared at us for a moment longer before replying, and it was obvious through the suspecting look in his beady, black eyes that he felt as if his reply was very generous, “You may call me Mr. Struthers.”
His voice was gravelly and strained, as if polite conversation was something he was not used to. Although Struthers directed his response to Elaine, he kept his eyes on me. He was wading in my mental depths as if he were trying to find something important.

Neither Elaine nor I knew exactly how to continue the conversation, and the seconds seemed to mount as the three of us stared at each other, almost helplessly.
With an impatient sigh, Mr. Struthers dryly commented, "Now that the serious investigation is over, we can get back to business.” This statement seemed to anger Elaine all over again, but Struthers, mercifully, continued before she had a chance to speak. "Before you start again, dear," the ’dear’ given a very sarcastic emphasis, "let me explain why I am so eager to sell to your friend. In my lifetime, I have travelled the world extensively. A lot of these antiques are from my private collection, and I am anxious to be rid of these things. Where I am headed, I will have absolutely no need for all of this bric-à-brac. So naturally," at this point, he raised an eyebrow at Elaine, "when I see a customer going after an object that was clearly meant to be in her possession, that compliments her so perfectly, I must speak up."

Elaine let out a short snicker, and then grabbed at the pendant in my hand. I automatically took a step back, but I wasn’t fast enough; she swiped it away greedily. She turned it over in her hands a few times, clearly not feeling the same warmth that I had, nor noticing the inscription on the back. Struthers calmly plucked it from her grasp, spread the chain of the necklace with his thumbs and index fingers, and then gently placed it over my head.

“This,” he said, his voice catching a bit, “should belong to Addison. Not you, Elaine.”

Elaine was visibly taken aback, and I felt a sudden squeeze in my stomach, and heard my heart pounding dreadfully in my ears. How had he known our names?

“It suits you,” he murmured, echoing my words, his beady eyes shining and his cheerful voice becoming a bit too cheerful. “You can have it for five dollars."
I remember Elaine pouncing on this, saying something along the lines that although wherever he was going shunned worldly possessions, money was still very much appreciated. Struthers, of course, ignored this. What I most vividly remember was the warning that he gave us, something that we both gave very little gravity to at the time.

"Please be careful with it. It is far more than just a necklace. It will help you improve your life, if you can abide by its rules. But I warn you, activating it can be a dangerous thing if you are not prepared for the consequences.” He shrugged, his duty concluded, adding, "That’s about it."

“How do you activate it?” asked Elaine, clearly mocking Struthers with her biting italics. Faced with an unbelievable idea, she had recovered her boldness.

“The words, of course.” His response was jovial enough, and he seemed to purposely be paying no mind to Elaine’s disbelief.

The words?

All at once, the necklace seemed to vibrate on my chest, and strong sense of urgent panic flooded throughout my body. I couldn’t take this, I had to give it back. I took a step forward and clutched at the gemstone with my hand, though I had to hastily remove it. It was freezing cold. I tried to open my mouth to say something, but it too could not move, as if something or someone had willed it immobile.

The old man’s smile was wide and almost predatory as he gave a slight wave. “Have a good weekend, girls! I hope you both enjoy the rest of your afternoon. Hopefully I will be seeing more of you before I leave.”

He then turned to me, his terrifying grin reminding me of the Cheshire Cat.
"Please, take the pendant, Addison. Whether you realize it or not, it is calling out to you."