Oldie but not so Goodie

I think we can all look back at our own pieces with disgust sometimes, its just part of being an author. That being said, I think there's a distinct feeling of pride as well, one that we should all learn to feel when looking at past work. It's part of growing as a writer and improving ourselves. Now, it's easy to just say, 'hey, learn to appreciate your writing,' and then move on without proving it myself. In an attempt to show you though, I'm going to do a few appreciation posts of my own, throwing it back four or five years to my first serious short story. It's not great, hell I wouldn't even call it good, but I'm still proud of it to this day, and that's why I'm going to post it for y'all. Enjoy!

The Talisman

Slowly, cautiously, I entered the room. My eyes were useless in the absolute darkness of the room. Blindly I reached out, feeling around. My nerves were on edge, not being able to see anything around me. Where was the darned thing? It should be around here somewhere...

A soft strand brushed against my hand, yes! There it is! I grabbed the beaded metal chain and gave a yank. With a click and a sudden flash of light the room lit up, the single light bulb was right in front of my face and brought tears to my eyes with its brightness.

“Cam,” a voice came hollering down the stairs, “you find the stuff yet?”

“Just gimme a second mom,” I shouted, rubbing my eyes. I looked around, adjusting to the light now. The bare floored basement was full of junk and nick-nacks, everything covered in a fine layer of dust. There were snow shoes, an old ax for fire wood, some boots, and some skis leaning up against the wall. Swiftly I grabbed the skis, but it was difficult getting all three pairs in one trip. After a couple attempts I gave up, taking only the first two pairs up first. The wooden stairs creaked perilously as I ascended to where my mother stood at the doorway.

“Did you find all three pairs?”

“Ya mom, don't worry. I just got to make a second trip for the last pair.”

“You know Cam, you should get a better look down there, your grandfather was quite the antique collector before he passed,” she suggested, a mischievous hint in her voice. I gave a laugh,

“Really mom? You want to steal from your diseased grand dad?”

“Its not stealing, just inheritance”

“Ya mom, you tell your self that.” I hefted the skis up over the last step and handed them to her, then descended back down the ominous creaking steps. Now that I looked around, there was some interesting stuff laying around. A Buddha statue, a old samurai mask, a miniature totem pole in the corner. Man, I wish I had talked to my grand dad more!

I inspected the shelf next, on the dusty shelves were some more small statues as well as the occasional jewel which I pocketed. I explored the other rooms of the huge basement, each room filled with its own mini treasures. I'm sure the relatives would love all this stuff.

There was one long hallway that ran the length of the whole building, doors every few feet on each side, then one at the end.

After the first three doors or so I got bored, sure all the stuff was cool but it was repetitive, statues mostly, with the occasional group of gems or coins. It wasn't until the last room that my curiosity was peaked. The door swung open to reveal a large collection of many different sized safes and vaults. I walked the perimeter of the room, testing the handles of each one. With lessening enthusiasm I found each one locked. Just as I was about to give up hope one small one laying on the floor opened with ease. I swung the small door open, eager to see its contents.

I stared in horror, was that really what I thought it was? The reason it was open was because a bony hand was wedged in so that it wouldn't close fully. I gave a small laugh, of course, what was I thinking? It was a fake of course, where would grandpa get a real human hand? I removed the prop and then rummaged through the other contents, they were mostly necklaces and rings, but nothing stood out. All except for one, its silver thread weaving through the skeletal fingers of the prop. In the bleached palm of the hand lay its talisman, a strange man-beast carved from a dark wood, its eyes dark gemstones carved so that they fit perfectly into the sockets of the little creature.

It didn't seem to differ too much from the other jewelry, but somehow, I was just drawn to the little thing. Ever so carefully I unwound the cord from the fingers and lifted the necklace into the air. The orbs now gleamed in the dim light, I felt transfixed at its suddenly mystical appearance. Quickly I put it around my neck, tucking it under my shirt. I felt the cold shape of the figure against my chest, but it felt good.

By time I got back upstairs, everyone was pouring into the large winter cabin. The living room was warm and pleasant, filled by many friends and family. It’s strange how the room had naturally separated though. On the far end were all my uncles in a group, talking and laughing loudly.