Fateful Ink

“Fateful Ink”
By
Amber Holt

March 10, 2007

ONE:

Alex and Bess Peterson strolled lazily down the sidewalk through the little town in Maine where they were vacationing from New York City. They had been window shopping and sight seeing when a sign, “Jefferson’s Antiques”, caught their attention. They decided to go inside.

“Afternoon folks, name’s Sam Jefferson, but you can call me Sam – everyone does. Is there anything I can interest you in today?” asked the kind old man behind the counter.

“Thanks Sam. Just looking around” answered Alex.

“Well, just give me a shout if I can help.”

“Sure thing.”

Alex and Bess split up and began exploring the antique shop.

After some browsing, Alex found himself in a remote area of the shop. He had learned through Bess’s “antiquing” experience that that’s where a lot of treasures could be found.

That’s when he saw it.

An old dusty pen case, tucked to the back of a corner shelf.

He reached for it and opened it. Inside was an old fountain pen, sterling silver, with intricate etchings. He admired the pen, gently tracing the whirls of the etchings. He carried it over to the counter.

“Hey Sam, how much for this pen?” inquired Alex.

Sam turned around, glanced at the pen, and looked up at him with an expression of dread on his face.

“Oh Sir, I beg of you not to take that pen” exclaimed Sam.

“But it’s a beautiful pen” insisted Alex.

“Yes Sir, she is. I have sold her many times over, but they always bring her back. Oh Sir, they tell me horrible tales. I would toss her out, but I’m afraid of what might happen if I do.”

“Such nonsense” exclaimed Alex. “I want the pen. How much?”

“Very well Sir, if you insist, I believe twenty should cover it. But you have been warned.”

“Gee thanks” said Alex sarcastically, as he made his transaction.

As he walked out the door, Sam watched on and muttered “not again” under his breath.

TWO:

Alex and Bess returned to their home in New York City. Alex proudly placed his pen, in its case, on his desk in the master bedroom. He used it for special writings, signing his name to letters and documents, and the like.

One night, Alex wrote a letter to his sister. He signed off his name with great flair using his special pen. He placed it back in its case, and put the case in his desk drawer. Then, Bess called him to bed.

The next morning, Alex woke and glanced towards his desk. How odd, he thought. I do believe that I put the letter to Sis in an envelope last night. I must have left it out. When he rose and went to his desk, he was shocked at what he found.

His special pen was out of its case and lying on the sheet of paper. I know I put my pen up, I always do, he thought. Then, he read the sheet of paper.

Master Peterson:

It has been a fortnight since we made our acquaintance.

We shall meet formally in another fortnight.

Until then, remember: Your destiny, it awaits you.

Lovingly,

The Bringer Of Your Fate

Alex froze in fear, thinking back to the things that Sam had said. Then he laughed at himself. Surely Bess was playing a trick on him. Okay, I’ll play along, he thought. He wadded up the letter and threw it in the wastebasket.

A couple of mornings later, he was greeted with:

Inky Dinky Doo
The ink, it serves you.
Or does it only seem to?
Only to dry
And remember you?

Good one Bess, he thought, as he returned the pen to the drawer he had placed it in the night before.

But they continued, one just as riddling as the previous. Then, they became disturbing:

Star light, star bright,
First star I see tonight.
I wish I may, I wish I might,
See how Master Peterson shall fight.

She’s really going to play this one to the hilt, he thought, as he once again went to put the pen away. Then, he thought better of it. He hid the pen well.

THREE:

A couple of days had passed, when Alex got up that morning to be greeted by the most disturbing letter of all:

Master Peterson:

The Little Ones, they have been toying with you. I do apologize.

Dear Sir, true love, it is a gift to be treasured, for it may be snatched away in the blink of an eye.

Your destiny, it awaits you.

Lovingly,

The Bringer Of Your Fate

Alex began to tremble. Surely Bess wouldn’t carry things this far?

He sat in deep thought, in his easy chair in the den, dressed in his tuxedo.

“Hun, are you ready?” he heard Bess call out, snapping him back to the present moment.

“Sure.”

They had attended his company’s New Years’ Eve party, and had a ball. On the drive home, Bess unbuckled her seatbelt, scooted to the middle of the seat and drew her legs up underneath her, her shoes kicked off in the floor. She began rubbing Alex’s knee as she laid her head on his shoulder, and they mumbled sweet nothings to each other.

“I missed out on the champagne toast, but I’m sure that you would be much sweeter and effervescent” said Alex coyly.

“Mmmmmm” cooed Bess into his ear.

Just then, Alex felt the rear end fishtail, and jerked at the wheel, trying to gain control of the car.

Bess sat up and stiffened. “Alex, what was that!”

“Must have been a patch of ice.”

Suddenly, the car gave a violent twist. Alex turned the wheel to the left and right, trying to gain control of the car. The last thing he heard before they skidded off the road and plowed into the tree was Bess’ terrified screams.

Hours later, Alex sat in the ER waiting room. It seemed like Bess had been in emergency surgery forever. He heard the swish of the doors behind him and stood, watching the surgeon approach him.

The surgeon had a somber look about him, and walked with leadened steps.

Alex felt weak in the knees.

“Mr. Peterson, my name is Dr. Summers. I’m afraid that I have some bad news for you. We did all that we possibly could for Mrs. Peterson, but her heart rate was just too weak. She has passed. Again, I’m terribly sorry” Dr. Summers said and he patted Alex on the shoulder.

Alex collapsed back onto the couch.


FOUR:

Round and round and round it goes,
Where will it ever stop
Does Master Peterson know?

The letter, it awaited him on his desk when he returned from the hospital. Alex angrily ripped up the letter and threw it away. He put the pen back in its case, took it to the downstairs office, and threw it in the bottom drawer.

Alex had a peaceful few days, before he awoke to another letter on his bedroom desk.

Master Peterson:

The Little Ones, they are very precocious. I do apologize for their antics.

Your livelihood, your bread and butter, these things that you earn by the sweat of your brow, they are most important in this world, no?

Your destiny, it awaits you.

Lovingly,

The Bringer Of Your Fate

Alex was positively vibrating with fear. He took the pen in its case and locked it in his toolbox in the garage.

He sat in his office that morning, when his secretary came in and told him that the department head needed to see him right away.

“Yes, Mr. Daniels, you wanted to see me?”

“Yes Mr. Peterson. Please have a seat. As you know, our sales have been down. I’m sorry to say that my senior has advised me that I must downsize, and I regret to inform you that I must let you go. Quite frankly, your productivity and attendance has slipped. I know this is due to your personal tragedy, but we must be professionals, and keep our business and personal lives separated. You have served the company well over the years, so I will get you the best severance package I can. I wish I could do more.”

Alex sat stunned, mouth agape.

“That is all, Mr. Peterson.”

Alex went back to his office and packed up his personal belongings.

FIVE:

Alex trudged on in a fruitless job search, bills mounting up and belongings being repossessed. Much to his horror, foreclosure was becoming a possibility to him now.

He began feeling very weak and nauseated all the time. Stress, he told himself. He began waking in the mornings with a hacking cough. One morning, he woke, raised his hands to cover his mouth, and coughed. When he pulled his hands back, he was stunned to see sprays of red droplets of blood covering his palms.

Instinctively, he looked to the desk, fully expecting it. He was not disappointed.

Master Peterson:

So much ill to come to such a fine man as yourself, it truly is a shame.

Dear Sir, please remember: Your health, it is your true wealth.

Your destiny, it awaits you.

Lovingly,

The Bringer Of Your Fate

Alex dropped the note and rushed to the bathroom. A particularly strong wave of nausea had hit him suddenly.

SIX:

Alex could not take anymore. He locked the pen in its case away in the safe. After he shut the door, he shouted out, “Let’s see you get out of there!” Why, I’m becoming a madman, he thought.

His illness, it soon overtook him, and he could think of nothing. He lay in the bed, steadily worsening. At first, he thought he had the flu. He had a fever, chills, headache, nausea, and the hacking cough. Then, he began to break out in a hideous rash.

But it wasn’t until he noticed some hair falling out, then vomited blood that he became seriously worried.

Alex broke and began crying from the stress of it all. What was wrong with him and what was he going to do?

Okay, he told himself, get a grip. Call the doctor and get in right away. We’ll get this taken care of. It's probably an ulcer. Stress does that.

He went to the sink to splash some water on his face to calm down, when he noticed something in the corner of his eye. He leaned into the mirror to examine it.

A tiny red droplet of blood oozed from the corner of his eye.

He immediately grabbed his car keys and raced himself to the hospital.

Alex was admitted and kept for several days. Many doctors ran many tests on him, but none could find any cause for his symptoms. Having insurance no longer, they released him.

He arrived home to be greeted by another note.

Count the days and time in between,
Looky-look, its Day Eighteen!
Will Master Peterson do the right thing?

Alex put the pen in its case, jumped into his car, and raced towards the Interstate.

SEVEN:

Alex drove for hours until he reached that small town in Maine that he and Bess had visited. He found “Jefferson’s Antiques” just as Sam was about to close up shop. He burst through the door and shouted out “Sam, Sam!”

Sam turned to face him, saying “Well, hello there, Mr. Peterson. My God, what’s happened to you? What’s wrong?”

“Oh Sam, you just don’t know! First, it was Bess. My God, Sam, my Bess is gone! Then my job, her car, and the house will be gone soon, Sam. Then I got sick, so sick, deathly ill, Sam! Here, take it, take it!” Alex thrust the pen towards Sam and ran out of the shop.

Sam looked down at the pen and said, “Aye, ye little bitch, so you return again.” He tucked it away, to the rear of the back corner shelf, where Alex had found it.

EIGHT:

Two days later Alex returned home from yet another job interview and saw an envelope peeking from his mailbox. Odd, he thought, I’ve already checked the mail for today. He took the envelope inside, opened it, and took out a single sheet of paper. An icicle of fear ran up and down his spine, as he recognized the familiar script. It simply said:

Day Twenty – The Fortnight

We shall meet again.

Alex worried himself sick all day long, expecting the worst to happen at any minute. He went to bed, and tossed and turned. He finally got up and did a shot of whiskey to help his nerves, and fell asleep.

He was woken in the night by the sense that someone was in the room with him. He saw a shadowy figure standing at the foot of the bed, watching him.

“Ahhhh, Master Peterson…” The figure began slowly approaching him, almost as if it were gliding through the air instead of walking. It reached a long, thin, wispy arm out towards him.

“Who are you! What do you want from me!” demanded Alex.

“Why, surely you must know, Master Peterson.”

“The letter told me to take it back. I TOOK IT BACK!” pleaded Alex.

“Ahhh, the Little Ones again. They can be quite rambunctious. They never tire of their antics. They are like little children, the games they play.”

“Now, Master Peterson, take my hand.”

“Your destiny, it awaits you.”