Under Glass

Chang'an, Hann Dynasty, 6 B.C.


     Ritual finished, Hann the Ascendant kicked aside the pile of sacrificed virgins.  Power beyond imagination surged through him.  Certain none could now stop his desires for ultimate rulership, he moved to the door his enemies were trying to break down and threw it open.
     With his new strength he slew the warriors with his bare hands, hardly weakened by the wounds from their weapons.  Their bodies were added to the others scattered on the floor of Hann's sanctum.  Even as they fell, Hann admired their bravery.  When the last warrior choked on his final breath, Hann was faced by an old man, eyes white with cataracts and dressed in priestly garb.  The elder bore a cushion with an object hidden under rich, red cloth.
     "Old one," said Hann, "Step aside.  Out of respect I will not slay you, but be warned no weapon you might have there can kill me."
     "I am old and weak, sir.  I could not kill you."  He bowed and slipped the cloth from the object on the cushion.  "I can only stop you."


     
Boston, Massachussetts, 2012 A.D.


     By themselves the items were odd, but taken all together it was the creepiest thing Michael had ever seen.  
     "Well, Mr. Brin, what do you think?"  The formally dressed collector seemed eager to know.  "Was it worth the trip to Boston?"  
     Michael covered his pause with a look around the cluttered sitting room.  Clutter was the wrong word; it was both too little and too much.  Mr. Woodrow's extensive collection of oddities was carefully arranged floor to ceiling, leaving just enough room for a path past each shelf.
     "Amazing, sir.  Quite impressive,"  Michael said in full honesty.  "I've never seen anything like it."
     "Oh, please, call me Ian." The old fellow held out his hand a little off-center.  Mike put his hand to one side, but Ian didn't see it.  
     "Of course," Michael said, taking the old man's hand and returning a firm handshake, "and you should call me Mike."  Apparently he was blind.
     "So, tell me, Mike.  Do you think we're worthy of an article here?"
     "At least, if not a feature spread," said Mike.  "Wonderful collection, blind caretaker, open to the public; what's not to love.  What fascinates me is how everything is right out where everyone can touch it."  He carefully balanced his curiosity with a reporter's indifference.  "In most museums there are glass and ropes."
     "That's exactly how I think it should be for these things."  Mike could see the old fellow's passion.  "They weren't meant as works of art, but they've grown into something special nonetheless.  Still, there are a few items I don't keep out."
     "Really?  I'd love to. . ."  Ian interrupted before he could finish.
     "No, no, I'm sorry."  The thought seemed to shake the old man.  "Too, uh, sensitive."
     "Indeed, I understand," Mike said with a nod.  He carefully noted Ian's blind glance toward the rear hall.  "Private collection."
     "Not - well, yes, something like that," said Ian, relief evident in his voice.
     After some further polite exchanges, Michael excused himself and trudged to his rental car.  Early sunset and lowering storm clouds had already blanketed the town with darkness and snow.  Neither would stop the heist.
     Mike mulled over the job during dinner at The Capital Grille.  No alarm, no pet; it seemed the old fellow had no idea that what he had was so valuable.  Either this would be the easiest heist for the money that he'd ever pulled, or he'd missed something.  Mike was still confident in his ability to overcome any obstacle a blind, old man or older house might present, but considering every angle was part of his process.
     It was a little after 3 a.m. when Mike made his move.  The snow had stopped for now, though the clouds still threatened.  He already knew there were no windows into the back of the house and now he thought he knew why.  It was a matter of five minutes and he was through the front door.
     A few more minutes of quiet search discovered the locked door he'd expected.  The lock was effective, but unsophisticated, and Mike was in the private collection before 3:30 am.  It only took one look around for him to understand why this stuff wasn't on display.
     If the rest of the collection was strange, this stuff was incomprehensible.  There were jars with macabre things floating in murky liquid, racks of shrunken heads, even a stuffed and mounted animal Mike didn't recognize.  He wasn't here to take the tour, though, so he kept searching rather than stop to figure things out.
     Between a ribcage with strange spikes, and a laquered box covered with geometric designs, Mike located what he'd been hired to steal.  Under the bell glass cover was a hand-made leather doll that vaguely resembled a teddy bear.  The thick skin looked slimy and none of the usual facial details were there. Crude stitching reminded him of Frankenstein's monster.  Mike felt aversion at the thought of touching it, but finally told himself he was here to steal it, not write a review.
     He examined the bell jar closely for alarms, but found nothing amiss.  Satisfied, he lifted the glass and -
     - fell to the floor in agony.  Pain overrode every thought, every brain cell.  Bones cracked and shattered under the pressure of shrinking skin; organs and muscles squirted out in all directions then withered to dust.  In seconds Mike was a near-duplicate of the doll, which went through a simultaneous mirrored transformation.
     Taking great care not to look at it, the Chinese man placed the newly-shrunken doll under the glass.  More quickly he dressed himself in Mike's empty clothing and moved to the door.  He paused there, fingers touching the wooden panel.
     "I am leaving, Ian," he said.  "My conquest was only delayed."
     "You know I can't let you, Hann," came the old man's voice outside the door.
     "Stop me if you dare," said Hann.
     "I'm far too old, now.  I can only kill you."
     With a shuddering thump, bright flame blossomed under the door.  Hann lunged away as the door shattered and a wall of fire burst in.




     The young fireman poked through the smoking rubble with a wrecking bar, searching for and extinguishing hotspots that might rekindle the blaze.  Dawn grayed the sky but it was still cold enough to make him glad for the protective gear  Twisting aside a charcoaled beam, he found embers and something sticking out of them.
     With a gloved hand he reached and pulled at the object.  What came out was one of the strangest things he'd seen in a house fire; a weird leather teddy bear that was not even scorched.  After a brief examination through his faceshield, he tossed it away from the burned structure; no need to leave a possible fuel source in the place.  He failed to notice the young Asian man snatch the doll from the slush and run away.
     The next thing Mike knew he was naked and cold, someplace he didn't remember, curled up facing an upside down fish tank over that strange doll.  He discovered that someone's clothing was piled under him, so he dressed and left.  Whoever wanted that damn doll thing could get it himself.




The End