I lean my head against the window, fighting to overcome carsickness. My parents cheerfully chatter in the seats ahead, unaware of my nausea. I hate these car trips. Mom loves driving across the country, stopping at tourist sites that aren’t even famous. Dad just goes along with it all. I might like doing this better if I didn’t feel like I was going to barf each time I stepped in a car.
Our old mini-van abruptly stops, making me lurch forward and smack my head against the seat in front of me. Ow. Mom turns to face me.
“We’re here! Nordensburg. I’ve been wanting to go to the museum here for years!” My mom has wanted to go to practically every museum for years. I can’t say I’m surprised.
Our van gives one last puff of black smoke, almost staining the snow as Mom parks and turns off the engine. If vans could, I’m sure It’d be as grateful as I am that we aren’t driving anymore. The silent little town is blanketed in snow and ice. On one side of the narrow street sits the museum Mom was ‘dying’ to visit, and on the other there’s a small store, an antique shop, and a gas station that consists of one lone gas pump. Dad raises his eyebrows.
“Well, it’s not exactly grand.”
Mom smiles. “No tourists! It’s perfect. I hate waiting forever in lines.”
Not exactly my idea of perfect but she’s right, there’s not a single human being in sight. The name of this town certainly lives up to its appearance. I shiver in my jacket and shuffle to avoid slipping on the frosty ice. Mom starts heading towards the museum.
“I hope the museum is open. I’ll be completely devastated if it’s closed.”
I frown. “ Mom? Can I go to the antique shop? I have to write a report on the 1950’s for school. They might have something there I could get an idea from.”
“Okay. Come back to the car in an hour.”
The truth was, something about that antique shop intrigued me. I’m not quite sure why, because I’m usually not that interested in anything from over 5 years ago. I head towards the little shop.
As soon as I open the door, a little bell rings and the smell of old dusty things wafts towards me. The wooden floor creaks with age as I slowly walk across it, surveying the bookshelves that are half filled with books, and half with other odd things obviously collected from different places across the world.
I glance up sharply, hearing a rustling of paper, calming down when I realize it’s just a lady behind the counter. The lady is old, with librarian glasses pushed down to the tip of her nose. Her gray hair is pulled up in a tight bun. She peers at me, over her glasses and slowly her tight lipped expression creeps up into a smile, creasing the wrinkles around her mouth.
“Hello.” I say, not quite knowing what else to say.
The lady doesn’t respond, gives me a queer knowing look, and continues to sort a pile of papers. I shrug and glance around, only now wondering why I’d even wanted to come here in the first place.
I glance at the stuff crammed into the bookshelves and buckets. There are books, clothes, old toys, jewelry, collectible things, and so much more. As I’m looking through the jewelry, picking up a dusty watch, I see a ring. I set the watch down, and pick up the ring to examine it.
A red stone is nestled in the center of the ring, and I could swear it almost glowed. Something about this stone was different. I could tell. Suddenly, the door to the little shop banged open, and, with a sharp clang, the little bell flew off the door and onto the ground.
“Is it here? Did you save it?” A man stepped into the little room, looming in front of the entrance. I shivered as cold air seeped in. The man looked around, his beady eyes landing on me for a fleeting moment, then continuing to the wizened old lady behind the counter.
“I needn’t take it off the shelves, for no one hardly comes in here anyways.” The lady glanced at me. The man did too, and they both looked as if they were struggling to find out what I was holding in my hands... the ring.
Clenching the object in my hands I slowly backed away, bumping into a few boxes. The man narrowed his eyes, and slowly strode over to the place where I’d found the ring. He swept his hand through the jewelry, searching. I backed up some more. He must be after the ring. The man looked up at the lady.
“Where is it, Martha?”
Martha looked at me. I stared back at her. Then I ran. The building was bigger than I thought, so I was able to duck behind some furniture and jump into an old closet, before they rounded the corner.
“Get her! She has it!” The man’s deep voice was close. I glanced around the closet, which was tight and cramped. My heart hammered in my chest, and I was shaking. What would that guy do to me if he caught me? Something told me it would be very bad if he got the ring.
All of a sudden, I felt a prickling sensation on the back of my neck, and I reached my hand back to find out what it was. My hand brushed something rather large on my neck and whatever it was fell off. My eyes widened as I looked down. A spider. The closet was full of them.
