Shadewood

The Shadewood Pocket Watch

     Finley Fitzsimmons, a tall, pale skinned boy, entered the local Shadewood pawn shop. The bell jingled as he opened and closed the door. He reached his hand into his vest pocket, fingering his twenty-dollar bill. He walked slowly, looking out for anything that piqued his interest. A man behind the counter watched Finley carefully.

     "Anything look interestin'?" The man asked.

     "Not yet," Finley answered. His light brown eyes never left the display case.

     After five minutes, something finally caught Finley's eye. A golden pocket watch with intricate designs and emeralds embedded around the edge. But perhaps the most curious thing about this pocket watch was the emerald eye in the middle. The pupil was a slit, very much resembling the eye of a cat.

     Finley pointed at the abnormal pocket watch. The man behind the counter moved, lifted the top of the glass case and reached a hand in. He grabbed the golden chain and handed it to Finley. In return, Finley gave the man his twenty-dollar bill. They moved back and the man deposited the bill into the old-fashioned cash register. Finley thanked the man and left with the new ornament adorning his dark blue vest.

     A block down from the pawn shop, there was a man. He leaned against his car with the daily newspaper in his hands. The man's name was Rolland Tafani. Rolland was a sickly-looking man. He had greasy gray hair slicked back on his head, and his face was hollow and skeletal. The gaunt man continued to read his newspaper until Finley Fitzsimmons stopped in front of his car. His chest puffed out making his brand-new pocket watch hard not to notice.

     Rolland looked up from his newspaper. His nose wrinkled at seeing the arrogant boy, as if a foul smell had reached his nostrils. When Finley didn't say anything, Rolland continued to observe the boy. His cold gray eyes reached the pocket watch and his eyes widened in recognition.

     "Where did you get that?" Rolland's voice was nasally and lacking any sort of comfort.

     "The local Shadewood pawn shop," Finley boasted, oblivious to Rolland's sudden hostility.

     "That's not yours, Fitzsimmons!" Rolland screeched and leapt forward, grabbing the boy by the arm and tugging him forward. Finley's eyes were wide with fear. Rolland's bony fingers latched onto the chain and he ripped the pocket watch from Finley's vest. Before Finley could protest, Rolland was already in his car and driving away, up the hill to the Hutchbrook Mansion, where the Tafani family resided.

     Stunned, Finley watched as the black car drove up the hill, taking his brand-new pocket watch with it.

     South of the Hutchbrook Mansion was the Noblebranch Manor. Inside, Finley paced in front of his parents who sat on one of many black leather sofas. The shadows from the furniture flickered on the dark emerald green walls. Finley's parents watched him pace back and forth and listened to his story. He explained that he had bought himself a new pocket watch and that Rolland Tafani had "appeared out of nowhere" and snatched it from him and drove off to Hutchbrook Mansion.

     Furious, Finley's parents jumped from their sofa and headed to the police station to complain. When they got there, however, they were met with the sheriff, John Lockum, and Rolland Tafani discussing something in rushed, angry whispers. Upon noticing their arrival, Rolland and John's head turned toward the door where the enraged boy's parents stood.

     John Lockum, a tired man at the age of forty-two, looked annoyed by the new arrival, as if he had seen them more than he would have liked.