THE SILVER LOCKET
​
January 12, 1992
Paul walked down the gentle slope of the snow-covered hill as it made its way towards the center of the small Maine town named Aurora. He hadn't taken the time to leave his room at the dirty hotel he was staying in, over on Center St., to explore the old beauty of Aurora, but this was his chance to find out what people were like in this neck of the woods.
Aurora was bordered on two sides by water. On the Western edge of town ran the Union River, complete with an outlet to the Atlantic, making trade in years past much simpler than for the rest of the state. And on the Eastern side ran the smaller, but still as useful Spectacle/Lead Mountain river. This waterway, although not really having a given name, connected the two major ponds in the area, the Spectacle Pond, and Lead Mountain Pond. Both were frozen now, but Paul had been told by the hotel manager that they were "Great swimming holes in the summer." Paul took his word for it.
Several hundred miles lay to the North before you'd reach civilization and to the South was Amherst. Aurora was quietly tucked into the middle of nowhere and Paul could feel it.
As he walked into the center of town he noticed a small red brick building with an apparently newly painted large white sign with big blue letters on the front that said, 'Maine National Bank' and in smaller letter underneath it said, 'Aurora Branch'. Its sidewalk and entrance were well cleared and salted of the heavy snows the town had gotten on Thursday. Paul glanced at the small glass door, wondering if they had a MAC machine anywhere in the tiny building.
"Probably not," he said quietly to himself. He continued walking. He passed Nick's Barber Shop, 'The Place' Luncheonette, a hardware store where you could buy anything from "fishing gear to a hammer". What a motto! Paul thought as he passed by. The First Presbyterian Church of Aurora, a flower, and crafts shop where the sign out front was missing the 'ft' from craft. They probably do sell crap, not crafts, he thought solemnly.
The street is oddly quiet for this time of day, he glanced at his silver and black Timex. Especially at 4:00 pm.
He continued walking down the small road past the town hall, the Sheriff's office, the Mayor's office, the Police and Fire station and if a glimmer of light hadn't caught his eye he almost would have past the small antique shop on his right. He walked slowly back to the window to get a better look at what had reflected the sunlight. It was a small, silver heart-shaped locket with an intricate design of roses etched onto the cover. It hung on a fine silver chain that was more tarnished than the locket itself and had been placed lovingly on a cushion of red velvet.
Wendy'd love this, he thought. As he looked at it more closely through the window a cold breeze blew up behind him. He had left his girlfriend on Friday after a big argument about why he had been late meeting her for dinner. He'd actually been late because his boss had asked him to work some overtime to get a design done, but she didn't want to believe that. She seemed to think that he had been off with some other woman.
That had been the straw that had broken the camel's back. He had been more faithful to her than he had to any other women in his life and she knew it. He'd done everything he could to get her to stay with him. He gave her space when she needed it and held her close when she wanted it. He'd given her anything she ever even hinted at wanting and most importantly he had been faithful to her. He finally got tired of always having to prove himself to her so he had turned around and left; driving straight up Route 1 from New Jersey until he had gotten tired and pulled off the major road to find somewhere to stay for the night. He ended up here. Aurora. A town he never knew existed, a town he didn't particularly care for all that much either. It was a little more laid back than he was used to. He supposed it wasn't the town so much as the cold weather. A brutal Arctic storm had swept the North recently. And that bothered him. What would he do if he got stuck up here? All this, along with the fact that he was alone, unsure about whether Wendy would even want to talk to him again after the foolish stunt he'd pulled of going away for a weekend without telling her and the fact that his car battery had died yesterday morning and that the local mechanic wouldn't be able to get him a new battery until early Sunday afternoon. These things gnawed at his brain as he stood in the cold.
At least if I bring her something special, she might consider talking things out with me, he thought pulling his brown leather jacket closer around his neck as a gust of icy wind tore down the street. Heading into it, he walked swiftly to the door, turned the worn, brass handle and entered the warmth of the old store. The smells of dust and furniture polish permeated the air. A little bell jingled as the door swung open causing the old man in the back to come shuffling out as quickly as he could.
"How can I help you?" he said without that Maine accent that all the people had up here, where they draw out their r's to sound like a's.
"I'm looking for the owner. I was interested in the locket you have displayed in the window."
"I'm the guy you want to talk to." the old man said with a friendly attitude, then a glance at the window display, "But I don't think you'll want it." he completed, getting physically nervous.
"Money is no object," Paul said quickly, pulling out a small roll of fifties. "I want that locket." He was confident that he could have it if only he tried hard enough.
"Why don't I show you some of the other things that I have in the store. We have some very nice rings and bracelets and chains. I'm sure we could find something more suitable for you."
"Look. I don't really want anything else. Why won't you sell me that locket?" Paul pleaded.
"Ahhh...ahhh...I can't."
"Is it sold? Is that the reason?" Paul asked trying to find a way to possess that perfect token of his affection.
"No, not exactly...."
"Then why can't you sell it to me?"
"Son, there are certain things in this life that aren't for sale,"
"So I guess I can't have it, then, can I?"
"It's not that I don't want to sell it..." the old man said.
"Then what is it?" The old man paused. Paul waited.
"Some people say that there is a legend attached to that locket," the man said.
"A legend? You believe that stuff?"
"Well, I don't." the man said trying to save some of his dignity. "But there are some that believe."
"Well, I don't."
"But you don't know the legend."
"It doesn't matter. I'm not superstitious."
"Maybe you should be." the man said cryptically.
"So does this mean that you'll sell me the locket?"
"I suppose, but I have to warn you about the legend."
"It's not necessary, really."
"If I didn't tell you, some people in this town would think I'm not a good businessman. Let me just tell you and then you can see if you still want to buy it. Okay?"
"Okay. I'll listen. I have nothing to lose. I want that locket."
The old man motioned for Paul to follow him to the back room. As Paul navigated the small shop densely filled with pieces of antique furniture, chairs, tables, and phone tables, he passed a tall standing mirror. His reflection was dusty, but the wood grain around the mirror looked dark and comfortable.
"You like that? $100." the man said when he noticed Paul gazing at his reflection. Paul didn't say a word. He was mesmerized by the picture that he posed. His short dark brown hair swept back from his forehead, his round glasses reflecting the light. His piercing blue eyes that stared at him intently, as they scanned his tattered leather jacket and faded jeans. His wet hiking boots couldn't be seen in the image because the mirror titled upward and also reflected behind him. As his eyes became unfocused he thought he saw a dark shadow behind him and spun around expectantly.
"What?"
"I said, do you like that mirror? I'll sell it to you for $100."
"Oh, no thanks. Just the locket today."
"And the legend." the old man reminded.
"And the legend," Paul repeated with mounting disbelief.
The old man motioned for him to follow once more. "I have some coffee made if you'd like some. There's water for tea too."
"No, thanks. Just the locket." he paused, "And the legend." The old man smiled.
Taking a seat in a battered wooden chair and motioning for Paul to do the same, the old man began to speak.
"A long time ago, there was a man named Nicholas Moore. And old Nicholas had a love named Sara. Well, when Nick Moore decided he wanted to marry this woman a friend thought it fit that he should find out if she loved him or not."
"That makes sense," Paul replied patiently.
"Anyway, Nick was a superstitious young man and he believed in magic."
"This is getting ridiculous."
"You want the locket, you listen to the tale."
"Okay. I'm listening."
"Nick believed in magic. Now at the time, it was also believed that a witch lived out in the woods. She was probably no more than an old woman who lived on the outskirts of town, but everybody believed that she was a witch. Anyway, Nick went to Bangor one day to find a wedding gift for his bride to be. It turned out to be that locket.
"Well, when he returned, he brought the locket to this old witch woman and she supposedly put a charm on it so that old Nick would know whether his love, Sara, truly loved him in her heart."
"That's it? A stupid charm?"
"No, that's not it. The charm is the important part. It's said that the charm that she placed on that locket was evil. It's said that when the moon is new and darkness prevails over the Earth, that the Sandman comes to find the wearer of that locket and if their heart is not pure in the love for the person they profess, evil nightmares will fall upon them."
"Nightmares! You wouldn't sell me the locket because you were afraid my girlfriend would get nightmares?"
"No. That's not what I was afraid of. It's what Sara did to Nicholas that frightens me."
"What Sara did to Nicholas? What'd she do?" Paul asked a bit more nervous than he was before.
"Well, it's said that they were married as planned and on the morning after their wedding night, Sara woke up screaming. She turned to look at her new husband and found that his throat had been slit from ear to ear in the middle of the night. It's said that after that, Sara went insane. She kept babbling about the Sandman and a dream she couldn't remember." The old man took a sip of his cold, black coffee.
"I don't believe that. It's a story, that's all. Just a silly story."
"Well, if that's the way you still feel, then I guess I can sell it to you with a clear conscience."
"Great. How much?"
The old man thought. "Fifteen hundred. After all, it is over four hundred years old."
"Fifteen hundred it is," Paul said, pulling out his checkbook. "You will take a personal check?" he asked expectantly.
"Well, I don't normally, but you seem to have your heart set on this, so I suppose."
"Thanks. I promise it's good." The old man smiled walking towards the front of the store to retrieve the merchandise.
As Paul signed his name to the check, the old man returned with the locket in hand. "Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. There's an inscription in French on the inside."
"Yeah? What's it say?" Paul asked interestedly.
"Le couer pur n'aurait jamais peur," the old man read slowly.
"That's nice." Paul paused, smiling and thinking, "What's it mean?"
"From what I can tell, " the old man said, "The pure of heart need never fear."
Paul walked back to the hotel, the silver locket tucked safely in his pocket. If his car was ready he could leave within the hour and be back home early tomorrow. He could call Wendy then and see if she would be willing to talk. God! he hoped she would.
Excerpts from Wendy Miller's Journal
January 10, 1992
Paul and I had the biggest fight we've ever had. He was two and a half hours late for our date and he didn't call. He told me he had to work late because his boss asked him too, but he's been having to work late a lot lately and I've started to get worried.
I asked him if he was seeing someone else. He said, no and then got very upset that I would even ask that type of question. He told me that if I didn't trust him then maybe he'd just leave. I'm starting to get worried. It's been four hours since he left here and he isn't home yet. I've called him several times in the last few hours, but I hang up when the answering machine picks up. I hope he isn't sitting there ignoring the phone. I doubt it, he's not that type of person. I hope he hasn't done anything stupid. I didn't mean to hurt him, I guess I was just insecure. I guess I'll wait until tomorrow to drop over and see if he's okay.
January 11, 1992
He wasn't home! His car was gone and the lights were out. I don't know where he is. He hasn't called and everyone I've talked to, his neighbors, and some mutual friends, haven't seen him since Thursday. I hope he's okay.
January 13, 1992
Paul called me today. He went North for the weekend, just to get away. He told me that he was sorry. I apologized too. He says he has something for me and wants to see me tonight. That must be him at the door.
Later that day
Paul gave me the most beautiful thing tonight. It's a silver locket with rosebuds carved on the front. There's an inscription on the inside. He told me it means "The pure of heart need not fear." I asked him what the unpure of heart should fear. He said he didn't know.
We made love after he gave me the locket. It was one of the most intense sexual experiences we've ever shared together. I hope he feels the same. He's asleep right now, but I just couldn't wait to write this down. I guess I'll try to sleep now.
January 15, 1992
Had the strangest dream last night. Paul and I were arguing over something, but I don't exactly remember what. All I know is that I woke up screaming. I called Paul and he said it was just a nightmare, nothing to worry about. He didn't wake up screaming. I guess he's right though. Dreams can't hurt you. There's nothing to be afraid of.
January 19, 1992
Paul and I went to dinner tonight. We took a nice ride West into Pennsylvania. We stopped for dinner at the quaintest little place, I can't remember the name of it though. It was all like a dream. Really, the only thing I can remember is the tall, pale waiter. I watched him walk away and he seemed to glide as if his feet weren't touching the ground. Paul said that was ridiculous, and that I was just being silly. I suppose he's right, but sometimes I feel Paul is too much of a realist.
Dinner was wonderful and so was Paul. He's been so good to me since we had that argument last week. I think he's trying to make up for it every chance he gets. He told me he'd take me ice skating this coming weekend if I wanted. I told him we'd see.
January 22, 1992
I had this horrible nightmare last night. I was caught within a dream. All I know was that I woke up three times, and I was still dreaming. I've never had that happen before.
I vaguely remember myself in a flowing white dress and I sat on a throne. There were these two huge animals lying at my feet. I don't know if they were dogs or wolves. For some reason, the word 'mastiffs' keeps coming into my head. Maybe that's what they were. I got the feeling that they'd do whatever I wanted them to do. And that I was feeling very, very evil. As if I wanted to destroy something. Or Someone.
January 25, 1992
I had another dream last night. I woke up screaming again. In this dream, I was dressed in white again. I had these two huge mastiffs, this time I'm sure that's what they were, by my side. Paul was there and he told me he loved me. I felt my heart being torn from my chest and I pointed to Paul and the dogs started to attack him. They tackled him and were tearing at his flesh. I heard him scream but couldn't stop them. For some reason, I didn't want to. Finally, the dogs stopped biting at him and disappeared. I looked at the bloody mass on the stone floor. His breathing was short and raspy. I couldn't move. He turned his head towards me, his skull smashed and blood covering his entire ragged body. His throat had been torn out, so he couldn't speak, but I heard him say, "I loved you. Why did you do this to me?" then I woke up.
I'm starting to get scared. These dreams are getting out of hand. I can't bear to go to sleep anymore. I'm afraid that I'll wake up screaming every time I do.
I talked to Paul. He said not to worry about it. That maybe I should see a doctor. I said I thought that might not be a bad idea.
January 27, 1992
I went to the doctor today. I explained what was wrong and he said that it didn't sound physical so much as emotional or mental. He gave me the name of a psychiatrist, but I haven't made the appointment with him. He also gave me a prescription for sleeping pills. He said that maybe it'd help me get a good nights sleep.
The office called me today. My boss asked me if I realized that I hadn't been into work for almost a week. I told him that I was sorry and that I was having some emotional problems. I explained what had been going on over the last several weeks and then I asked for an indefinite leave of absence. He thought for a few minutes and then agreed. He told me he hoped I felt better soon and when I did, all I'd have to do was call him. My job would be waiting for me.
January 30, 1992
The dreams are getting worse. The sleeping pills that the doctor gave me have only succeeded in trapping me in the thing that I now hate most. Sleep.
When I took them on Monday night I dreamed I saw Paul trapped in his little red Fiero, under the ice of Neilson Pond. As the car filled with water and he pounded on the glass window trying to get out, I stood on the bank laughing. I couldn't stop myself. And the pills only kept me there laughing. I couldn't wake up.
I tried them again on Tuesday. The dream I had wasn't as bad but in some ways, it seemed worse. I dreamed that Paul and I were fighting. As the fight escalated I started throwing things at him. At one point I picked up a lamp and bashed his head in with it.
I couldn't bear to take them last night. I tossed and turned for several hours, then when I finally did fall asleep the dreams came again.
When I told Paul about them, he said it was probably just my overactive imagination. I'm not so sure. The weather isn't changing all that much, I'm already past my period and I haven't been eating before I go to bed. Maybe it's the moon. They say that when the moon is full people do crazy things. Well, maybe it happens when the moon is waxing new.
Whatever the case, Paul said he'd spend the next couple nights with me. At least it'll make me feel better.
Excerpt from Paul Jacobs Journal
February 4, 1992
I know now that legends are true. I stayed with Wendy for four nights and every night the dreams would come. Just like that old man had said. She wasn't of a pure heart in her love for me, but I knew that. It didn't matter to me. Or maybe it did and that's why I bought the locket. Well, I suppose it doesn't matter now. Wendy's dead.
Last night, which just happened to be the new moon, Wendy tried to kill me. In the middle of the night, when the night was at its darkest, Wendy came after me with a long carving knife. She was in a frenzy and there was little that I could do to defend myself. At one point, I held my right arm in front of my face when she forced me into a corner. I kept screaming her name, but she didn't seem to hear. She just kept hacking at me determined to kill me. In an effort to escape the fury of her blade, I tried to punch her. The knife cut into my right fist and split my hand nearly in half. I renewed my bloody efforts and managed to knock the long steel blade from her hands. It flew across the room and stuck in the wall, right through a picture of the two of us.
She looked at me with wild, animal eyes and turned to run for the weapon. When I tried to stop her, she began scratching at my face trying to free herself from the weight of my body. Her animal instincts kicked in and she roared like a she-lion in pain, pushing me across the room. I fell onto the floor. Exhausted and bloody she did not relent. It had come down to my life or hers.
As she came towards me the final time, I grabbed the lamp, miraculously still standing on the table, and swung. My life depended on this. I heard the base of the lamp crack bone and blood sprayed across the walls, ceiling and myself in hundreds of thousands of tiny droplets. Wendy's battered, bloody body fell to the floor with a solid thump. She remained motionless.
I made my way to the telephone and dialed 911. The police were already on their way.
I'm in custody now. My hand and arm are wrapped in white gauze and the bleeding seems to have stopped. It hurts like a bitch, but the doctor gave me some painkillers that should kick in any time now.
When I told the police about the locket and the legend, they didn't believe me. When they searched Wendy's body and her apartment, they said they couldn't find anything resembling it. I told them that that must have been the cause of her attack. There didn't seem to be any other logical explanation. Not now anyway.
They tell me I'm being charged with second-degree murder and if I'm lucky I'll get out in twenty years. I've been telling them it's not my fault. Find that locket and the man that sold it to me, but they tell me he doesn't exist. And that Aurora as I've described it doesn't exist either. Nothing I've said seems to be true. They've decided to have a psychiatric evaluation done on me. I'm not sure what it will show. Maybe I am crazy. I'm not sure I can tell the difference anymore.
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