A Horror Anthology

A Curious Boy - @Josh Saltzman

The wind screamed snow into the foyer as The Stranger opened the door and entered in from the storm. He approached the front desk, and asked Deacon's mom if they had any vacant rooms. 

"I'm sorry, we're all full up. The Ivory Inn in Hilltop may have a room. I can call them if you wish."

Deacon peered between the railings of the second floor landing, watching The Stranger shake snow from his hat, revealing a moon of a bald head, craters and all.

"Unfortunately I am stuck. My automobile has found itself lodged in a snow bank a half-mile up the road."

This was a lie.

Deacon knew.

He had seen The Stranger from the attic window. The shadowy man emerged from the woods behind the B&B and not from the road as he had just claimed.

Deacon wanted to tell him mother this, but couldn't. It would be self-incriminating. The attic had been converted into a cozy guest room with a slanted roof that made it feel like a tent. Knowing the occupants, a young couple, were still out skiing, Deacon had snuck in and rummaged through their luggage. Near the bottom of one of their suitcases he found a small velvet box with a diamond ring inside. He held the ring up to the attic window and let the light spread into a million colors. That's when he saw the Stranger.... exiting the white capped evergreens beyond the yard – bringing the winter storm with him.

Deacon had a game, you see. His parents called it a troubling habit. The game was Treasure Hunter. His parents called it snooping through their guests' luggage. Deacon didn't mean to be a snoop, it's just that he was a curious boy. Deacon was marooned in his parents' Bed and Breakfast. He didn't go to school like the other kids, so each vacationer that resided at Snowy Valley B&B brought with them treasures locked within chests from the wide world outside. His parents called these treasures private belongings. But to Deacon, these were his to explore. The treasures were never that interesting: Clothes, shaving kits, lady stuff, pills...

It wasn't the contents that made his imagination swirl. It was the moment. After he'd crept passed his parents, teffed a spare room key, avoided all the known creaky spots on the stairs, opened the locked guest room, tip-toed to a bag, and just before he unzipped, unhooked, or unlocked the treasure chest - the moment arrived. He'd let the chest keep their secrets a second more... Then he'd flip the lid fully open to reveal... nothing much.

The moment would pass, the game of treasure hunter at an end. He'd put everything back, return the key, and promise himself never to play Treasure Hunter again. But when a new guest would arrive, treasure chests in tow...

Deacon had been caught red handed on more than one occasion and the consequences went as so: His father would yank him out of the guest room and march him to their quarters. Then father would yell and yell some more. He would make him sit in his room without supper - well, a little supper - but no ice cream. Then father would explain that going through people's private belongings, especially our paying guests, is not only forbidden, but is not a moral thing to do. These lectures only made Deacon better at being quiet, better at sneaking, better at knowing what times to go and how to look and touch, but also how to put bac, so that it would seem no one had ever touched anything at all.

*

"Perhaps we can call Jim Little, he runs the tow in Hilltop." Deacon's mom went for the phone.

"That would be very kind 'mam, very kind indeed." Said The Stranger as he dusted the snow of an ornate box that he cradled under his arm.

She plucked the phone, clicked the receiver three times and then hung up. "Storm must have taken out the lines. Well, we can't turn you out in this. It's only going to get worse. Not that we're complaining. Almost thought cross-country skiing would be cross country mudding this season..."