Copyright © 2002 Laura Bradford. All rights reserved. 

     Was it her imagination or did the clerk’s face darken when he saw her walk into the shop with the chair tucked under her arm.  It had to be in her head...didn’t it?  Why would a shopkeeper be disappointed by the presence of a customer, especially in a shop located so far off the beaten track?

She took a deep breath and forced herself to relax for the first time since she discovered the ominous message crudely etched in the chair she had purchased there over the weekend.

She watched as the man’s dark eyes studied the chair she was carrying with a look that she couldn’t quite identify.

“Can I help you with something?” the man mumbled as she walked over to the counter.

“I hope so.  I bought this chair here on Friday afternoon and I was wondering...”

“As the sign says, no exchanges-no refunds,” the man said, jerking his head toward the faded sign hanging on the wall behind him.

“Oh no, I don’t want to return it.  I was just wondering if you could tell me where this chair came from.”

“Lady, I get old furniture like that in here all the time from every Tom, Dick and Harry hopin’ to make a few bucks.  If I could keep track of every person that walks through that door, I would be some successful insurance salesman playing golf with my clients in Boca Raton...not selling used junk in the middle of no-where-land.”

Taken aback by the man’s rudeness, Megan took another deep breath before continuing.  She glanced slowly around the dimly lit room and noticed for the first time how unkempt the place was.  An old mirror hanging on the back wall reflected her image.

I need a haircut...

Feeling the shopkeeper’s eyes on her, she refocused her attention.

“Do you have many repeat sellers?” she asked, hoping to get some sort of useful information after driving all the way out there for the second time in four days.

     “Sure we do, and most of our selling customers come with a bunch of items at one time.  Most of the time it’s some poor slob whose wife has decided it’s time for new furniture and so he’s just trying to find some way to help pay the tab.”

“And you really don’t remember this chair coming in?  It is dark purple, you know.”

“Purple, green, fuchsia...that’s not too unusual for this place.  It’s the cream-colored stuff that you don’t see much of around here.”

“Well, thanks anyway,” she said, before heading towards the door from which she had just come moments earlier.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what’s the big deal with where that chair came from anyhow?”

“I bought this chair because I like the detail of the seatback.  When I was little, my grandfather taught me how to strip a piece of furniture and refinish it—”

“And so you thought you would apply grandpa’s lesson to this here chair, huh?”

She nodded her head softly before continuing.  “Over the weekend I was stripping off some of the purple paint.  I realized that the cushion didn’t fit quite right.  So I pried it out with some tools I had, figuring I could find a cushion that would look better.  When I finally got it up, I came across something etched in the seat underneath.”

“And now you want to see if the lovebird who carved his sweetie’s initials is living happily ever after with her in some mansion in the hills...” the man said, chuckling.

“Not quite,” Megan responded through clenched teeth.  “Are you always this condescending with your customers or is this your version of preferential treatment for your hundredth customer?”

The sound of his laughter caught her off guard as she saw a smile creep across his face.

“Touché”.

With a few quick strides, the young man—who only moments earlier had seemed sullen and distant—came out from around the counter to get a closer look at the chair Megan was holding.

“I’m sorry, ma’am.  I guess I figured you were going to give me a hard time about wanting to return that chair,” he said, running his hand through the short, curly hair that had fallen onto his forehead.  “My name is Curtis.”

Surprised by the man’s sudden change of mood, Megan shrugged her shoulders and motioned to her chair.

“No harm done.  But look...” Megan said.  She pointed to the crudely written letters she had discovered.

She watched breathlessly as he squatted down to read the words that had haunted her dreams since she first saw them.

“It looks like `EID OT EM TFEL EH’.”

“Reverse it,” she prompted nervously.

“What do you mean?”

“Read it the other way.”

“Okay.  Let’s see here...HE...LEFT...ME...TO...DIE,” Curtis read aloud slowly.

“See?”

“Well, what do you make of that?” Curtis asked.

“I don’t know.  That’s why I was hoping you might remember something about the person who brought this chair in here in the first place.”

“Wow, this is too weird.”

“And you really don’t remember anything about this chair?” Megan asked.

“No, but there is one other person that works here, maybe he would remember,” he said.  “Let me give him a call and see if he knows anything that could help us.”

As she waited for Curtis to make a phone call, Megan walked slowly around the store.  Tables of all sizes and shapes were strewn throughout the shop, ugly figurines and gaudy knick-knacks adorning them.  Chairs, like the one she had bought, were a dime a dozen...some needing major refinishing, while others needed only a new coat of paint or a comfortable cushion. The walls were covered with a variety of ornately decorated mirrors.  In fact, Megan had never seen so many mirrors in one place.

The sound of Curtis’s voice on the telephone broke through her thoughts.  She tried to hear what he was saying but his voice was surprisingly quiet.

“Any luck?” Megan asked, as she watched Curtis put down the phone.

“Nah...Bill wasn’t home.  Rarely is.  I don’t really know why he owns this place anyhow...doesn’t need the money,” Curtis said with a shrug.

“Wait a minute.  When I was in here on Friday, a teenage girl waited on me.  What about her?”

“That was Bill’s niece.  She was just filling in that day because I had some stuff I had to get done.”

“Oh.  So I guess I should just give this up, huh?” Megan asked.  “It’s just so strange.”

“I agree.  Hey, if you want to pick out a different chair for yourself to replace this one, I could make an exception to our `no refund-no exchange’ policy.”

Curtis pointed toward several chairs near the back.  “Those look to be quite similar to yours, only those don’t have a cushion in the center.”

“My chair might as well have been missing a cushion.  The one that it had didn’t seem like it belonged anyway,” Megan said, wishing she had chosen one of the other chairs when she was there on Friday.  If she had, she would have a newly refinished chair by now instead of nightmares about some creepy message.  “I’ve just got to hang on to this and see if it doesn’t lead me to something interesting.”

“Okay.  Then let’s take this into the back room and see if we can find any other messages or clues.”

Megan followed Curtis as he carried her chair into the tiny room to the left of the register.

“If someone were really in trouble and they were trying to leave a clue of some sort, why would they write it backward?” Curtis asked.  He grabbed a knife and began scraping away some of the purple paint Megan had not gotten to.

“I have no idea.  That’s what I’ve been wrestling with in my head all weekend...”

As they scraped at the paint, looking for any further clues, they both fell silent—plagued with unanswered questions and sinister scenarios.

“Sounds like someone’s here,” Megan said quietly, as she heard the faint sound of a car door outside the window.

 Curtis put down the knife he was working with and headed out into the shop.

When he returned a few minutes later he was shaking his head sadly, holding a bright pink flyer in his hand.

“Is everything okay?” Megan asked.

“Yeah.  That was just a lady that lives on the northern edge of town asking if I would put this flyer up on the front door.”

“What’s it about?”

“Her daughter has been missing for a few weeks.  She was out jogging one morning and vanished.”

“A few weeks?  And you’re just now hearing about it?” Megan asked incredulously.

“No.  Mrs. Courtland dropped off a flyer when her daughter first disappeared, but she said she wanted to change colors to grab people’s attention,” Curtis said as he tossed the paper onto the cluttered desk.  “But she really doesn’t need to do anything else to get people to notice.  This is the first time something like this has ever happened in these parts and everyone is aware.”

“Aren’t you going to hang it up like she asked?”

“When I get a chance.  Bill thinks the chick is probably long dead by now.”

     “That’s so sad,” Megan said.  She studied the photograph depicted on the flyer Curtis had left on the desk.  “Did you know the girl?”

“Went to school with her.”

“What’s she like?”

“Vain.”

Stretching her arms above her head in an effort to loosen the knots that had formed in her limbs over the past several hours, Megan’s eyes fell on the wall clock.

“Is it really 4 p.m.?” she asked quickly.

“Yup.”

“I better get out of here.  I still have a two hour drive back to my apartment.”

“I’m pretty lucky in that department.  I have a small place behind the shop,” Curtis said.  He lifted the chair and headed toward the front door.  “I’ll walk you out.”

As they walked through the main shop, Megan was struck once again by the sheer number of mirrors displayed in the room.

“Hey, what’s with all the mirrors?  You seem to have an awful lot,” Megan asked curiously.

“Yeah, Bill likes ‘em.  From what I have been told, he’s got them all over his house--on the walls, the ceilings...you name it.  He says that it’s a pretty inexpensive way of making a room look bigger.”

“I guess I never really thought of that, but you’re right,” Megan said.

“I think that a mirror can tell you a lot about a person.”

“How’s that?”

“If a person stops and looks at themself in every mirror they see, it’s pretty obvious that the outside stuff is more important to them then the inside stuff.”

“I guess,” Megan said distractedly.  “Hey, could I leave my name and number in case you figure out who brought this chair in?”

“Sure...let me grab a piece of paper and a pencil.”

*   *   *

Ten minutes later, the purple chair packed carefully inside the trunk of her two-door hatchback, Megan turned the car in the direction of home.

While disappointed by the lack of information she was able to learn about the origins of the chair, Megan’s mind began searching for other ways to find out who may have owned the chair originally.

Glancing into her rearview mirror at the roadside ice-cream stand she had just passed, Megan decided to turn back and see if she could possibly put her “gift of gab”—as her mom called it—to good use.

*  *  *

“What will it be today, young lady?”

She smiled warmly at the balding man behind the open window.

“What do you recommend?” Megan asked.

“Folks around here seem to like our dip-tops best.”

“I’m sold.  I’ll take a chocolate dip-top in a cone please.”

“I need a chocolate dip-top, Mae,” the man called to the woman working in the back of the small stand.  He turned back to Megan and smiled.  “That’ll be just one moment, miss.”

“Do you own this shop?” Megan asked curiously.

“Sure do.  My grand daddy used to have a small shop just like this one in this very spot...used to come here with him as a young boy.  Never wanted to do anything else,” the man said with obvious pride.

“That’s neat.  So that means you have lived in this area most of your life?”

“Born and raised.  Suspect I will die here as well.”

“I like to drive up here from the city sometimes because it reminds me of where I grew up as well,” Megan said softly, looking around. Her eyes fell on the bright pink flyer she had just seen at the junk shop.

“It’s a darn shame isn’t it?” the man said.

“Huh?” Megan asked quickly, before realizing that he must have noticed her looking at the sign.  “Yes it is.  I was just talking to a man at the junk shop and the girl’s mother brought that sign in while I was there.”

“Yeah, Bill’s a great guy...”

“Bill?”

“He’s the guy who works at the junk shop...”

“Oh, that’s right.  Curtis mentioned Bill’s name.”

“Curtis?”

     “Yes.  I was inquiring about who may have sold them a chair that I bought there this past weekend,” Megan said.  She was disappointed to see her ice cream being handed to the man so soon.

“Here you go little lady.  Hope you enjoy it.”

“It looks delicious!”

She walked over to a row of benches outside the stand and sat down.  It wasn’t hard to figure out why the man’s business was a big success.  The cold treat was as good as it looked, and seemed to draw a steady stream of takers as she ate.

When she was finished, she took the opportunity to speak with the man again as there was a temporary lull in his customers.

“Thanks for the suggestion.  The dip-top was wonderful,” Megan said.

“Glad you liked it...before you go, didn’t you say you were talking to Curtis at the junk shop when this revised flyer came in?” he asked, pointing to the picture of the missing girl.

“Yes I was.”

“Wow.  Ilene must have had a tough time with that.”

“Who is Ilene?”

“Ilene Courtland.  She’s the missing girl’s mother.”

“Curtis said he went to school with the girl,” Megan recalled.

“Is that what he said?”

“Yes.  Why?”

“They went to school together alright.  In fact, Curtis had a giant dose of infatuation with the young lady...much to her chagrin.”

“He didn’t mention that,” Megan said with growing interest.

“Not surprised to hear that,” the man said.  “When she wouldn’t give him the time of day, he became downright mean spirited toward her...it took her papa to set him straight, before he would leave her alone.  Curtis likes to pretend it never happened, but everyone in town knows about it.”

The sound of footsteps brought their discussion to an abrupt close as a group of boisterous teenagers began lining up to place their ice-cream orders.

Megan slowly turned towards her car.  A newspaper machine in the parking lot drew her attention.  The front page of the local paper—visible through the glass door—contained a two-word headline:  Still Missing!  The now-familiar picture underneath the headline, prompted Megan to fish around in her pants pocket for thirty-five cents.

It was apparent—as Curtis had hinted—that the local girl’s disappearance was the talk of the town.  Like he had said, she had simply vanished while jogging one morning.  As Megan continued to read, the blaring sound of a siren forced her to look away from the paper and onto the road in front of her.  A police car raced past the ice-cream stand at top speed as an inexplicable shiver ran down Megan’s spine.

*   *   *

Megan propped her head against the pillows and flipped on the television in her tiny bedroom.  The 10 p.m. news was about to start, and she wanted to catch the weather forecast for the following day. 

“Our top news story this evening, takes us 90 miles west to the small town of Lehigh, where a young woman—missing for nearly three weeks—has been found.  The body was discovered late this afternoon by a hiker...”

     “Oh my God,” Megan whispered.

“Officials believe that the young woman has been dead for several weeks...she was apparently bound by heavy ropes prior to her death...wooden splinters were found on the woman’s body, suggesting she may have been tied to something at one time...”

“Wooden splinters?”

Megan’s eyes fell immediately on to the chair that was propped in the corner of her bedroom...the words  “HE LEFT ME TO DIE”, seeming to jump out at her in their reversed form.

“Could she have been tied to that chair?  Could someone get wooden splinters while carving letters into a chair?”

“Officials with the Lehigh Police Department are asking anyone who may have information about this crime, to call them at 555-6432.”

     She reached for the telephone beside her bed and quickly dialed the number the reporter had just given.

“Lehigh Police Department.  Is this an emergency?”

“I’m not sure,” Megan said.  Her grip on the phone tightened as she began.  “I think I may have some information that could help in the investigation of the murdered girl I just saw on the news.”

“I’ll put you through to the detective in charge...”

Megan took a deep breath, as her eyes shifted again to the chair.

     I hope I’m doing the right thing here...

“Detective Pregar.”

“Yes, detective.  My name is Megan Callahan and I think it is possible that I may have some evidence related to the young woman you just recovered this afternoon.”

“And what would that be?”

“I was in Lehigh this past weekend for a drive in the country and I happened to stop at that second-hand shop on River’s Edge Road.  I purchased a chair that I planned to refinish for my apartment.  When I removed the cushion that had been placed in the center of the chair, I came across some words that were carved into the seat.”

“Yes?”

“It said `he left me to die’ in reverse form.”

“What?”

“Someone had written the phrase `he left me to die’ backwards...and when I saw the news report tonight and heard that the victim’s body had wooden splinters, I began to suspect that this chair could have something to...”

“Where are you Miss Callahan?” interrupted the detective.

“At my apartment in Galvin.”

“Where did you say you bought this chair?”

“The second-hand shop on River’s Edge Road.  Curtis will remember the chair...”

“Can you give me a telephone number where I can reach you?”

“Certainly.”

After giving the detective the necessary information, Megan placed the phone back on the nightstand.  The pounding in her chest was deafening.

“I wonder what Curtis will say, when he hears we may have had a major piece of evidence in a murder investigation in our possession this afternoon.”

She glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand and realized that her hope of being asleep after the 10 p.m. newscast was dashed.  There was virtually no way she was going to be able to sleep with everything that had happened.

Try as she could, Megan could not keep from looking at the chair.  One thing was certain—the police would just have to come and get the chair for themselves...she didn’t want to lay another finger on it.  The thought that a girl her own age may have been left to die in that very chair just a few weeks earlier, was surely enough to haunt her dreams for weeks to come

In a burst of reckless impulse, Megan decided to get dressed and make the long drive out to Lehigh to tell Curtis about her findings.  Their efforts to find any further etchings on the chair, had given them an opportunity to get to know each other a little bit.

     He’ll understand how creeped out I am by this... 

*  *  *

     Two hours later, she pulled her car into the parking lot beside the second-hand shop.  The small apartment behind the shop was brightly lit.

     Good, he’s awake...

     She knocked at the door and waited for the sound of Curtis’s footsteps.  Nothing.  Feeling suddenly foolish, she turned and headed back toward her car.

A light in the shop caught her attention.

“I guess that’s where he is,” Megan said.  She turned and headed up the front steps to the door.  This time her knock was rewarded with the sound of footsteps.

When the door swung open, Megan was surprised to see an unfamiliar face.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m sorry...I thought you would be Curtis.”

“Nope.  Curtis isn’t here right now.  The police came and took him away just a short time ago.”

“The police?  Why?”

“Seems he is a suspect in the murder of a local girl.  Detective Pregar is a golf buddy of mine, and he called to tell me that my employee was going to be pulled in for questioning in the crime.”

“Why Curtis?”

“Seems some chick bought a chair here this weekend and found some sort of clue written in the seat...when they heard that the item was purchased here they figured he was a likely suspect seeing as how he felt about the victim.”

     Oh my God!

     “I liked Curtis the first time I met him.  Reminded me of myself at that same age.  He left town for a few years right after he graduated from high school but ended up coming back about six months ago.  No one in town would give him a job on account of how the Courtland family felt about him...you know how those uppity types like to close ranks and all. But I figured he had to be good for something.  And he was.”

     “Are you Bill?” Megan asked hoarsely.

“Yes I am.  And who are you?”

“Megan Callahan.  I’m the person who purchased the chair and alerted the police to my findings...”

“Well, you’ve certainly had yourself quite a night haven’t you?”

“You can say that again,” she mumbled in response.

“Why don’t you come in and catch your breath...”

She stepped into the now-familiar shop and headed for a bench to the side of the counter.

“Are you okay?”

“I will be.  I just need to sit down for a second.  I just can’t believe that Curtis is a suspect.  He seemed so genuinely surprised by the inscription in the chair...”

“I guess if you are trying to cover something up, you do what you have to do.”

     “I guess,” Megan replied, closing her eyes momentarily.  When she reopened them, she noticed the neon EXIT sign over the back door.  Only, the letters were backwards...TIXE.

     Confused by what she was seeing, Megan closed her eyes again.  She took a deep breath and slowly opened her eyes.  The red letters were written correctly—E X I T.

     “What the...”

     “What’s wrong?” Bill asked.

“Oh, I see...I must have been looking into the mirror the first time...”

“Excuse me?”

“The mirror...it reverses the letters on the EXIT sign.”

“Kind of neat, huh?”

Curtis’s words echoed in her head...Bill likes em’.  Has them all over his house—on the walls, the ceilings...

     The ceiling!

Megan tried to will herself to breathe slowly, think clearly.

     If the victim was bound with heavy ropes as the news reporter said, maybe her head was tied to the back of the chair in such a fashion that she could only look upward...

     Megan’s hands began to tremble.

     What looked right in the mirror would have been backwards on the chair!

“Are you okay, little lady?”

“I guess I just can’t believe that I was talking to a murderer today...”

“Pretty wild, isn’t it?”

“Do you like the color purple?” Megan whispered.

“It’s my favorite...”

Contact the Author - Mnlbrad4d@aol.com