Thrumps yawned and shuffling his feet to the floor was instantly refreshed by the smell of the hotly brewed coffee that was wafting about the shop. He loved this time of the day the best. What was to come for midnight was still a mystery and so the daylight hours always belonged to him. Not that he ever had any plans as to what to do with them, and mostly he was content to slump about reading, but today for some unknown reason he was a little restless. No, that’s not the right word … he was fidgety, like a bored kid surrounded by toys.
The middle drawer to the desk was slightly open. It was never usually like that so he reasoned that it wanted him to see why. There right at the front where it had not been before was a plain cardboard box tied up with old tatty string. He took it out.
Unsure why he was doing it, he carefully undid the knot and watched as the string coil itself up into a tight ball. He’d expected the lid to open, but it stayed firmly shut. Cautiously he prised it open just a little and peeped inside. To his amazement it was full of old photographs, most were black and white tainted in sepia, each a portrait of people he did not know.
The Book of Un-Reality tapped the front cover as if waiting for an invitation.
“Come on them,” Thrumps said. “I can see you’re impatient wanting to enlighten me.”
It flew open and fluttered through the pages until it found the one it wanted.
Traces of a Family Trees was scrawled across the top as a title.
Ancestor’s lives play out in real time. People can talk to them and ask questions, solve mysteries, and uncover secrets, they just have to find the right photo.
Thrumps looked up and gazed around the room. Every wall was now a notice-board divided into neat little squares just big enough for one photo. He sighed.
“It’ll take me too many hours to sift through them all and I’m not even sure what I’m looking for.”
The box jumped as if annoyed and scattered an obviously carefully selected pile onto the desk.
“These?” Thrumps asked.
The lid spun in the air before firmly planting itself back in place. No matter what Thrumps did, he could not re-open it.
“These it is then,” he laughed. As soon as he’d gathered them up and stacked them in a pile, they took off en-masse and slotted themselves into their desired location covering every wall.
Thrumps grabbed another coffee and scrutinised the photos. There was no real rhyme or reason to them. Ages, gender, era, status, wealthy and poor were all mixed together, Thrumps could ascertain no pattern.
Photographs of people were always a mystery to him. He owned none of his former life, none of his present one either so he knew that these were not connected to him personally. That said he also knew that there was a reason behind everything The Emporium did, and that he was not always privy to the end game. He would have to wait until midnight.
Settling down in his favourite armchair, with a good book it wasn’t long before the warmth of the sun had him drifting off to sleep. He didn’t dream this time, just peaceful slumber that was all too quickly shattered by an instant rapping on the front door.
Thrumps shivered. The day was over and everything was bathed in moonlight. As he clapped his hands the room, lit up by candles instantly felt warm and cosy. The banging persisted, more urgently. The grandfather clock made an appearance and chimed a quarter to twelve. Fifteen minutes until the shop opened for business, but it seemed that someone just couldn’t wait.
Peering out through the window Thrumps watched an elegant gentleman pacing back and forth banging the door with his fist each time he passed. He didn’t look threatening, just impatient but Thrumps knew there was nothing he could do. The doors, as with everything else connected to The Emporium was governed by a magic all its own and so the latches would not release until the stroke of midnight, no matter who was trying to gain access.
As the chimes sounded the top of the hours the latches clicked open so quietly that at first the stranger failed to notice, but when he once again rattled the doorknob, he was almost in shock to find it yielding. Cautiously he stepped inside. Without even acknowledging That Thrumps was present he started off down the displays scrutinising each image until he got to the one that he was searching for.
“I say old chap,” he said without taking his eyes off the photo. “How does this all work?”
Good question Thrumps thought, he hadn’t a clue.
Carefully the man removed the photo and kissed the image of the lady.
“I have so much I need to tell you. Remember …”
The sentence was never finished, well not so Thrumps could hear. It was as if although he was still standing there, he was in a different world. A place where he was obviously conversing with someone, the lady maybe? It had to be.
Thrumps watched fascinated as more and more people filed through the doors, found the photo they were looking for and metaphorically disappeared into a different dimension. The place was soon crowded but once whatever it was that they came to say was said, each person popped the photo into a pocket or bag and walked away, seemingly happy and content. All had been blissfully unaware that they had been watched.
This continued until every photo but one had been claimed. The door gently closed leaving Trumps gazing at it. She was so elegant, so perfect as if sculptured from an entirely different universe wearing a long flowing dress made of the finest silk which fluttered in an unseen breeze she stood in a glade of flowers Thrumps could almost smell. She smiled.
“Keep me safe my friend.” Her voice was far away.
“Why? Thrumps asked. “Who are you?”
“I am your future.” She blew him a kiss before she became still again.
The Book of Un-Reality jumped unexpectedly on the table. Thrumps carefully slotted the photo into the mount now waiting for it. He was still none the wiser as to what had actually occurred, but knew when the time was right, all would be revealed.