You’ve never seen the alley before, let alone the curio shoppe nestled within. Surely it must have always been there, but it has never caught your eye, never drawn you in, never directed your feet toward it. You’ve never felt your hand on the brass handle of the dark oak door as it yielded to your ingress. You’ve never been embraced by the smell of incense and leather, dusty books and rusting metal, polished wood and decaying plastic. But here you are, standing amongst the shelves of the dimly lit shop trying to decide if there’s an order to the chaos, if the feeling is calming or alien, if you arrived here by choice or by summons.
The shelves are crowded with treasures from many lives: dolls, novelty decks of cards, die-cast race cars. An old tux hanging alone on a rack seems to dance slightly on its hanger. A mirror where the reflection seems just slightly delayed from your movements. A simple dreamcatcher shimmering in the light of the single window visible through the clutter. As you take in your surroundings, you nearly miss a tidy man reclining in an overstuffed armchair behind the counter. The Proprietor.
He says nothing. You follow his eyes to a teak table, upon which rests a Magic 8 Ball. Without much thought, you pick it up. It’s heavier than you think it should be, discolored slightly, but otherwise unremarkable.
“It’s never wrong,” The Proprietor exhales from his relaxed position.
You give it a shake. “Will I buy this 8 ball?” you ask off-handedly. A second passes before the answer emerges from the murky core of the sphere: WITHOUT A DOUBT. This gives you a little chuckle. You ask, “How much for the 8 ball?”
”It seems to like you. How about ten dollars? A special price for a special customer.”
That seems reasonable, and you happen to have a ten-spot in your pocket, change from breakfast.
The Proprietor places it in a black box lined with red velvet. He hands it over with a hard, sorrowful stare and says, “It’s never wrong, you know.”
—
Later that day, as you sit in a park for lunch, you open the box and examine the object in the sun. Where it is black, it seems a perfect black, absorbing all light.
You decide to test it. “Am I having a sandwich for lunch?”
YES
A safe bet. The caprese sub sits in a bag beside you, waiting to be enjoyed.
Another test. “Will I like it?”
OUTLOOK NOT SO GOOD
So much for never being wrong. Caprese is your favorite, fresh and light. You set the 8 Ball aside and unwrap your sandwich, then give a slight start: a bluish mold covers the bread. As you loosen your hold on the sub, a maggoty slice of fresh mozzarella falls on your lap.
Sheer coincidence, you think as you disappointedly discard your sandwich in the nearby trash. But what if it’s not?
—
As you dwell on it more, you think of more safe tests.
“Will I need gas on the way home?”
MY REPLY IS NO… and you experience an uneventful commute.
“Is my front door locked?”
IT IS DECIDEDLY SO… but surely you did that when you left the house? What about something impossible?
“Is my brown jacket green?”
AS I SEE IT, YES… and, before your eyes, your dark brown jacket transitions to an olive green. Or is it just the light?
“Is there a hundred dollar bill on my counter?”
YES DEFINITELY… well, that definitely wasn’t there before. You pause as you reach to pocket it, then…
“Is it still there?”
MY REPLY IS NO… and, in a blink, it disappears.
Your mind spins, succumbing eventually to a paralysis of uncertainty and fear. Two possibilities emerge: either the 8 Ball is so well attuned to the future that it can report it to the present, or it is rewriting reality to suit its whimsy. Neither seems very appealing to you. At once, nothing about this object seems safe.
“I’m taking you back tomorrow,” you say as you set it on a table by your entry way. You miss the answer that materializes as you walk away: DON’T COUNT ON IT
—
You had never seen the alley before, and you have trouble finding it again. You retrace your steps, walk the street up and down five times, linger in front of driveways and doors that seem familiar. This time, your eye is never caught, you are never drawn in, your feet remain aimless.
You could search a million times and never find The Proprietor’s shop. You have in your possession an ordinary object of extraordinary power. From now on, you have to watch what you say.