Read Online Muti Nation by Monique Snyman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Monique Snyman
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Apparently Jack mumbles from time to time and it freaks people out. His story is not half as interesting as some of the other items. But take it from me, shrunken heads are kind of cool to look at.
The rest of the top shelf is dedicated to other cursed knickknacks. There are ancient Israeli oil lamps in various sizes and shapes (none of which houses a genie, fortunately), statuettes from Mesopotamia, bad luck coins and plates, a Chinese vase, and a cracked Japanese teapot.
On the second glass shelf are a few haunted dolls. Gretchen, a pretty porcelain one with wide blue eyes, perfectly curled blonde locks and a cheerful floral dress, stares directly into the kitchen situated across from Gramps’ office. Though she doesn’t do anything malicious around here she has a tendency to hurt children. According to my grandfather, Gretchen attacked one of her previous owners with a Minora blade back in the 1960s, scarring the poor child for life, mentally and physically. After the incident, other owners of the doll reported their hair being pulled, being pinched, and the doll moving around at night. Nothing of the sort has happened since she’s taken residence in the glass case.
Beside Gretchen sits the vintage cymbal-banging monkey, which comes to life all by itself for hours at a time. The bastard has a sick sense of humour because he loves making a racket when someone’s working after hours, which tends to scare the living crap out of anyone unfortunate enough to try and get an overtime cheque.
Otherwise, he’s benevolent.
Then there’s a voodoo doll from the 1800s, wooden blocks that enjoy spelling out colourful words no child should know until he or she has hit puberty, and a creepy clown with an affinity for destruction of property.
On the third shelf is The Crying Boy painting—a print, in this case—displayed in a special frame inhibiting its pyrokinetic abilities. The Crying Boy’s story is common in England but around here people don’t know the tale.
The boy is said to have been orphaned and abandoned on the street as a young child (circa 1950) and was found alone and crying after his parents’ recent deaths in a house fire; one he supposedly started with his mind. Many claimed he had real life pyrokenetic abilities, and was thus named Diablo (devil) or The Fire Starter. An artist by the name of Bruno Amadio found the boy and painted his portrait and rumours have it he also allowed the boy to live with him in his studio apartment. Shortly after the completion of his work, the studio burnt to the ground.
The boy was then passed from family to family, and each family lost their house to a spontaneous fire.
Later, the same boy died in a car accident. No one claimed his body. People forgot about him, the painting, and the tale until thirty-five years later. In 1985, in areas throughout England, some fifty house fires occurred in which the houses were completely burned to the ground. In each case only one item within the house was left untouched and unclaimed by the raging fire: The Crying Boy picture. By then, the painting had been mass produced so there were thousands of copies in circulation. Although the whereabouts of the original painting (there were twenty-eight so-called originals) is unknown, the curse seems to extend to the copies as well.
Gramps also owns a demonically possessed Ouija board, sitting beside The Crying Boy. In front of it is a magician’s grimoire from the late 1700s, covered in human skin. A pearl necklace and sapphire hair comb, supposedly haunted, also make their home on the third shelf.
The newest addition to Gramps’ collection is a real “hand of glory,” the same one that had gotten him into trouble at the airport. I cannot wait to hear the story behind it at our next office gathering under the lapa.
Every few years Gramps changes out the displayed collection with other procured artefacts. Where he keeps the rest of his stuff, I cannot say.
I only hope he gets rid of the
The rest of the top shelf is dedicated to other cursed knickknacks. There are ancient Israeli oil lamps in various sizes and shapes (none of which houses a genie, fortunately), statuettes from Mesopotamia, bad luck coins and plates, a Chinese vase, and a cracked Japanese teapot.
On the second glass shelf are a few haunted dolls. Gretchen, a pretty porcelain one with wide blue eyes, perfectly curled blonde locks and a cheerful floral dress, stares directly into the kitchen situated across from Gramps’ office. Though she doesn’t do anything malicious around here she has a tendency to hurt children. According to my grandfather, Gretchen attacked one of her previous owners with a Minora blade back in the 1960s, scarring the poor child for life, mentally and physically. After the incident, other owners of the doll reported their hair being pulled, being pinched, and the doll moving around at night. Nothing of the sort has happened since she’s taken residence in the glass case.
Beside Gretchen sits the vintage cymbal-banging monkey, which comes to life all by itself for hours at a time. The bastard has a sick sense of humour because he loves making a racket when someone’s working after hours, which tends to scare the living crap out of anyone unfortunate enough to try and get an overtime cheque.
Otherwise, he’s benevolent.
Then there’s a voodoo doll from the 1800s, wooden blocks that enjoy spelling out colourful words no child should know until he or she has hit puberty, and a creepy clown with an affinity for destruction of property.
On the third shelf is The Crying Boy painting—a print, in this case—displayed in a special frame inhibiting its pyrokinetic abilities. The Crying Boy’s story is common in England but around here people don’t know the tale.
The boy is said to have been orphaned and abandoned on the street as a young child (circa 1950) and was found alone and crying after his parents’ recent deaths in a house fire; one he supposedly started with his mind. Many claimed he had real life pyrokenetic abilities, and was thus named Diablo (devil) or The Fire Starter. An artist by the name of Bruno Amadio found the boy and painted his portrait and rumours have it he also allowed the boy to live with him in his studio apartment. Shortly after the completion of his work, the studio burnt to the ground.
The boy was then passed from family to family, and each family lost their house to a spontaneous fire.
Later, the same boy died in a car accident. No one claimed his body. People forgot about him, the painting, and the tale until thirty-five years later. In 1985, in areas throughout England, some fifty house fires occurred in which the houses were completely burned to the ground. In each case only one item within the house was left untouched and unclaimed by the raging fire: The Crying Boy picture. By then, the painting had been mass produced so there were thousands of copies in circulation. Although the whereabouts of the original painting (there were twenty-eight so-called originals) is unknown, the curse seems to extend to the copies as well.
Gramps also owns a demonically possessed Ouija board, sitting beside The Crying Boy. In front of it is a magician’s grimoire from the late 1700s, covered in human skin. A pearl necklace and sapphire hair comb, supposedly haunted, also make their home on the third shelf.
The newest addition to Gramps’ collection is a real “hand of glory,” the same one that had gotten him into trouble at the airport. I cannot wait to hear the story behind it at our next office gathering under the lapa.
Every few years Gramps changes out the displayed collection with other procured artefacts. Where he keeps the rest of his stuff, I cannot say.
I only hope he gets rid of the
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