The Antique

Chapter One: The Shopkeeper

At first glance the old antique store seemed just as ordinary as any other—dim, rustic, and rather dusty—but then one specific relic caught my eye. It looked just as new as anything you could find in any regular store, and yet, at the same time, the design made it look centuries older than anything else that could have been found in the shop. I looked for a price, but found nothing. I decided to find the owner of the store to see if he could provide any information on the relic, including the price. Figure out why it caught my eye so. I found him behind a rustic counter reading Sense and Sensibility. He seemed rather fitting for the store, with wire-framed spectacles that seemed to have come right out of the book in his hands. His own frame was also rather wiry, as if he preferred to spend his time reading rather than with a proper meal. His clothes were also rather old-fashioned, but in a simple sort of way. His graying hair stuck out at all sorts of angles, as if a hand was run through it often.
"Ah, can I help you?" the shopkeeper asked, drawing his head away from the world inside of the pages as I came near.
"Oh, yes please. There's an artifact I was looking at, and I was wondering if you have much information in it?" I inquired.
"Yes, yes, I'd be delighted! Just give me one second, if you don't mind."
"No, of course! Take your time."
The shopkeeper searched the counter for something to mark his book with before scrambling around it. He opened his hand in front of him, saying "lead the way my dear."
"It's this way...." I lead him through the store before stopping at the old typewriter that had caught my undivided attention.
"Ah, the old typewriter. This has been here for many years. I like to believe it's simply waiting for the right person."
"I noticed it didn't have a price on it, how much would you ask for it?"
The shopkeeper eyed me, perhaps trying to decide on my intentions.
"How about a deal," he said, finally.
      "A deal?" I was confused, to say the least. I wasn't even sure if I wanted the thing.
      "The typewriter is your's, if you promise to keep it safe. It must stay in your possession until you feel you've found the right person to pass it onto."
      "I'm sorry?" I asked, sure I must have somehow misunderstood.
      "It's your's with simply the price of keeping it safe in your possession." There wasn't a single trace of sarcasm on the gentleman's face.
      "What do you mean?" I must confess I was rather confused.
      "Once the typewriter leaves this shop, many people will be after it. You mustn't let them have it—or even, for that matter, catch a single glimpse."
      "And why are you trusting me?" There was a long silence as the man held my eyes. But it seemed more than that, he wasn't simple looking at them, he was almost studying them. Finding traces of who I was through what I carried deep inside of them.
      "I trust you," he said simply after awhile. Quite frankly, I was terrified. Questions were swarming through my head, without a single answer in reach. What gave me any reason to trust his man? What would happen if the other interested parties he'd mentioned came to get it? In fact, why would they want it to begin with, was it dangerous? And, most importantly, why did this man trust me to do something so dangerous?
"What is so special about me then? This typewriter seems rather important to more people than just you and I. Yet why am I the one to take it home?"
"Two very different questions. As for the latter, you were the only one who asked. It's as simple as that, I'm afraid."
"And the former?"
"Ah, that's for you to find out I'm afraid, but I believe it will help." The last part he said gesturing to the typewriter.
This is ridiculous, I thought, why am I even considering this? He's just some crazy old man who got bored!
"I'm in."