Creepypasta [ON HOLD AGAIN]

Jack

Deacon sighed as he browsed through yet another cafeteria sized table crowded with junk. He'd always loved rummage sales, estate sales, flea markets and thrift shops, so when he spotted the blindingly yellow flyer on the way home from work he just couldn't resist. With its bold headline claiming hundreds of long forgotten treasures from dozens of families, and all gathered in one cul de sac, it has sounded like the perfect way to start the weekend. Within a few minutes he was parking his car and making his way towards the surprisingly crowded street. There were dozens and dozens of tables, carts, racks and plastic bins full of wonderous wares. But his excitement quickly dwindled when he found that most of the 'treasures' were nothing more then mismatched tea sets, outdated clothing, worn out stuffed animals, cheap jewelry, yellowed books and hundreds of useless baubles and trinkets. It was the type of things old women and children ooo'd and aww'd over, but nothing that he just had to have.

Disappointed, but glad he'd stopped and checked it out anyway, Deacon turned away from the table he'd been going through and tripped over something at his feet. With a few ungraceful steps and a hop he managed to keep himself upright, and looked to see what he had stumbled over, at the same time choosing to ignore the amused looks and snickers of his fellow treasure seekers. Acting as though nothing had happened he bent over and picked up the object that had been carelessly left behind him.

It was a simple box; covered in a thin, tight layer of old dark leather, approximately 18" x 18" x 18" with a brass latch and pin, securing a circular lid in its top, as well as brass trimming, and a crank on the right side. The design was clearly that of a Jack-in-the-Box. A common child's toy that when turning the crank produced a tinny song and a cheap scare as a overly made up clown or jester popped out upon the songs completion. This though was not your average Jack-in-the-Box. Typically the toy, now mass produced in various warehouses across the world, was made out of pressed tin, was feather light, and about half the size. Also Deacon could not recall ever seeing one that latched shut. What was the purpose in that? It would ruin the scare if the clown couldn't 'pop' out at the appropriate time. He tried to pull the brass pin out, but it was stuck, and refused to budge even a hair. The result was the same with the crank as well and despite his efforts he couldn't get it to produce even a single musical note.

Even though the toy didn't work it intrigued Deacon. It was clearly old, and probably needed some repairs, but he was willing to bet, that even in its current state it was worth some money. He turned the heavy box over and around looking for a price sticker, but could find none. Someone here must be selling it, perhaps a kid had taken the sticker off in hopes of playing with it. He carried the Jack-in-the-Box to the only table with someone sitting at it. A rail thin, middle aged woman, with long red, extremely frazzled hair and tired blue eyes, sat with a clipboard and a metal box, exchanging various odds n' ends for cash. He waited patiently behind three young boys who were debating the value of a box of sports cards, and when they finally agreed on a price, paid for their cards and moved on. The woman at the table looked at him with such exasperation he was sure she was going to demand to know what he wanted. He was surprised though when her expression softened, "Those boys have been here four times, and have argued the price of everything, their parents must be car salesman". She smiled weakly.

Deacon laughed politely, and asked, "I cant seem to find a price on this thing. Do you know how much it is"? he held the Jack-in-the-Box out for her to see, but not for enough for her to take it from him. He did not want to let it out of his possession, afraid she might guess its potential value.

"What is it"? She tilted her head, but saw nothing but an old box.

"A broken Jack-in-the-Box", he turned the box enough to let her see the crank on the side.

"You want to buy a broken toy? And a dirty one at that"? She sneered at the box in his hands, mistaking the aged leather for stains.

Deacon shrugged, eager to make the purchase, but not wanting to let his excitement apparent. No need in letting on that he thought it might be worth more then a few dollars. "A project really, I like to repair things in my spare time".