Things We Need Not Say

Davy Marsh hadn’t even stepped inside, but his heart was already pounding. Tommy pushed his palm flat against the door and looked back over his shoulder. “Davy, get it together. You look like you’re going to pass out.”

Before Davy could choke out a response, Sara’s head spun around, glaring at him.

Davy laughed nervously.

“What’s so funny, four eyes?” she hissed.

“You,” Davy said. “You just reminded me of Linda Blair in The Exorcist. I swear your head spun a full two turns.”

“Burn!” Tommy cackled.

“Whatever, buttface. Just don’t screw this up and get us caught. My parents told me old Mister Jenkins collects human souls.”

Davy paused mid-step, nearly tripping over his own feet. “Hu… human souls?”

“Yeah, human souls.” She raised her hands wide over her head and shook her fingers as if casting a spell.

Even Tommy paused, his palm lifting off the door slightly.

“Well, at least you’ll be safe then,” Davy said with a grin.

Tommy burst out laughing as Sara swatted Davy on the side of the head.

“You’re such a dinkus.”

The bell above the door of Otherworld Curiosities & Antiques jingled sharply as they squeezed through the entrance. Mister Jenkins was behind the counter, polishing a sparkly orb, and looked over the top of his spectacles at the trio.

“So much for a surprise attack,” Tommy whispered. “Okay, Davy, you distract him while Sara blocks his view, and I’ll snag it.”

The low midmorning sun beamed into the store, turning the dust into swarms of tiny fireflies that curled and swirled as Davy wandered to the far end of the counter. He noticed Mister Jenkins watching him discreetly, while the old man continued polishing what looked like some kind of crystal ball. As Davy rounded the corner, Mister Jenkins turned his head to keep tracking him. And that was Tommy’s chance.

“Davvyyy Marshh…”

The hair on the back of his neck bristled. Someone or something had called his name. He turned toward the back corner of the store, completely forgetting about Tommy and Sara. Along the back wall, he noticed a tattered red curtain covering an oddly painted door that seemed to blur at the edges.

“Davvyyy Marshh… Come find me…”

There it was again. The voice was thin, hollowed out, unnatural. It sounded distant, yet he heard it clearly.

A thunderous slap nearly dropped him to his knees. Davy cowered behind a shelf.

“Hey! Put that back!” Mister Jenkins roared.

Peeking around the corner, Davy saw Sara bolt out the door, but Tommy wasn’t so lucky. His path was blocked. Tommy slammed on the brakes, skidding to a stop. He faked left, then right, then spun behind a bookshelf. Mister Jenkins was right at his heels when Tommy dove under an old table and bolted straight for the exit. Mister Jenkins couldn’t keep up, and Tommy seemed to know it. He looked back, grinning like he’d just won another track meet.

Then his foot caught an uneven floorboard.

He crashed to the ground with a heavy thud, and the jar flew out of his hands. Davy’s stomach dropped as it spun through the air before shattering across the floor into a hundred pieces.

“No!” Mister Jenkins cried.

Tommy scrambled to his feet and threw himself through the door. Mister Jenkins was huffing and puffing as he made it to the doorway, just in time to see them vanish across the street. He looked down at the mess of glass glittering on the floorboards and sighed.

“Oh, dear me.”

The deadbolt snapped shut. The OPEN sign flipped to CLOSED.

“Oh, dear fellow. I’m so sorry. You deserve much better than this, Mr. Bugglestongue,” he said softly, crouching down and carefully picking up a withered, mummified frog. “We’ll find you a new home, don’t you worry.”

Davy watched in silence as he handled the frog with the gentleness of a man tucking a child into bed before tending to the mess of broken glass. Finishing up, he did one final scan of the old hardwood floor.

And that’s when he saw Davy.

The old man’s face twisted into a snarl, eyes fixed on Davy. He seemed to grow taller in that instant, his presence smothering the light in the room.

“So,” the old man’s voice boomed through the shop. “You think you can steal from me, boy?”

The shelves seemed to lean in on either side of him as he stormed forward. Davy’s whole body tensed, and he threw his arms up in front of his face, cradling his head. The words and tears spilled out of him all at once.

“Please don’t hit me!”

The old man stopped dead in his tracks, one foot suspended mid-air. His expression softened, and he stepped back slowly, raising his palms toward Davy as if in surrender. The light seemed to flood back into the room, and the terrifying figure was just Mister Jenkins again, lowering himself down onto one knee.

“Hey, now,” he said tenderly. “No one’s going to hurt you. You’re safe here.”

Davy cried in a hushed way that seemed to stop and start in fits. Mister Jenkins didn’t move. He just knelt there with his hands up and waited for Davy to lower his arms.

“Okay,” Mister Jenkins said softly. “Up you go, then.”

He slowly rose to his feet with knees cracking, then extended a warm, open hand. Davy sniffled, wiped his face in the crook of his elbow, and reached out to take it.

#

When his voice stopped shaking and steadied, Davy spoke. “I’m sorry about your frog, mister,” he said. “We didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just… next week Mr. Waverley’s going to dissect our class frog. He’s the only teacher who keeps a real one in class, and we were going to pull the old switcheroo to save him.” He made a face. “Nobody wants to cut him open. It’s so gross. Blech.”

Mister Jenkins snorted out a laugh from behind the counter as he rummaged through a shelf of jars. “Well. That would’ve been quite the shock for Mr. Waverley.” With a fresh jar in hand, he gave a small nod of approval and turned back to the counter. “All things considered, though, I’m glad your little heist went as poorly as it did. Mr. Bugglestongue here deserves better than that.” He opened the jar and gently placed the desiccated frog inside.

Davy leaned in, fascinated. “Why do you call him Mr. Bugglestongue?”

“Hrmph. Because that’s his name, why else?”

“You named him that?” Davy asked, a small smile creeping onto his face.

“Oh, no, no, no. Mr. Bugglestongue is far older than either of us. He was once a powerful magician in his own right. But now his fate is as all of ours is to be. I just hope when I’m gone, someone will take care of what remains as I do for him.”

Davy couldn’t tell if that was meant to be a joke or a serious tale. A frog magician? That couldn’t be true. Could it?

He turned and took in the store for the first time. Shelves loaded with bizarre trinkets, oddities, and strange leatherbound volumes wedged into janky bookcases. Bowls of dried herbs and brittle flowers sat beside locked overhead cabinets filled with glowing glass vials, like some sort of medieval apothecary.

Mister Jenkins wandered over to the storefront window and placed Mr. Bugglestongue back on his perch to watch the comings and goings outside. “There you go, old man. A view fit for a king.”

He turned back toward Davy, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “So tell me, boy. Why didn’t you run with your friends?”

Davy hesitated. A chill ran down his back. He’d nearly forgotten. He turned and pointed at the curtain along the back wall. “Because someone back there was calling my name.”

Mister Jenkins coughed, his eyes darting side to side. “What do you mean, back there? That’s just a wall.”

Davy put a hand on his hip and looked at the man from under his eyebrows. It was the exact look his mom gave his dad whenever he stumbled home late after missing dinner, swearing he hadn’t been drinking again. “Come on, mister. I can see the door.”

“Who sent you?” Mister Jenkins blurted out. “What are you really after, boy?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Davy took a step back, feeling his chest tighten again. “There’s a door right there, and somebody called my name. I’m not lying.”

“Curious,” Mister Jenkins murmured, stroking his beard as his eyes scanned the wall. “Curious indeed.” He stepped past Davy toward the back. “Well then, show me this so-called door.”

Davy nearly turned to run while Mister Jenkins stared at the wall, but then he heard it again.

“Davvyyy Marshh…”

Davy closed his eyes and counted to three. He let out a slow breath, spun around, and marched right past Mister Jenkins. Pushing the curtain aside, he reached out with a shaking hand and grabbed hold of an ornate bronze handle. With a twist of the wrist, the latch clicked, and the door swung open.

Davy looked at him, confused. “You really didn’t know this was here, mister?”

“Of course I knew it was there,” Mister Jenkins scoffed. “I’m the one who enchanted the bloody thing. But what I can’t figure out is how you were able to see it.” He shook his head, waving the question away like smoke. “A puzzle for another time. First things first. Let’s see what fool is making all that racket. They know better than to call out while there’s a customer in the shop.”

#

Behind the door, a passageway led down into darkness. Mister Jenkins went first, the creaks and clicks of his knees competing against the flat thuds of his soles on the stone stairs. Davy peered down after him, watching the shadows swallow him until bright flashes revealed candles lighting themselves, flaring to life as Jenkins passed.

Mister Jenkins paused on the steps and looked back up at Davy, still peeking through the curtain.

“Well, come on, boy. Don’t you want to see what troublesome thing has been calling for you? I promise none of them bite.”

Without waiting for a response, Mister Jenkins turned and continued down into the basement.

“Davvyyy Marshh… come find me…” The voice called to him again.

This is a bad idea, Davy thought to himself. He glanced back at the front exit, then down the stairs at the flickering flames that seemed suspended in midair, unmoored from any fixture. Then he took a breath and stepped through the doorway.

He crept so slowly down the stairwell that his steps barely made a sound. The only thing he could hear was his breath and the fizz and crackle of the candles he passed under, hissing more like sparklers than regular wax. The air grew cooler with each stair he descended, and it felt as if all the moisture was being sucked from the room. He rubbed his fingertips together, and they felt coarse. His nostrils seemed to dry almost instantly as the smell of raw earth and fresh blooming flowers wafted up from below. 

At the bottom of the stairs, he peeked ever so slightly around the corner, half expecting a trap, but Mister Jenkins was on the far side of the room, settling into an old rocking chair.

Davy stepped into the space. Shelves ran floor to ceiling in every direction, crowded with things that looked half-alive and half-dead, and some both at once. Plants with leaves that shimmered like they’d been dipped in diamond dust, jars of glowing liquid that pulsed with light, and, up on a high shelf, three human skulls that turned in unison to watch him pass, as if eager to see what would happen next.

The voice was louder here. Closer.

“Davvyyy Marshhh…”

“So who’s calling me?” Davy asked hesitantly.

Mister Jenkins shrugged from his chair. “Whoever it is, they aren’t speaking to me. I can’t hear a thing. You’ll have to find it yourself, and then we’ll see what all the fuss is about.”

Davy wound between the shelves, past jars and chests, squeezing between stacks of books and curious trinkets, looking for whoever or whatever was calling to him.

A sudden whoosh-whoosh of heavy wings and a shrill screech nearly knocked him over. Davy clapped a hand over his mouth to stop himself from screaming as a massive owl perched in the shadows let him know he had stepped into its territory.

“Bartleby, you old codger,” Mister Jenkins chuckled from across the room. “The boy is a guest. Show some manners.”

“Davvyyy Marshhh….” The voice was so close now. 

Davy edged past the old bird, his back pressed flat against the bookshelf. “Nice Ba… Bartleby,” he stuttered.

The owl cooed softly in response, bobbing its head in a slow, gentle nod.

As Davy rounded the corner, he noticed a chain with a small silver medallion. It was hanging from a coat hook and seemed to sway with the rhythm of his own breath.

“Yesss…”

Davy reached out and picked it up, turning it over in his palm. A tarnished silver disc that had gone dull with age. The engraving on its face was nearly unrecognizable, rubbed smooth by more desperate hands than anyone could ever truly know.

“Mister Jenkins,” Davy called out. “I think I found it.”

“Well then, don’t keep an old man waiting.”

When Davy reached the rocking chair, he hadn’t realized just how tightly he was squeezing the medallion until he opened his fingers and saw the deep lines etched into his palm.

Mister Jenkins sighed when he saw it. His whole body seemed to shrink into the chair as he dipped his head. “There it is. Now everything makes sense.”

“What is it?” Davy asked.

Mister Jenkins slid a hand up under his glasses to wipe his eyes and stared at it.

“The Medallion of Saint Germaine Cousin,” he whispered. “Patron Saint of… of things we need not say, not right now. The important thing is that she found you.”

“I don’t understand,” Davy said. “What’s a Patron Saint?”

Mister Jenkins pushed himself up out of the rocking chair, his knees popping and clicking in the quiet room.

“A Patron Saint is someone who lived a long time ago. A holy figure. People believe they act as guardians. Protectors for people who need their help.”

Davy’s throat went tight. He looked down at his shoes, unable to look the old man in the eye.

Mister Jenkins reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a small, reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay, son. She’s yours to keep, for now.”

“But I don’t have any money,” Davy said, holding his open hand out to offer the medallion back. “I can’t pay you.”

“This one’s not for sale.” Mister Jenkins reassured him as he gently folded Davy’s fingers back over the metal. “It’s a gift. It’s always been a gift, passed from one troubled soul to the next. So for now she belongs to you. But you have to make a promise.”

“What promise?” Davy asked.

“When the time comes, and trust me it will come. When you no longer need her protection, you bring the medallion back here. Or you pass it on to the next person who does. That’s all she’s ever asked of anyone.”

Davy squeezed the medallion tightly in his fist and took a long, slow breath, feeling the tension in his chest begin to ease.

#

They climbed back up the stone stairs into the dusty warmth of the main shop. Mister Jenkins walked over to the front door, turned the deadbolt with a soft click, and paused with his hand on the knob.

“You should be on your way now,” he said. “Before your friends start thinking I trapped your soul inside one of my trinkets.”

Davy smiled. “I don’t think you’d do that.”

Mister Jenkins grinned, giving a sly wink toward the front window. “You hear that, Mr. Bugglestongue? Finally, someone who doesn’t think the absolute worst of us.”

Davy stepped toward the door, extending his right hand. “Thanks, Mister Jenkins. For everything.”

The old man took it with a firm grip. “Take care of yourself, Davy.”

Davy turned to the windowsill and gave a small wave to the glass jar. “You take care, Mr. Bugglestongue. I’m really sorry we disturbed you.”

From somewhere near the glass, a low, rumbly ribbit echoed through the shop.

Davy froze, eyes wide. “Wait. Did he just…?”

Mister Jenkins chuckled as he pushed the door open, the bell jingling and jangling above.

“Oh, by the way, Mister Marsh.”

Davy looked back as he stepped out onto the sidewalk.

“I could use a second set of hands around here,” Mister Jenkins said. “These old knees of mine aren’t made for climbing up and down those cellar stairs anymore. Besides, Bartleby seemed to take a liking to you.”

Davy wrinkled his nose. “I don’t know about that. He didn’t seem very friendly.”

“Well,” Mister Jenkins said. “Neither did I when you first walked in.”

Davy cocked his head. “That’s true.”

“You don’t have to give me an answer today. But whatever you decide, just know that if you ever need a place to go, or someone to talk to about anything, anything at all, you know where to find me.”

Davy clutched the medallion inside his pocket. “Thank you again, Mister Jenkins. I’ll think about it. I really will.”

Across the street, he spotted Tommy and Sara ducking behind a brick corner, their heads poking out as they frantically waved him over. Davy took a deep breath and jogged across the street to meet them, his shoulders feeling lighter than they had in months.

Behind him, Mister Jenkins pulled the door shut and flipped the sign from CLOSED back to OPEN.