Amorous Goods: the Collector's Tale

Author's Notes: This story has been posted to Literotica.com with the full knowledge of the original author, SinFantasy. No part or whole of this story may be reprinted in any other format or on any other website without the express written consent of the original author.

All characters engaging in any form of sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

This story has been edited by me using a basic editor. You may find mistakes.

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This story is a submission for the Amorous Goods Season 05 2024 challenge.

"An antique dealer named Lewis Vendredi (played by R.G. Armstrong; "Vendredi" means "Friday" in French) has made a deal with the Devil to sell cursed antiques out of his shop, "Vendredi's Antiques", in exchange for wealth, magic powers, and immortality. In the show's first episode ("The Inheritance"), he rebels against the Devil and breaks the deal. The Devil kills Vendredi and claims his soul for breaking the deal.

After Lewis' death, his shop is inherited by his niece, Micki Foster (played by Louise Robey, credited without her first name, as "Robey") and her cousin by marriage, Ryan Dallion (played by John D. LeMay). They decide not to keep the store, and sell off many of the cursed antiques before being stopped by Jack Marshak (played by Chris Wiggins). Jack was Lewis' friend, a retired world-traveller and occultist who originally collected many of the antiques for Vendredi before they became cursed.

The series follows the protagonists as they hunt down the cursed antiques, which are usually in the possession of people who have discovered their magic powers and are unwilling to give them up."

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Note: Set in the mid-1980s, this narrative unfolds in a world devoid of the technological conveniences we take for granted today. There were no smartphones, personal computers, sophisticated security measures, etc.

#1: The Collector

The tinkle of the bell above Vendredi's Antiques heralded the arrival of an elderly gentleman, beating a rhythm on the worn wooden floorboards with his cane. A tweed suit boasted elbow patches, and over silver hair sat a deerstalker cap jauntily on his head. Half-moon glasses precariously perched on his nose as he surveyed the cluttered store.

Ryan and Micki looked up from behind the counter, where they were both busy inventorying the stock in the store. The old man was a classic kind of antique collector. He seemed experienced, selective, and certainly very particular about what he would and wouldn't buy.

"Hello," beamed Ryan, cracking a warm smile that set alight on his face. "Looking for something?"

He walked with uncertain strides, his eyes scanning over racks of rubbish from other eras. He retrieved the antique pocket watch, examined it closely, and then put it back on the shelf, his face scrunched up as if in distaste.

"Something special," he said roughly, his aristocracy showing in every word. "Something really striking."

Micki slipped around the counter and stood beside him while he scrolled through the list. "Well, we have everything kinda weird stuff in here. What are you looking for?"

The old man shrugged. "I don't know exactly. I'll know it when I see it." He hunched over peering into a glass case full of all manner of jewelry and trinkets.

A few minutes passed, during which time the man silently perused a display that, to Ryan, was completely uninspired and untouched by any of them, until finally, Ryan summoned up enough courage.

"What about this?" he proposed, drawing out a rusty silver dagger whose handle and scabbard were overlaid with latticework engraving. It was old and ugly, even just lying there on a sheet of glass.

The collector accepted it in his arthritic hands, turning it over with caressing reverence as he examined every inch. "Hmm. An interesting piece," he murmured. He drew the blade back a little distance, and a flash of bright edge leaped up at the light, then without any warning pushed it back into the leather with a soft click.

Suddenly, he declared after a moment's thought, slamming the dagger down beside his cane on the counter, "I'll have it."

Ryan and Micki looked at each other with skeptical eyes. The tension inside them was almost palpable. The blade had an ominous heavy air that seemed to get their nerves amped up. Nonetheless, they had set upon their minds to sell whatever they could. They wanted to hasten clearing out the shop so they could finally move on with their lives.

"Of course," Micki said reluctantly as she figured out the cost of the sale, putting the dagger in a paper bag. "It's yours now."

The old man grunted, pulled out money without even requesting a receipt, and shuffled off toward the door with the tapping rhythm of his cane on the floor.

Ryan let out an exasperated sigh when the old man was gone. "I have a bad feeling about this sale," he said awkwardly. "That dagger seemed trouble to me."

Micki bit down a little on her lip as she felt the rather unsettling atmosphere coming from that blade. As if it was calling for blood. "We can only hope for the best," she said with an air of affected cheer, looking out toward the deserted street along which the eerie collector had vanished.

They were yet to know that most of the items in the shop carried some kind of curse on them. Soon they will be chasing every buyer to claim all the sold items back.

#2: The Curse Unveiled

The collector sat hunched over in the dimly lit study within his Victorian home. He was intently studying the rusted silver dagger he had purchased that afternoon from Vendredi's Antiques. He turned it slowly in his gnarled hands, examining the intricate engraving on the hilt and scabbard.

Instantly, a shiver of cold ran up his arm, similar to what he had felt in the shop. He felt a whirlwind of whispers that filled his mind. He gasped for air like he had been plunged under water. The world around him retreated to leave only darkness. Then the visions flitted before his eyes- glimpses into the dagger's blood-stained past.

He saw the blade of the dagger penetrate a young warrior's back on a battlefield. He saw the dagger being used as the assassin's weapon to cut a king's throat. The old man saw hundreds of years of violence and death behind that accursed weapon, and every kill added to its malevolent power. He heard the whispers again, much clearer this time.

They hissed at him.

"Use me,"

they said.

"Kill with me and drink in the life force. I can make you young again."

The collector drew a shaky breath, reality rushing back to him as he looked to find himself again in his study, the dagger still tightly clutched in his grasp. His heart was racing wildly beneath his tweed jacket at what he had just experienced.

Trembling hands placed the dagger on the mahogany desk before him. "Vendredi's Antiques did not know the item they carried was cursed," he thought. That dagger was plain evil. He reminded himself to stay away from the shop and its owners in the future.

He should have destroyed the dagger. Yet a small, desperate part of him wanted to give in to temptation. After all the whispers promised him the feeling of being young and vigorous once more. To shake himself free from the aches and pains choking his aged body. That was quite an attractive proposition indeed. No, he wasn't going to be swayed by those dark temptations.

He rocked himself back from the desk and stood slowly up. He needed to see the promised power of the blade for himself if he were to decide on a course of action. Outside in the dim-lit glow of the narrow street, in the alleyway, he spotted an animal rooting through the trash on the sides. The creature looked up at him, its eyes curious and hopeful.

"Use me,"

the whispers hissed in his mind again as the collector approached the terrified creature.

"Kill and absorb. You know you want to."

The old man hesitated but for a moment, his life flashed through his eyes, weighing up everything he had lost. A youthful wife and his true love he was never able to grow old with, The children they had dreamed of but could never hold. A life so full of promises was cut short by the cruelty of his fate, just as it was reaching its peak. Years of power struggles he had fought just to survive, friends turned into enemies, deceits, betrayals, and a bitter hard life. Then, with a shaking hand, he drew the dagger from its leather scabbard.

The dog yelped and tried to run, but the collector was quicker in rage. The silver point dug deep into the flesh of the creature, spattering dark blood all over the pavement. As the creature lay still and silent, the old man felt the anticipated surge of energy flow from the dying dog into his frail body.

It was not much, anyway, but only a year at most. But it was something. Enough to make him feel more alive than he had in the last few months. A small smile played at the corners of his mouth as he wiped the dagger clean on the dog's mangy fur.

The collector went home with his head reeling from all these new possibilities. He no longer cared about living a long and prosperous life. Long years of wealth and power were futile for one who had lived too many years already. What he wanted most was the very thing this accursed blade could not provide. The possibility to start anew, to be young in both body and spirit. The possibility to live a calm, peaceful, and happy life.

He sat down in the armchair which had for years been so dear to him beside the fireplace. The old man pondered over how he was going to do just that thing, to make such an impossible feat possible. The dagger had not promised immortality. He knew that the power of the dagger would wane with every use he would make of it. Yet if he could be as careful, as strategic, then maybe he could borrow enough of others' youth to make a new life for himself.

His blue eyes seemed to come to life with new strength as his plans began congealing in his mind. This was no longer the convulsive death throes of an old man. Rather he started taking the first steps on a bleak and sinister path that was his only hope. This path could never have a happy ending, but he was willing to try it anyway. The collector smiled, already dreaming of the life he hoped to build for himself once this one had ended.

That is when he started looking for the perfect victim.

#3: A New Identity

The old man sat in his car outside Ethan's house while the young loner moved about inside, packing up the last of his belongings. From some discreet inquiries he'd done, Ethan was a troubled soul. A kid from an abusive parenting household, he had recently inherited his parents' home after their untimely deaths in a tragic house fire.

But words began to circulate that it wasn't so cut and dried, convenient accident. Ethan's relationship with his folks hadn't been exactly warm and nurturing. And then all of a sudden, they're dead in a fire? Too coincidental to the old man who'd spent decades spinning his own web of connections and secrets.

He was the one, the perfect first target for this new life he so desperately yearned for. A person isolated and aloof, no friends or family members left behind to check on him and ask questions. By appearances from across the street, the young man was planning to move out soon. Looking for a new start at a new place, just like what the collector wanted.

He waited there through the evening till the nightfall, while lights went out in Ethan's house, one by one. Then he got out of his car, carrying the silver dagger in the inner pocket of his tweed jacket.

He walked quietly up the front sidewalk and reached into his pants pocket to pull out a lockpick, a tool that fit perfectly in the deadbolt. Over the years, the old man learned many useful things. Some were legal, some not so much. Tonight, though, was all about stealth and surprise.

He slipped silently inside Ethan's house, carefully making his way in the darkness. Moonlight from a couple of windows splashed down the hallway to where he knew the young man slept. The collector held the dagger in his palms, ready to strike as he crept closer.

Ethan never heard a thing, only to wake up from the shock of a blade piercing his chest. His eyes snapped wide open in shock for a few seconds as his life slipped away. Then it was silent and still once again.

Sweat broke out on the forehead of the old man as he stood over Ethan's prone form, his heart pounding wildly beneath his ribcage. He'd killed many times before, but this felt different somehow, more momentous, like a dividing line between two halves of his existence.

The collector took a shuddering breath, steadying himself. The deed was done. He could feel the dagger draining out the youth and vitality from its victim. A sudden feeling of euphoria filled him. A flowing river of renewal, washing away decades of decay and debilitation.

The changes started to happen gradually, smoothing wrinkles, darkening gray with brown, and firming muscles beneath his skin. But then it began to accelerate until finally, the old man stood there in Ethan's bedroom staring down at his own body, brimming with vitality. He looked like a young man in his early twenties.

Triumphant waves surged through him as he realized that his magical rebirth had finally liberated him. He could get out of this tired, used-up shell and begin anew as someone else. No ghosts haunted him from misdeeds of the past. No more fear of horrors that might yet be in store for him in his old life, even at such an advanced age.

The collector smiled at the renewed body, young and innocent once more. Then he began to walk through the house, packing everything that had belonged to the boy into boxes marked "donate" or "trash". He wanted nothing from his old life to touch his new one. Neither he wanted to carry anything that belonged to Ethan. Whether it was Ethan's dead body or material possessions, every last shred of evidence was gone by dawn.

He stepped out onto the front porch for the first time as Ethan. The old man, an antique collector was gone, he had no relationship to that past. This time, he entered a world full of promise and potential. A blank canvas to be painted with his own masterpieces upon it. He won't repeat the mistakes from his previous life. Taking in the crisp morning air, he thought of where to go next. Who he could become now that he had been given that second chance.

And this time, I'm going to get it right, thought Ethan with a small grin as he locked up the house and headed down the sidewalk toward a new life, having started anew.

Little did he know, however, that the dark forces, who had granted him such an unexpected rebirth, did not let him go so easily. The dagger still longed to feed on more blood and souls to devour. Its whispers became louder in the mind of Ethan.

"You are mine now,"

they hissed with the sunlight reflecting off its cruel blade.

"And your new life will be mine too."

#4: A New Life

Young and full of life as ever, Ethan entered this new life ready to get the most out of it. He was back to his young self again while retaining all the wisdom granted by the years spent. He moved into an expensive apartment in the middle of the city with floor-to-ceiling windows opening right over the noisy streets below.

He had all the life skills required and a treasure trove of life experience. Hunting down a high-powered job was child's play for a mind as sharp as his. Soon he was sitting behind a sleek glass desk as a marketing director with one of the most prestigious companies in town. Handling endless marketing assignments and managing really important clients earned him a handsome salary that allowed him all the finer things in life.

But behind all the success he was enjoying on the outside, Ethan couldn't shake this growing emptiness that chewed inside. He filled it with one-night stands and expensive toys, but nothing seemed ever to be enough or satisfy that yearning for something more substantial. A real connection, and a sense of belonging.

Dating proved to be even more challenging than he had anticipated. How could a man who lived as long ago as he did relate to these young professionals barely out of college? Their attitudes, carefree and shallow in comparison, only served to emphasize how very old his soul felt by comparison.

Some relationships passed through him, and some flared out fast, even making him much lonelier than he had ever been in his previous life. Ethan felt that he was a fake. He was putting on an act of being someone he no longer could be. The energy the dagger gave him only seemed to serve as a reminder of the hollow inside him, rather than fill it up.

In the stillness of spring, when the city slowly discovered its way again to warmth and life, Ethan felt a stir within him, to want a simple life, a home. A place where someone would look forward to coming home each night. Someone who would care for more than just mere appearances or status. A family to keep him grounded in this mayhem.

But then, what in heaven's name would he look for this ancient relic of love in a place like this? All these pretty faces after a while grew indistinguishable from one another. Not a single one could be reached to get close enough to build anything lasting and real.

Some nights, Ethan almost missed his old life. The one in which he at least knew who he really was underneath all the masks his life had demanded. But now, in this new life, there were only expectations and pressure. The endless rat race left him exhausted and unfulfilled.

Sighing heartily as he fell onto his couch late one evening after yet another disappointing date, Ethan couldn't help but wonder if maybe this hadn't been such a bright idea after all. Perhaps some things were meant to stay buried in the past where they belonged.

But perhaps not. For even with all these doubts and disillusionments, there had been a small flicker of hope still glowing deep within him. It said he might someday soon find what he had been searching for, a home, a family, and love.

And so, Ethan clung to that fragile ember outside his window as spring blossomed into summer.

#5: Love Found

The months went by, and Ethan focused himself on work and social life. His aim was single-minded: to fill that gaping void that still stood there in spite of all his outward success. No number of rich dinners or gala events seemed to quench that hunger in his soul.

Till an crisp autumn evening, when fate decided to intervene, as he walked through the sidewalk throngs going home from work. A woman's voice cut sharply out of a narrow alleyway.

"Hey! You there - yes you in the jacket! A little help please?"

Ethan hesitated, going around to look, to see a petite brunette in her early twenties. She was wildly gesturing from where she knelt beside an upturned produce crate. Several ripe apples rolled across the pavement as she tried valiantly to scoop up her scattered goods.

"I'm so sorry," Ethan apologized, hastening towards her. "Let me help you with that."

Together they quickly scooped up the escaped fruit and set the over-turned crate upright. Although not before a few sharp words were muttered beneath the woman's breath. "Idiot customers" and their "stupid last-minute orders." It seemed to Ethan that he was going to enjoy her spirit.

"I'm Samantha, by the way," she said as they finished up, holding out her hand to him to be shaken. "Samantha Baker-by way of baking being my real profession."

He reached out and took it with his. "Ethan Reid. Nice to meet you, Miss Baker."

She smiled at his chivalrous gesture before dropping her gaze to the smooth business card he had given her.

"Well, Mr. Reid," she began, exasperated. "If you are looking for some fresh homemade apple pie to complement that chivalry, I just so happen to know an excellent bakery not too far from here."