Prologue:
A lifelong collector of goods and objects from far and wide has passed and left the entire collection and the business built around them to the only remaining relative, a niece on a career path of her own. Vikki has taken on the task of administering the estate and liquidating the business and collection. However, she has come to find out that many of the goods have been cursed or enchanted with amorous powers that affect those who encounter them. These are the stories of some of those encounters with objects found at Amorous Goods.
The late September rain began to fall in large, soaking drops from the deep green clouds above, making dark splatters on the sidewalk. Alfred held his coat close and dodged into a recessed doorway in an attempt to seek refuge from the approaching deluge.
He was frustrated at being caught by the storm, blaming his manager when he was pulled him into one of those never-ending meetings that occur late Friday afternoon. He had seen the warnings on his phone and had hoped to leave early, but alas, his afternoon destiny declared that would not be the case.
It was well past his normal quitting time, with the meeting was going nowhere at full steam, when the power in the building went out. The office plunged into darkness, pierced only by the beams from the emergency lights and those few computers that had a backup battery. With no light to work by, the meeting was reluctantly postponed until Monday. Alfred made his way back to his desk, and collected his things, before heading for the elevators. As he passed the door to the emergency stairwell, he dawned on him that no power meant no elevators. Coming to an abrupt stop, he turned and entered the stairwell through the door to his right. The air inside was hot and stuffy and by the time he had traveled down six of the twenty-two flights to the ground level, he was soaked with perspiration. The constant round and round of the stairs added to his discomfort, making him slightly dizzy. Reaching the ground floor ten minutes later, he pushed open the door to the street, hoping for some cool, dry air.
Walking to the subway station, he watched the storm clouds continue to build and gather strength above him. As he stepped into the station, he could feel the wind pick up and the temperature drop as the warm and cold fronts collided.
Descending to the platform, he pulled out his phone while waiting for his train to arrive. His digital companion informed him that its battery was low and that he had five downloaded voice messages awaiting his review. Since he was underground he knew could not make calls or send text messages, but he could listen to his voice mail on the ride home. The first message was a tirade from his wife Candice on his lack of consideration for her planned dinnertime, his failure as a husband, and another accusation about an affair he was having with one of his co-workers. The second and third messages were similar to the first, but he could tell Candice was drinking by the increase in her slurred speech. During the fourth rant, the phone's battery exhausted its last electron, and the phone lapsed into silence. Now completely cut off from the world of constant contact, Alfred sighed and began steeling himself for the unpleasant reception waiting for him at home. As the train arrived at the station, Alfred slid his phone into his pants pocket and boarded the car in front of him.
Reaching his station stop twenty minutes later, Alfred exited the train and climbed out of the underground to the densely clouded day. The storm was still forming at his current location, but he was anxious as he started his half-mile trek home. It would have been more convenient for him to drive his car, but Candice insisted that he walk, since he spent most of his day sitting, getting little in the way of exercise. Every day, he trekked to the station unless it was actively raining or snowing when he left in the morning. A forecast of afternoon precipitation was not sufficient enough to allow him to drive, if the morning was clear. In the first few weeks he discovered the most efficient route from his house to the station, and had taken that same route every day since.
So here he was, standing in an alcove waiting for the storm to blow past. Glancing across the street, he noticed the twenty-four hour diner with its bright neon lights, beckoning him to brave the rain for a cup of coffee and a warm place to sit. As he continued to stare at the diner, a confused look passed over his face; he knew this area intimately and he could not remember there being a doorway in the spot where he currently stood. In fact, during a recent outing at the diner with his wife, he remembered commenting on the graffiti covering the solid brick wall of the building across the street. That solid wall was now pierced by the entranceway where he currently stood.
The lights of the diner slowly began to dim and blur as the rain increased in intensity until it was falling in torrents. Trapped and with nothing else to do, Alfred explored the nook around him for some clues to its origin.
The brickwork at the edge and sides of the opening looked old and well established. In fact, in some ways, the brick looked to be older than that of the wall outside. The floor was not concrete like the grey, soaked pavement, but was covered by an elaborate spiral mosaic of dry black and white tiles. Turning around, he found a stout wooden door, not painted but stained a deep red mahogany color and polished to a lustrous gleam. On the left side of the door, a brass escutcheon plate had an oval shaped, crystal doorknob extending outward, and a cavity for an ancient skeleton key. At eye level a small shiny brass plaque proclaiming the store's name, "Amorous Goods". What a strange name, he thought to himself. "Why it almost sounded like, but no, the city zoning council would never allow a sex shop in this neighborhood," he thought to himself.
Alfred was contemplating other possible meanings of the store's name, when a sudden flash of lightning, followed by a rolling wave of thunder, and a cold blast of wind drove the rain into the alcove. Without thinking, Alfred opened the door, stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.
The shop was narrow, dark and musty; his first impression of its interior was brown. Not a soothing earth-tone brown, but the dark, foreboding brown of soil recently dug to make a grave. A trio of bare Edison bulbs hung from the ceiling, their dim filament's golden glow barely illuminating the floor. At the back of the store was a long, glass counter; its interior contents obscured by a layer of dust and dirt. A young lady sat on a stool behind the counter near its left side. On top of the counter, an archaic cash register claimed the far left corner like a mercantile sentinel of times past. Against the rear wall behind the counter, a series of five shelves had been mounted, each filled with an assortment of bottles in various shapes and sizes. A thick, black steam pipe rose from the depths, piercing the center of each shelf on its way upwards to the gloom that enveloped the rafters high above him. As his eyes followed the pipe up, he noticed that there were some musical instruments, a couple of stuffed dolls, an old gas station sign and a skeleton hanging from wires that were nearly invisible in the shadows. Looking around, he saw that the sidewalls were made from exposed, dark red brick on the top and covered by an indistinct but dark wainscoting on the bottom. Down the middle of the store, an aisle of sorts presented a crooked path from the door to the counter.
On the left side of the path, two tables were piled high with a haphazard array of leather bound books. Between the tables was an oversize grandfather clock, which for some reason seemed to be missing its pendulum. A large speaker enclosure, labeled Mach 1 in large letters, acted as a buffer between the furthest table and the glass counter.
