"You don't want to buy this one," she said, placing the small clock back on the table. "Bad history."
The man before her sputtered, "Wh-what do you mean, bad history?" He pointed vehemently at the small antique. "This clock has been in my family for several generations! If I wanted my fortune read, I’d go to one of those circus crooks, not the local antique shop."
"Sorry sir, my granddaughter has spoken." Miriam's grandfather put his arm around her protectively. "Her judgment has always served me well, and I’m not about to begin doubting her now."
"Bad history," the man mumbled. He snatched up the little clock and angrily shoved it into his backpack, turning hotly on his heels as he walked out the door of the small antique shop.
"So?" Her grandfather looked at her expectantly. "What's the verdict?"
"I'd say call the police on this one. I think it might be stolen," Miriam explained.
"I don't know how you do it," he said, scratching his head, "but I sure am glad for that gift you have." He smiled proudly at her, then proceeded to hobble to over his back office to make the anonymous report.
Miriam had the uncanny ability of sensing where an object came from, whether it was store bought, or had a history that went back hundreds of years. Miriam didn't know how she knew, she just did. Although she couldn’t tell what the previous owners’ specific identities were, she could sense the type of individuals who owned these objects before they made their way into her grandfather's antique shop.
Perhaps she wasn't gifted, as her grandfather put it, but just had a sense for appraising antiques.
Either way, her grandfather was the only one who had noticed her unusual ability, which was why he'd enlisted her to work in his shop over the summer. It worked out, as Miriam needed the cash to pay for her studies in the fall.
She liked the casual pace of working with antiques. The store was quiet, which created the perfect atmosphere for reading up on the historical topics she’d be studying in the upcoming fall semester. She hoped to one day work at a museum, and working here was her first step towards that goal.
The bell above the door jingled and Miriam looked up from her book.
"May I help you?" she called out when she realized she wasn't able to see the customer. The front door was obscured by a bookshelf filled with baubles. She moved out from behind the desk, wondering if the disgruntled man had returned. She heard someone breathing, but no reply. She sensed something was very, very off. "Excuse me?" she called out again.
The door jingled again, signaling that the stranger had left. She paused for only the briefest moment before she decided to pursue the mystery customer, fearing that he might have stolen something.
As she swung the door open, she toppled over a small cardboard box that had been left on the front steps. Miriam let out a few frustrating expletives and realized that the strange customer was nowhere in sight. She quickly picked herself up and dusted off her jeans, kicking the box for good measure; just then, she noticed the fresh scrapes on her hands beginning to sting.
It would appear that the mystery customer had left something behind. She was curious to know why someone had found it necessary to leave behind a box full of—well, she wasn't quite sure what it was yet. She decided, against her better judgment, to carry it inside for further inspection.
As she brought it in, she called for her grandfather to come take a look. The older man shuffled his way out to the front counter, took stock of her bedraggled appearance and raised a curious eyebrow.
"Don't ask…"
"I wouldn't dream of it," he chuckled. "What's in the box?" he asked as his attention turned to the package in Miriam's arms.
"I don't know, but want to take a look?" Her eyes gleamed with the excitement of a mystery.
Miriam pulled back the cardboard flaps in order to take a peek inside.
"Yeah, it looks like it's just junk."
"Are you sure?" her grandfather prodded. He reached in and pulled out a copper medallion. "Here," he said, extending the shiny object towards her, "why don’t you hold this and see if you can get a reading on it."
Miriam took the medallion, but as her fingers touched the ridged sides, she felt nothing. It appeared to be valueless junk. "Nothing," she reiterated.
Her grandfather shot her a curious look. "Perhaps," he mumbled as he began rummaging through the box.
"Well, while you explore your new treasures, I'm going to go clean myself up." She held up her scraped hands as proof.
As she cleaned her wounds, she pondered the possible reasons why someone would leave this box on their doorstep. The cynical part of her figured a neighbor was cleaning house and saw their shop as an opportunity to do the old dump n' dash.
"Typical," she muttered. She finished up in the bathroom, then returned to the front counter and her book, yet, despite her best efforts to focus her mind on the words in front of her, her eyes kept roaming to the box in the corner.
She put her book down in frustration. Miriam knew she wouldn't be able to focus until she gave the items a second look; she wanted to make sure she didn't miss anything.
As she peeked inside the box, it was the copper medallion that drew her attention. She picked it up and played with it in her hand, turning it over and rubbing her thumb over the rough edges. Despite her best attempts to use her gift to gain a reading on the object, she felt nothing. This was odd, as Miriam usually had no problem picking up on an item’s past.
She picked up a different item: a small tin cup. Her mind began to tingle as her senses came alive; this had been a birthday gift for a young boy.
She picked up the medallion again: nothing. It was like trying to read a blank slate.
Miriam pocketed the medallion and returned to her book. She figured the piece was worth holding on to, at least until she could discover the reason why she couldn't read its past.