He was standing now, closing the bag, still gazing intently into our eyes.
“But—” I said, standing. “I don’t believe there isn’t—”
“Oh, a catch?” He turned, and then stared towards the sofa. “Then, of course, that’s a totally different matter. I could sell you some objects, but you’d find them quite useless. If you won’t accept a gift from a stranger...well, then, let me see....” He studied me very carefully, and then glanced at Mildred. “How about twenty dollars. Would that seem fair to you?”
My wife gasped.
I turned to see Mildred leaning over the coffee table, index finger pressed against the little puff. The Talisman seemed to pulse, become very deep pink where her flesh touched it. Shadow? Illusion?
She gasped again.
The expression on Mildred’s face was almost ecstatic. She looked beautiful, deep blue eyes gazing up into mine, pleading. For a moment I actually had the illusion that she was much younger again, like my bride of many years ago.
I started to say something, but instead found myself reaching towards the Talisman.
“Touch it, darling...,” Mildred urged.
My first impulse was to grab the damned thing, throw it at Mr. Smith, and shove him out of our house. Instead, I extended an index finger. On contact the thing reacted with what seemed to be a pleased gasp. It felt almost alive, a furry, very soft, slightly cool creature. It deepened in color. Nothing more happened. Though I did experience a strange personal sensation of sudden well-being. That was surely a relief—nothing more.
I mean, I hadn’t turned to stone or anything like that upon contact with the little puff.
I turned to face Mr. Smith.
The man had disappeared.
I glanced at Mildred. “Where?”
She shrugged, but didn’t seem concerned. She simply said: “He left the darling Talisman....”
I went to the door. The street was empty. The man had totally vanished.
As I returned to the house, Mildred said: “Strange little man. Such an odd thing, leaving it...think he really meant to collect the money?”
I shrugged, suggesting we forget the whole matter and have dinner. I could throw the Talisman out later. Of course, I didn’t.
I forgot all about the man and the puff until the next morning when, while walking through the living room, I stopped by the table where the Talisman lay. I absent-mindedly ran my fingertips across the furry back. That strange sense of well-being again surged through me.
The story about Smith raged around town. It seemed he had talked to everybody in our community that Sunday afternoon. Or perhaps there were several Mr. Smiths. One of the odd things is that we all accepted such oddities without too much question. I mean, if you approached it logically, here he was all over the place in just about the same time, with everybody. Nobody could have moved that fast, been everywhere at once, unless he was more than one. That didn’t make sense, of course, but for some reason we all simply fluffed over the illogical logic and said silently to ourselves, I suppose: Well, there must have been more of him. So, big deal!
Old Man Johnson said: “I threw the bum out! I ain’t gonna have nothin’ to do with no Talisman or such. Work of the Devil, if you ask me!”
Carl Larson, owner of the General Store, offered: “I think the Talisman’s okay. Wish I could’ve sold it at the store.” Commercial SOB. But a nice one. Dear man, did favors for everybody in town from time to time.
Most couples accepted the gift. A bit mystified; but beyond that, they considered the whole thing an odd commercial “gag”—nothing more. A few people had actually paid the $20.
Those who had the Talisman automatically touched it every morning. It was a ritual. The fluffy thing always “sighed” as if in thanks.
Oddly enough, Reverend Smiles, who seldom had smiled, was less harsh than some disapproving members of his church. “I certainly don’t believe it has anything to do with Satan. Doesn’t have the mark of the Devil. Though, of course, I didn’t take one. The Good Book is all anyone truly needs for protection from all evil spirits and such. I’d say the little puff is harmless enough.”
So much for the value of a Godman’s words!
Rev. Smiles was found in his car, dead, a few days later.
What followed stunned all of us. He was just the first to go.
Almost immediately, the other fatal accidents took place. Old Man Johnson had burned up in bed; a smoking accident. A car slid over a muddy road, overturning, killing Al Kelly and his family. Lightning struck down a couple as they walked in the woods. A barn folded in on its owners. A gas stove exploded. Homes were burned down—no known explanation. The most unusual thing about these accidents was that they took place within the following month; a collective mass killing for so small a community.
There was some serious interest from the authorities concerning the deaths, State Police and all that. Even had a man from the city paper doing a bit of investigating around the county. It all caused quite a stir.
A headline story was written that made a short ripple in our community and then was forgotten as other things caught our attention.
MULTI-DEATHS PLAGUE DALE COUNTY
The mass fatal accidents have been completely investigated by the authorities, and though they happened over a very short span of time, are not considered anything more than a serious of concurrent and unrelated tragedies. As one authority stated: “There’s no accounting for such events; probably doesn’t happen like that in a thousand years. But there is every reason to consider it being a dreadful oddity.”
I was quoted at the bottom of the article as the “local doctor,” having said: “What else other than coincidence could have caused the accidents?”
It was Ms. Black, the town’s Old Maid, who pointed out the obvious to us. After her cousins the Goodwins were found dead in their bedrooms, cause unknown, she said: “Haven’t you noticed? Everybody who didn’t take a Talisman has now died!”
Maybe the rest of us were just too busy living and doing our bit for the community to have noticed. I didn’t take it too seriously, though. I merely said: “You aren’t suggesting there’s a connection….”
Her crinkled old face spread into a road map of lines. “I’m saying that everybody who didn’t take a Talisman has died. That’s all I’ve said. I think the Talisman is a Magical charm. And it protects us from harm. Them that didn’t take it…were killed!”
I frowned, uncertain as to what to say. “Come on, now, you can’t be serious. What you’re suggesting is…a bit silly. And dangerous, too. If people started believing such…stuff….”
“I’m suggesting the Talisman is what it was claimed to be. I think we’re alive because we took one! You just see if I’m not right! Check it out if you don’t believe me! Those who mocked the Talisman are dead—those who took one and loved it are still alive!”
It didn’t take much checking in such a small, tight community. Though people were reluctant to talk about the Talisman. The media people and the authorities had missed the connection. Of course, there was no reason for them to consider the Talisman—it was, in a way, our town secret. Outsiders didn’t notice the little puff as being significant. It was ignored. Even we didn’t make any connection. But the fact was: Ms. Black was right! Only those people who had not taken a Talisman had met with fatal accidents. Even then, this hardly seemed all-conclusive, although just as suddenly as they had started, the accidents stopped—and nobody else died.
Still, who wanted to rock the boat? For whatever reason, nobody was willing to take it out on the Talisman. Who would dare? What if the Talisman really did have some kind of magical powers?
The Goodwins were the last ones to have a fatal accident—Nobody even died of ill health. Nobody said anything about it. I don’t know how many guessed what was happening. There was a loud silence throughout the community for a very long time, as if everybody—including Ms. Black—was too frightened to bring the subject of the Talisman up in con
versation.
It is strange how people will move through life in a kind of a blind daze, allowing the impossible to seem okay, and ignoring anything that complicated their lives beyond their ability to cope. They had other matters to deal with; daily routines, survival. Just your normal, mundane exercises in living.
As a doctor, I was in a position to learn the truth through direct observation. A lot more changes were now taking place than any imaginative mind could have easily connected with the Talisman.
What might be called “side-effects” became evident within a very short time after the fatal accidents. I noticed it first in a very personal manner. My blood pressure dropped to a perfect 120 over 80. My heart murmur disappeared. More importantly, I felt stronger, was able to take longer walks almost every day through the countryside, while experiencing a fantastic emotional high. In fact, in checking out all of my body systems, I noted that dramatic changes were taking place. More to the point, our romantic life gained unexpected zest—and I was acting like a man in his twenties! Mildred revealed the same kind of physical changes in her health and energy level. In the following months I began to notice similar results in all the other people in our community.
It was, again, Ms. Black, who on her six-month check-up said: “I’ve never felt better in my life! And I know what is the cause of it all!”
Her sharp, wise eyes narrowed slightly as they looked up into mine. “You know, too, don’t you, Doc?”
I started to deny my own uneasy suspicions, then said: “I’m not certain...of anything.”
“Certain, pooh! What’s to be certain about? We’re all charmed. We’re all being protected. We’re all—”
“What? Fattened by the evil old witch of the west?”
“Tut-tut, Doc!” she laughed a bit sprightly. “I do believe you’re mocking an old lady:”
“Hardly,” I said, making a quick note on her medical record. “You’re quite a healthy woman—you have better health than a woman in her forties.”
“And I’m the only healthy person around?” she offered, a bit pointedly.
I wanted to avoid her eyes, but wasn’t able to.
“Good Doctor Benson, there’s a mystery here, but it has nothing to do with Witches or Demons. And you know exactly what I mean. Our mutual friend Mr. Smith appears in our town, in our community, all in one Sunday afternoon, offering his Talisman—and after that everybody who didn’t take one dies. Everyone else keeps their Talisman, stroking it religiously. We don’t even bother with church anymore. The Talisman has become our new religious belief! And it has offered health to all of us, a kind of eternal youth! Now, tell me, how do you account for all that?”
“I don’t try.”
“Nor does anybody else in this county. But I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. And I think—”
“It is something supernatural, right?” I chuckled a bit nervously.
“Not necessarily. Not necessarily at all!” She looked very mysteriously at me, winked playfully, and then added: “There must have been several Mr. Smiths in town that day. No one Smith could have made all the rounds like he did. Strange, don’t you think? What were all these Mr. Smiths? Did they all look alike? Sounds to me like they did, from what I’ve had people tell me! I’ve poked around. I have. Just an old busybody. Woman my age, almost eighty—well, okay, a bit past...anyway, I just sit around and I think and I figure there’s something very strange going on. Not that I’m afraid, pray tell. Just an interesting pastime for an old hag like myself.” She laughed at that, then said: “Anyway, I think we’re being invaded!”
“By what?” I laughed, relieved, realizing the old woman was getting a bit dotty in the head.
“By Talisman, of course! Creatures from another world.” She leaned close, then added, “Or maybe from the place of the Devil!”
The funny thing is that I found either theory equally unsettling—and almost equally acceptable. I certainly couldn’t come up with anything better, other than ignoring everything that was happening as mere coincidence. What bothered me most is that I found it just as difficult to accept coincidence as an explanation. Something was happening, but what?
Ms. Black might have been a healthy woman, a bit crazy in the head, but also the only one willing to talk about the Talisman. Nobody talked about such matters, but it was quite obvious from the expressions on their faces they were enjoying a far more vigorous life in every possible way. They were all stunningly healthy.
And like Ms. Black had stated, since Rev. Smiles had died, church had closed down. If I’d been more religious, more superstitious, perhaps I would have embraced the Devil theory. It was seductive to believe that Mr. Smith had been connected with some evil demon. Somehow that idea seemed more acceptable than any other possibility. Finally, though, I simply had to laugh at all my silly speculation, and went about my business. After all, I was a scientist—and realized we were all imagining things.
By the end of the year another fact became obvious: the Talisman was growing. Not much. Just a very little—enough to measure.
Again, it was Ms. Black who was willing to point this fact out. She lived in a two-story wood-frame house, and kept the Talisman in her bedroom, on a nightstand.
“Is yours getting bigger, too?” she asked, a bit directly.
I merely nodded, and tried to avoid the subject. But I started making a point to note other Talismans throughout the town, and though nothing was said, managed to observe the slow growth taking place in these otherwise unmoving puffs of living...what? It was obvious that everybody was aware of the growth. Regardless, or perhaps because of this, the owners religiously caressed the small puffs each morning, more and more convinced that this was the only safeguard for continued happiness.
Talk about superstitious rot! And I was buying into it, too. Well, actually, not believing, but it was pleasant to touch the…thing. After all, logic and reason kept telling me it was nothing more than a strange little puff of furry cloth; odd, but certainly not an alien thing from outer space. Give me a break!
But the rumors kept surfacing. A little here and a little there. As if we couldn’t completely ignore reality while letting our minds continue to wallow in fantasy. To believe nothing strange was involved would be insane. And pure blindness. Or, like I said, our daily focus was more on just living from moment to moment. Actually, the puff and all that was connected with it remained for the most part as background. Yet the rumors and comments surfaced to pepper our otherwise mundane lives.
Carl Larson said one morning in his store, “I’m convinced there’s something to what Ms. Black claims....”
Benny Sherman, who runs the paper, said: “She’s just a crazy old lady. Right, Doc?”
I shrugged that off, but asked: “What do you think?”
There were several others in the store, and they closed in around the counter where we were standing.
Benny offered: “Creatures from the Black Lagoon?”
Carl shook his head angrily. “Mock me if you want! But I’m just about convinced the Talisman is our Magic Charm!”
Vera Wellington piped in; “If you ask me, I really don’t care! Why should we bother about what it is or isn’t? What difference does it make? You men try to build a mountain out of a molehill! The Talisman is cute! That’s good enough for me!”
Benny shrugged that away, offering: “Monsters from space, to inter-dimensional creatures, Devils and demons, or simply a childish little toy for some superstitious farmers—or magic charms, all the same to me.”
Carl frowned a bit angrily, I thought, glaring at me. “Well, Doc, you haven’t said what you think!”
“I try not to bother my mind with idle speculation. To be truthful...nothing going on that can’t be explained away as mere coincidence. So...that’s where I stand.” It was almost the truth. Actually I was afraid to say more. I didn’t even like to think about anything beyond that. I was consciously ignoring the fact that the puffs seemed to be growing, as if they were some kind of b
iological creature.
Vera’s statement drew general approval. “I feel better, more healthy since I’ve had mine! It gives me…happiness. I’ll not bother with why it works. It just works! That’s good enough!”
Carl agreed and added: “Damned if I’d not be willing to stroke it until Hell freezes over.”
And that was the closest thing to a conversation I had with anybody in Dales about the Talisman—other than Ms. Black. Everybody just wanted to accept it blindly, with an almost religious dedication. After all, the puffs were a positive in our lives. Leave it be!
But even I found it difficult to fight down a sense of growing uneasiness. I was actually becoming superstitious. I tried to laugh it off. I knew the stroking ritual was silly. I knew the fatal accidents were explainable, too. Somehow. Beyond that point I couldn’t speculate. Didn’t dare!
It was in this state of suspended belief that we continued to live. Five years passed and we all refused to deal directly with the issue of the Talisman. Everybody who accepted the Talisman had watched it double in size, and we had all, until a couple of months ago, been healthy and alive. I had almost run out of work—doing little more than doctoring animals, and giving physical checkups that become more and more routine, until one day I was stunned by Ms. Black coming to my house with an actual complaint.
She said: “I’m feeling sorta tired lately.”
I examined her and found she seemed in pretty good condition, though her blood pressure had gone up some. I gave her the necessary medication. The next week I dropped over to her house. She was very pale, drawn. She met me at the door wearing a morning robe.
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