Call Me Jane

by Ryan Maitland

  I confess that the thought of getting a job kept me up that night. I thought Sarah was right in that I should get one, but I wanted to hold off on it for as long as I could… The other lists could come first…

  I spent another week or two taking care of all my other lists, buying furniture online and having it delivered, getting repairs underway, and generally finding my way around town. It took me at least that long before I finally worked up the nerve to go look for a job…

  I perused the internet looking for a job, but all of those jobs required ‘reliable transportation’ which I did not have… All I had was a tricycle with a storage basket in back (another gift from Sarah). I was absolutely forbidden from driving because of my anemia and tendency towards fainting from overexertion, which cut my job prospects to, basically, nothing… at least according to the internet…

  Even then, I was only allowed the bike because it travelled at low speeds and would be easier on me than walking. If I felt faint, I could pull over onto the sidewalk or by the side of the road with less difficulty and risk than with a car.

  I decided the best way to go about getting a job was to just head into town and ask around… Sure! I could do that… no problem, right?

  Eh… not so much…

  Amana basically has one main street that is used by tourists. Along this street are mostly antiques shops that look like they’re converted houses, as well as more stores selling wine than I thought were strictly necessary. There is even one spot where there were two competing wine stores right next to each other! There was also a lovely deli where I got most of my meat, including some divine aged steaks! There was a chocolatier, as well, along with some German restaurants.

  The deli wasn’t hiring, much to my dismay, nor were the chocolatiers. I was too young for the wine shops and the thought of working at one of the restaurants was downright exhausting…

  That left the antique stores, of which there were many…

  As I biked down the uneven sidewalk, I kept an eye out for ‘help wanted’ signs. I found one, eventually, in the window of a shop called ‘Anne’s Antiques’ which seemed to be about the only prospect I had at this point…

  There was no bike-rack in front of the store, but there was a sturdy cast-iron handrail for the stone steps! I locked my bike to the top post, keeping the bike out of the way of the sidewalk, and made my way inside, looking for a cashier. I found one near the door, the better to keep people from leaving with stolen items. The cash register was run by an older woman, maybe late forties. She looked thin and harried, as she tried to keep an eye on too many things at once.

  I approached her nervously and asked, “Are you still looking to hire?”

  She eyed me critically, unabashedly looking me over, before asking, “How old are you?”

  By this time, I had gotten a copy of my birth certificate so I could answer her honestly with, “I’ll be seventeen in a few more months.”

  The woman scoffed before asking, “You got your parents’ permission?”

  “My parents are not in the picture,” I told her a little bluntly. “I’m on my own and don’t need them.”

  The woman snorted before dismissing me with, “I don’t help runaways. The law says I can’t hire someone underage without their parents’ permission. Go run home and get it and maybe I’ll consider it.”

  I was about to scream in frustration when Beth came in and saved me.

  “Jane?” she asked in astonishment.

  “Beth! Hi!” I greeted her awkwardly. Her outfit, this time, had a blue theme, with matching shoes, skirt, top, purse, and even a small hat!

  I wrung my hands nervously. I wasn’t sure of the social protocol for this kind of situation. What do you say to someone you’ve done business with, but you’re now in a social setting?

  “Anne, this is Jane, the girl I was telling you about!” Beth explained, a little louder than seemed necessary. “She bought the Wilson place at the edge of town!”

  “You mean that old, creepy, mansion?” the woman, Anne, asked.

  “That’s the one!” Beth answered cheerfully before turning to me and asking, “Have you had any problems with it so far? What’s it been? A week now?”

  “Um, two, actually,” I told her, feeling a little embarrassed at all the attention I was getting. By now, everyone within earshot was staring at me, making me uncomfortable. “And no problems that a plumber couldn’t fix,” I finished, thinking of a near flood in the basement that had resulted from antiquated plumbing.

  “Wonderful!” Beth proclaimed, even more cheerfully. “You know, that might be the longest anyone has stayed in that house!”

  I snorted, trying to hide my amusement at this, thinking of how rambunctious Peter could be when he had a mind to be…

  “It takes some getting used to,” I told her, placatingly.

  “So, what brings you here?” Beth asked. “Looking for some decorative touches?”

  I felt awkward and trapped and, by now, a little vindictive, so I answered, “I was hoping to get a job, but they say I need my parents’ permission…”

  “Oh but, dearie, you don’t!” Beth explained, sounding slightly shocked. “Emancipated minors don’t need any of that! As far as the law is concerned, you’re an adult!”

  Beth turned to Anne and made her next remarks to her, which were loud enough for everyone around us to hear. “You should hire this young lady! You know, she bought that house outright and has had people coming and going fixing it up! All on her own! Now that’s an industrious young lady!”

  Anne was looking more harried now than when I had come in. The few people around us were being less than subtle eavesdropping on us as they appeared to be supremely interested in the various items they were holding. I mean, really, how long can you study a horseshoe before you either buy it or lose interest?

  Finally, Anne asked a question Sarah and I had prepared for, “How could you afford to buy a house and pay for all the repairs all on your own?”

  “I got a grant,” I told her honestly, since, officially, that’s what the money from the Magus foundation had been. “I impressed some people and they gave me money,” I continued, still honestly.

  Anne still looked critical, but Beth seemed to think the matter had been decided as she told Anne, “There you have it! She earned that money!”

  If I’m being completely honest, I think Beth was bullying Anne into giving me a job. I don’t know why Beth would do such a thing, but she seemed to be taking some perverse joy in helping me out. Maybe she and Ann had some kind of feud or something…

  I turned to walk away with a muttered, “That’s okay, I’ll go somewhere else…”

  “Wait!” Anne called, looking a little ashamed. “If you can stock shelves, you’re hired.”

  I confess that it took me longer than it should have to parse what she had said, as my mind refused to believe it. I looked at Anne, who still looked doubtful of me, but she asked, “Well? What’s the matter? You got wax in your ears or cotton in your head? Do you want the job or not?”

  “Um, I do want the job!” I all but squeaked out, now feeling a little bullied, myself…

  “Good!” Anne declared. “Come back tomorrow at seven and don’t be late!”

  And that’s how I got my first job… my realtor bullied the owner into giving me a chance…

  Chapter 16

  Mr. Fluffybutt

  So, the next day I reported for work which started with me filling out forms. Anne was dubious upon reading the forms, most notably at my name. That’s okay, I was prepared for this, too. I showed her the court order for my name change and she, eventually, relented, or at least quit fighting me.

  So… yeah… My relationship with Anne got off to a rocky start, first with the bullying to get me the job, the seemingly outrageous claims Beth had made, and finally the information on the employment forms that must have seemed supremely sketchy to Anne…

  For my part, I tried to alleviate any problems she might have
with me by being a quiet, studious, worker. I moved items from the storeroom downstairs to the shelves on the two floors above. I also rang up customers with a smile and called Anne whenever someone came to the counter hoping to sell us items. It seems to have worked, for the most part, as Anne was quiet to me for months before the fateful day at the start of October…

  I confess that I had been using the antique shop as a sort of laboratory for experimenting with my power. Used items hold a special fascination to me, since they have a history and a connection to the people that used to own them. Sometimes when I picked up an item, I felt… emotions attached to them, even from casual contact when I’m not even trying to use my ability, like the rocking chair at home. Sometimes this feeling is pleasant and I’m inclined to buy it from Anne, but sometimes what I get is… distinctly disturbing… There was an old hammer that gave me a feeling of murderous rage that only abated once I put it down… I ended up buying that hammer and throwing the wooden handle in the fireplace; I buried the metal head in the woods behind the house, making sure the hole was plenty deep enough that it would never see the light of day again.

  I know it seems irrational, but I didn’t feel safe having a hammer like that out in the world. Who knows what might happen to the unsuspecting customer that bought it? I say let it rust under the earth forever…

  Anyway, about that day in October… It was my day to man the cash register while Anne made her rounds of the store and the storeroom. A man, I never got his name, came into the store carrying a large cardboard box, the kind that’s used in moving. As soon as I saw the box, I felt something… It was the kind of feeling that sent my other sense buzzing in a kind of strange anticipation, pulling me to the source of it. It was the first time I had felt anything from my other sense from so far away. Usually my hand needs to be either close or brushing up against it before I got anything from it. Not so with whatever was in the box!

  “Does this store buy antiques as well as sell them?” the man asked. I nodded mutely in answer, my eyes fixed on the box now on the counter. What was the mysterious item that had my other sense going wild? I had to know!

  It took me a long moment to register what he had asked and I belatedly called Anne using my phone. Anne told me she was on her way but that I should look through the box to see what was in it and maybe get a feel for how much they would be worth. I didn’t hesitate as I dug into the box, searching for the item that was sending my heart racing and my nerves buzzing.

  And that’s when I found Mr. Fluffybutt at the very bottom of the box… and my life changed forever!

  Mr. Fluffybutt is a stuffed animal made before toymakers had settled on bears as the stuffed animal of choice. Originally made in the shape of a bunny, his ears and his namesake cotton tail had, long ago, disappeared and he now resembled a horribly misshapen attempt at a teddy bear that had seen many better days. Mr. Fluffybutt’s body mostly consisted of barren patches of fabric that might once have had fur, but you would only know it if you knew a little of its history and had a vivid imagination. The legs, by a remarkable stroke of luck, were the same size and shape, though there was evidence of much repair over the years, with different-colored thread used for each repair. Both legs seemed long for a bear, and lumpy for a rabbit, yet they were in keeping with the rest of the little rabbit that used to be. The arms were not as fortunate as the legs, however, with one arm clearly longer than the other, having been donated from a larger stuffed toy, one whose fabric was a darker brown than the pale tan of the rest of the rabbit. The face, what was left of it, was not spared the ravages of children and time. It is believed that Mr. Fluffybutt once had whiskers of a sort, but there was no sign of them now. The general shape of the head fit that of a traditional teddy bear, which is one of the main reasons people assumed it was a bear of some sort. There was no button nose for this rabbit, just a line of stitches approximating the line of a mouth turned up in a faint smile. Mr. Fluffybutt did have buttons for eyes, though one was a large black button, as seems traditional for stuffed animals, while the other was a small white button, which would be more fitting on a dress shirt than a child’s plaything.

  The only hint at the toy’s name was a small collar around the neck bearing a metal disk of indeterminate origin. Engraved upon this collar, ever so faintly, was the name ‘Fluffybutt’ put there, perhaps, as a small act of whimsy meant to appeal to young children, who were sure to chuckle as their parents told them the name of the animal, then insist that their parents buy the funny little rabbit. Whether an act of marketing or an act of childish glee, it must have worked for at least one family, time and time again, for it to have survived so long.

  At first glance the general impression of this stuffed animal was one of age, of neglect, of messy kids and sleepless nights. However, if one were to look more closely, one would see the loving repairs made over the years; of loose stuffing and torn stitches carefully mended; of arms and eyes that, while at first glance, appeared to be the product of a young Frankenstein first learning to stitch and sew, were revealed to be the most genuinely loving actions of parents trying to make their children’s world whole again.

  Mr. Fluffybutt has been a source of peace, comfort, and security for at least five generations of children as they passed it on to their younger siblings and, in turn, to their children, making him a rare anomaly in this age where second-hand was seen as one small step up from outright garbage.

  From the very first touch of this amazing toy, I felt a profound sense of love and security that I had never, previously, known. Mr. Fluffybutt filled a gaping wound in me in a way that I didn’t think was possible.

  It was Anne that stopped me from offering this man a small fortune for the stuffed animal.

  “Ugh! What an ugly little bear!” she remarked, sounding disgusted at the thought of having it anywhere near her or her store.

  “Oh, sorry about that,” the man blushed. “I didn’t know it was in there. I meant to throw it away!”

  “No!” I nearly screamed at the man, appalled at the thought that this treasure would be so callously thrown away! BLASPHEMY!

  Anne and the man gave me an odd look, just then, like I had suddenly grown a second head, or something.

  “I mean,” I stammered, trying in vain to regain my dignity. “I mean, I’ll take it if you don’t want it!”

  “Fine by me,” the man scoffed, slightly. “What about the rest of this stuff?”

  Anne still eyed me suspiciously, but inventoried the other items in the box, which included some old games, some ancient wooden toys, and a puzzle or two. The games and the puzzles were immediately discarded from consideration, with Anne telling the man he’d be better off donating them or throwing them away. Anne wasn’t about to take them because items like that are always missing pieces. As for the rest, the toys and a few unremarkable books, she offered the man a pittance that I was sure the man would turn down, yet he seemed to accept the money anyway. I think by that point he didn’t want to make another trip trying to get rid of them and some money was better than no money.

  After the man left, Anne rounded on me, “What is going on with you?” she hissed at me as I clutched Mr. Fluffybutt to my chest protectively. “Why do you want that ugly bear, anyway?”

  I knew Anne thought I was pretty freaky before this, what with my strange name and dubious personal history, not to mention the strange items I tended to buy. I really didn’t want to reinforce her impression of me with how strange I really was. I feared that if Anne found out why I couldn’t bear to put Mr. Fluffybutt down, she’d fire me on the spot before warning the others in the small town just how freakish I was, guaranteeing they would have nothing to do with me. I’d either be faced with surviving on the grant money, alone, or moving, neither of which appealed to me…

  “He reminds me of my own stuffed animal,” the lie coming easily to me. “I lost him when I was young, but I have many fond memories of him. I figured this would be a nice reminder of happier times.”

&n
bsp; Anne seemed to accept this lie at face value and never bothered me about Mr. Fluffybutt again, but I think this is when Anne first suspected there was something truly strange about me… She may have had her doubts before, but I think this clinched her suspicions about me.

  I’ve had Mr. Fluffybutt ever since. I call him my ‘emotional support bunny’ as that seems to be more accepted than ‘security bunny’ or ‘favorite teddy bear.’ It may seem odd to see an octogenarian clutching a stuffed animal to her chest, but I wouldn’t give him up for anything. This may surprise you, but I’ve gotten some eye-popping offers for him, over the years, including one for more than ten-million dollars, but I’ve turned them all down flat!

  Why did I spend so much time talking about a stuffed animal, you may ask? It’s because Mr. Fluffybutt has saved my life more times than I can count. I even have it written in my will what is to happen to him after I am gone, ensuring he will go to someone who will appreciate him for the miracle that he is.

  Of all of my hoard of psychic artifacts, first started thanks to Anne and her shop, he is by far the most powerful.

  And I would need him in the coming days…

  Chapter 17

  The Missing

  Shortly after I turned seventeen, I was sitting at the cash register, keeping an eye on the few customers, and the odd ghost or two. Sitting is good; sitting means I was less likely to get winded from walking around too much.

  It was late morning or early afternoon and I was preparing to take my lunch break (a sandwich, chips, and of course jerky) when a man in a police uniform came into the store, making a beeline for me. I hastily reviewed my recent activities to make sure I haven’t done anything illegal and only relaxed when the deputy in the tan uniform showed me his phone and asked me, “Have you seen this girl?”