Extraordinary Deals
It was hot. It was a clear, clean heat free of humidity, filled with the buzzing of cicadas and the undulations of the air. Thomas had wandered away from the flea market, tired of following Marcus around. He was always so serious at these things, as if getting a used mattress for twenty dollars was going to be some life-changing event. He smiled. Marcus was intense sometimes, but that’s part of what made him such a sweetheart. The cicadas were comforting, somehow less abrasive and hectic than the crowds of people chatting, bartering, and arguing.
Thomas looked around and saw something odd at the crest of the hill. It looked something like a tent by some large bushes. It was made of what appeared to be pink bedsheets. Not matching pink bedsheets, random bedsheets, both fitted and not. It was hard to say exactly how the thing was held up, and it seemed to be constantly harassed by the wind. There wasn’t anything more than a slight breeze, but the tent looked like it was on the verge of collapse. Curious, Thomas headed over to the ramshackle structure. It was surprisingly dark inside, for the brightness of the day. It was late June, and the bedsheets didn’t seem particularly thick from the outside. Inside there was only a person sitting cross-legged on the ground and an old TV. The person inside the tent was – perhaps vague was the only way to describe them. They had a shaved head, false eyelashes glued on unconvincingly high, think black corduroy overalls and a wife-beater. Their nails were chipped, and they wore only black socks with cicadas on the feet. They must have been feeling the summer.
The television was an old-timey CRT, one of the big boxy grey ones. It didn’t have a VCR built in like the one Thomas had growing up, but was otherwise pretty identical, down to the huge internal crack it had gotten, seemingly spontaneously, when he had left home and moved here. There seemed to be nothing else here.
“How much is this?” Thomas asked.
“Two hundred dollars,” the mysterious seller said.
Thomas balked. “That’s actually insane,” he said. “Why are you charging two hundred dollars for a broken TV?”
“Sentimental value,” the seller said, smirking. “And it’s magic, of course.”
Thomas laughed. They were joking, obviously. They were perhaps committing a bit much to this bit, but they couldn’t be serious.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
They frowned. “You may call me the witch,” they said.
“That’s not really a name.”
“It’s name enough.”
Thomas took a deep breath, trying not to be thrown by this strange individual.
“Okay, ‘the witch,’ what magical property of this television is worth two hundred dollars?” he asked.
The witch grinned from ear to ear. “When the sun reaches its highest point on the solstice, and you gaze into the screen, you will see the face of your true love. If you stare into it at midnight, on the night of a new moon, you will see exactly how you will die,” they said.
Thomas frowned. This obviously either wasn’t supposed to be a joke, or else this so-called “witch” had a terrible sense of humor.
“You don’t believe me, do you, doubting Thomas?” the witch said.
This gave Thomas a bit of a start. Surely she didn’t know she had just guessed his name? He brushed it off. It was just a coincidence. Nevertheless, he was bemused. Were they telling the truth? Was it even close to worth $200 to find out?
“Why not give it a try now? It’s about to be noon, why not take a look?” they asked.
Thomas was under the impression that it was early afternoon. He and Marcus had gone to brunch earlier, before coming to the flea market. Thomas wasn’t particularly meticulous about the time on principle, but he had only gotten up around 10:00, maybe 10:30? How could it still be morning? As he was about to challenge them, a bell suddenly began to sound in the distance, and a sudden gust of wind ripped the roof off of the tent, letting in intense sunlight, the sounds of cicada, and the heat. The light was almost blinding, and the bells got louder as they counted down twelve. DONG, DING, DONG, DING, DONG, DING, DONG, DING, DONG, DING, DONG. Was that twelve? Did he miss some? Were they near the clocktower downtown? His eyes were still adjusting, but he thought he saw the insects on the witch’s feet buzz their wings, though he heard them. He blinked, let his eyes adjust. He was still in the tent, now with a flapping and unattached roof, but the same TV, and the same witch. Thomas looked into the screen, and saw nothing. Nothing at all. No cracks, no grey screen, just flat blackness.
“I don’t see anything,” he said.
“Telling,” said the witch.
Thomas bit his lip. “Is there a full moon tonight?”
“There’s always a full moon when I’m selling,” the witch said, smiling.
Thomas left the tent that day with a new old television and two hundred dollars poorer. He left a witch behind, two hundred dollars richer, but with a little less magic in their life, indeed a little less of a witch. All they had was their flimsy tent, the sounds of the cicadas, and the music of their quiet sobbing.