Long ago, the legendary sword Excalibur was melted down and lost to history. The mythical’s blade steel ended up in your butter knife, with all its magical purposes.
“Honey, can you wash those silverware?” my mom called out from the kitchen. “I just got them from a garage sale. Margaret down the street is selling all her antiques.
“Apparently, she got them from her mother-in-law who lives . . . somewhere in Europe. They’re suppose to be ‘magical’ and – Jessica, are you there?”
“Yeah?” I called out the living room.
“Don’t you hear me talking to you?”
“I heard.”
“Then why haven’t you washed the silverware? What are you doing?”
“Learning how to escape quicksand.”
“Hurry up and wash them.”
“Alright, alright.”
Sighing, I peeled myself off the leather couch and headed into the kitchen. My mom was just closing the pantry door when I entered.
“Your Aunt Lucy is coming tonight. I want downstairs spotless. Tell Carmen to help you.”
“We’re having a bar-b-que. We’re not going to be inside.”
My mom gave me a look. “Why don’t you ever do anything I ask? My hair is going to turn green because of you.”
“Never mind,” I muttered.
I turned to the counter. There weren’t any silverware. I looked at the dinning table. Nothing there either.
“Mom, where are they?”
She clicked her tongue. “Look for them,” she said before heading out the kitchen.
I went through a couple of drawers before finally finding the ‘new’ silverware in a grocery bag on top of the fridge. Opened the bag and looked inside. They looked like regular silverware to me. What’s so antique about them?
Oh well. I took the bag over to the sink and dropped them in the sink.
‘Ow. Watch it.’
Frowning, I looked over my shoulder.
“Mom?”
No reply.
“I must be hearing things,” I muttered.
Grabbing the sponge, I squirt some dish detergent on it and picked up a butter knife. It was a simple butter knife. There wasn’t anything strange or abnormal about it but the metal was warm. There were strange markings on the handle but I couldn’t tell what they said.
“Antique? Yeah. Right. Couldn’t she get some silverware that wasn’t scratched? Aunt Lucy is going be throwing some shade tonight.”
I soaked the sponge and started scrubbing.
‘You’re scratching me. Stop it.’
I whipped around. The heck?
“Carmen, is that you?”
My sister didn’t reply.
“Mom?”
She didn’t answer.
No one else should be home. And it couldn’t be the television either. I had that on mute. Was my house haunted? I looked down at the butter knife.
Maybe I was a werewolf and allergic to silver and now I was hearing things. Hmm, could be.
“Get a hold of yourself Jessica. Ghosts don’t exist and you’re not a werewolf.”
‘Could have fooled me.’
Yelping, I dropped the knife and ran out the kitchen straight into Carmen. With an ‘oof’ we crumbled to the floor.
“What the heck?” she groaned.
“Carmen, our kitchen is haunted.”
I rushed to my feet and pulled her up.
“Look, you have to listen.” I grabbed her arm and pulled her into the kitchen.
Carmen yanked her arm away. “Are you sleep walking?”
“Don’t you hear it? There’s a voice.”
“Yeah, yours and it’s annoying.”
‘Hey! You dropped me. Pick me up.’
“Did you hear that?” I asked. ‘The voice spoke.”
My sister gave a glare. “Dude, you’re weird.”
Before I could stop her, she walked out.
‘There’s some moldy cheese down here. How long do I have to stay here?’
My gaze fell on the butter knife. It was wedge between the floor and the counter. Could it be . . .? Warily, I picked up the knife.
‘Finally,’ the voice said. ‘You really need to clean underneath there. How haven’t you died yet? It’s so unsanitary.’
I stared at the knife for a long time. Yeah, this was a dream. I opened a drawer, dropped the butter knife, and closed it.
‘Hey! Hey! It’s dark. Don’t leave me in the dark! I hate the dark. Do you realize how long I was stuck in stone? Hey!’
I quickly scrubbed the rest of the silverware and closed the faucet. This was all a dream. I was going to ignore the voice and sit back down. When I woke up again, there would be no voice.
‘Hey! Hey!’
“There would be no voice.”
Dabbling in the Art of Writing 