Tourist Attractions

(by Chris Wei)
(first line by Steph Lee)

She had a thing for freaky tourist attractions.  World’s largest ball of yarn.  New York’s most expensive pizza.  That sort of thing.  So when she heard about my collection of paranormal artifacts, she called me.

“My name is Sara Smith,” she said over the phone.  “I’m writing a book on unique tourist attractions throughout the country and I’ve heard you have a shed full of weird stuff I’d be interested in looking at.”

I hung up the phone without saying anything.

Moments later, the phone rang again.  Twice.  Three times.  I picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Sir?  This is Sara Smith.  I think we got disconnected before?”

“No, we didn’t.  I hung up on you.”

Sara paused.  “Why?”

“Because, Sara, my collection is not a tourist attraction.  The stories behind the things I have aren’t stories anyone wants to hear about.”

“Like what?”

Despite myself, I told her about Sammy, the big stuffed green carnival bear who smelled like beer.  Sammy came alive for fourteen minutes in the summer of 1996 and brutally attacked a small girl.  I had it chained up in my shed for safekeeping and tests.  It’s likely that whatever spirit had possessed Sammy would never come back, but I wanted to make sure I could record its behavior if it ever returned.

I told Sara about the jar of unidentified black liquid that always stayed ice-cold, no matter what temperature the room was.  I used to keep that jar in my refrigerator, but it shouts sometimes, and my cat hates it.

Sara listened intently to a few more little stories like this, then decided my collection would be a worthwhile addition to her book.  She convinced me that if I let her come visit it, take some pictures, and write some notes, then she could write a few pages about me and interested people would start coming by.  It could be profitable, she said, for me to charge the occasional passerby for a tour or even a souvenir, if the price was right.

I reluctantly agreed.  She visited, and then we fell in love.  A couple months later, a fire demon I’d been keeping in my basement ate her soul.  Her death was all over the news, and because of it her book instantly became famous, especially to the morbidly curious.  The tourist business at my home became very successful and I retired early and wealthy and alone.

Poor Sara.  Too bad she had a thing for freaky tourist attractions.