Flashing Die

March 2024’s short story of the month

Harold walked slowly around the corner and towards the parking lot. Just as he was about to unlock his car, he saw something flash out of the corner of his eye.

He turned, thinking he might see someone else on their way home from work. Instead, he saw the flash again. It was brighter this time. It was coming from a metal garbage can on the corner of the store. The light was flashing and reflecting off the interior of the can.

He paused and hesitated. It was late. He was tired. He just wanted to go home and curl up with a cup of tea and a good book to read.

Whatever it was flashed again.

He had to see what it was. Despite the warning that resounded in his head, (Curiosity killed the cat) he approached the trash bin with caution. What if it was a bomb? (Why would it be a bomb on a nearly empty street in the middle of the night?) Most likely, it was some phone or tablet that was on the fritz, and someone dropped it in the garbage can thinking it was broken.

Harold bent over the can just as the flash happened again. He shielded his eyes from the light. Now that he was standing directly over it, he knew it couldn’t be a phone or tablet. It was too bright. And the light wasn’t from something electronic. It looked more like a tiny sun. Harold tried to look but it was too intense.

Again, he ignored the voice in his head that was telling him to walk away, get in his car, and just drive home. (Call the cops if you must but leave this alone). He ignored the voice and reached in hoping that he wouldn’t accidentally stick his hand into anything disgusting.

With one hand over his eyes, he reached down until he felt something touch his fingertips. At first, he jerked back, thinking that whatever was in the garbage can was gross and meant to be there. When he didn’t detect any slime or sticky substance, he leaned forward again until his fingers touched something solid.

This time, he grabbed it. It was solid and felt cool to the touch like a rock that was always in the shade. He wrapped his hand around it and pulled it out. In his hand, it felt not much heavier than a book. He finally looked at the object. It wasn’t flashing anymore.

(That is not what I was expecting). It was an ordinary die. A twenty sided one, but still just a die. It wasn’t flashing. It was made from some sort of yellowish stone, maybe amber. It was larger than normal. Instead of being small, it was about the size of a baseball.

Harold guessed someone had dropped it accidentally when they were throwing something else away. (But then where did the flashing come from?) He turned it over in his hands, but there wasn’t anything remarkable about it. It was marked, but not with numbers. Instead of the numerals for one through twenty, each side had a symbol on it. He didn’t know what to make of them. He didn’t understand what each symbol meant, but he recognized a few of them. There was one that appeared to be a sun, and there was a rain cloud. He also saw one that could have been a symbol for fire. The others were apparently just random things.

As he rotated the die in his hand, he saw that the symbols weren’t perfectly carved. They appeared to be handmade. Harold couldn’t understand why someone would throw away something they had clearly spent so much time and energy making. He tucked the die in his pocket. He decided to keep it.

****

He didn’t think much of the die the next day as he spent his day off at home. In fact, he left it in his coat pocket. The day after, though, he put his coat on to go to work and reached into his pocket. The die was there, right where he’d left it. There was a moment where he thought about sitting it on the table in the foyer that usually had his mail and keys on it, but as he held the die in his hand and thought about leaving it, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

He put it back in his pocket and took it to work with him.

Harold worked in a used bookstore. It was owned by his grandfather and his father before him. It was called “Too Many Books.” His grandfather was found of telling anyone and everyone who would listen, “you can never have too many books.” It was a mantra that he’d instilled in his son and grandson.

His grandfather had inherited a tidy sum from his own father and had used that money to open the store. He’d never struggled, and when he passed, his own son took up the mantle of owning the store and gladly inherited the fortune. Harold’s father had two loves in his life: books and gambling. Unfortunately for Harold, he’d inherited the bookstore, but not the fortune.

Now, like many small mom and pop stores, he was struggling to make ends meet. He couldn’t compete with online shopping. He was afraid he wouldn’t be able to keep the store much longer.

He walked through the place, inhaling the scent of dust and old paper that permeated every inch of the building. He put on some coffee behind the counter and did his usual morning routine. He noted there were drops on the window as he pulled up the shades. (Great. Rain. That would mean less customers than usual).

He was going to sit behind the counter and sip his coffee, but he remembered the die. He retrieved it from his coat and put it on the counter where he could see it throughout the day.

He poured his coffee slowly and sat behind the counter waiting for something to do. The rain continued outside, and the wind picked up. The greyer the sky became, the less likely a customer was going to appear.

With nothing to do, Harold picked up the die and rolled it on the counter. The sun symbol landed up. (If only it was that easy).

As Harold picked his mug up again, the rain stopped. He looked towards the window and saw the clouds moving away and the sun peaking through.

Harold looked at the die. (Wouldn’t that be wonderful if it were that easy). He picked up the die again and turned it slowly in his hands trying to figure out what the other symbols were.

He sat it back down with the rain cloud up. He sat back and waited. The weather outside stayed the same. The rain didn’t return. As the clock got closer to ten, a few customers trickled in. He didn’t pick the die up again until after lunch.

He casually rolled it across the counter. It stopped. Harold peaked at the symbol unsure what it might mean. It was a group of wavy lines. They could be the wind or the ocean. It was hard to decide.

After lunch, a few more customers kept him busy. He was helping a customer find a book when someone tapped him on his arm.

“Hey,” a young guy with thick rimmed glasses said. “I think your pipes are leaking or something.” He was pointing towards the shelves at the back.

“What?” asked Harold. He poked his head around the shelves.

The young guy pointed again.

Harold saw it this time. There was water trickling down the wall at the back of the story right next to the door that led to the back room and storage area.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” said Harold. “Sorry, I need to see where that water is coming from.” The customer nodded her understanding.

****

Several hours later, and a very expensive bill later, the leak stopped, and the plumbers were drying up some of the water as best as they could.

They nodded as they walked past.

“Thanks,” said Harold. He went through his evening routine and locked up the store. He grabbed the die as he was leaving and without a second thought, he rolled it one more time on the counter.

The symbol that landed up this time two sets of triangles in a row. They could be a crude drawing of teeth or a zipper.

Harold shrugged and put the die back into his pocket. At his place, he drank a glass of whiskey instead of his normal cup of tea. As he sat there trying to get lost in a book, he thought he heard growling.

He checked all the doors and windows, but everything was locked tight. He went back to reading. Before long, he heard the same noise. It was definitely growling.

At that moment he thought about the die again. He also heard scratching on the front door.