I arrive at the town’s only coffee house fifteen minutes before the meeting time and sigh as the air conditioning washes the sticky heat away. Hits from my childhood crackle through the strategically placed speakers. There are plenty of couches, tables, and even a small area for games. But it’s empty. It is Sunday morning – the townspeople are probably at church. It’s only 7:45 AM—they’re probably getting ready for church.
Although I’ve never been to this part of the country, I know I’m going to like this place.
I decide to purchase a small house and settle down after it’s safe to return in three years. It’ll be nice to retire, get to know my neighbors, shop at the weekend farmers market, and maybe raise some chickens.
The menu is a giant blackboard painted onto a concrete wall, and they have a good variety of flavors. They also have a ton of delicious-smelling food.
I order a lavender vanilla tea from a blond-haired girl. I select a table in front of the giant window in a secondary room where I can see my nondescript car. I’ve had my tools stolen before, and I did not like it—which is ironic given my line of work.
The morning light shining in through the window darkens as first one dragonfly, then another, then hundreds of them swarm the window. They’re loud, the hum of their wings drowning out the sound of the music.
Removing my dark purple baseball cap, I set it on the edge of the table. It’s the sign I told my potential client to look for. Normally I don’t meet with clients. But this one offered double my usual rate to give me the job in person.
A sweaty, middle-aged man in a church suit slides into the seat across from me. “The–” He glances at his hand. I can see that there is writing there. “The rabbit farm isn’t doing too well.”
I give him a tightlipped smile. “Then kill the predators.” It’s a code. A stupid one at that, but he insisted on something. People who don’t normally hire professional thieves have a view about what’s expected. They usually get this impression from bad spy movies.
He wipes some sweat from his forehead, then scrubs his hand along his pants.
I take a sip from my tea, doing my best to ignore the dragonflies still swarming the window. I’ve never seen dragonflies do anything like that. Then again, I’m from the city. I don’t know anything about nature.
The man pulls out a manila envelope from his jacket and slides it across the table.
Doing my best to play the part, I open it and look inside. A giant stack of cash fills me with warm fuzzies. It smells like freshly washed money. Literally, like he ran it through the washer. I don’t have to count it – I can tell by the weight that he got the number right. I tuck the envelope into my jacket pocket.
“What’s the job?” I take another sip of my tea.
He scratches his head. “There’s a shop. Buried Treasure Antique and Thrift Shop.”
I nod. “Two story house with skeletons on the porch. I passed it on the way in.”
The dragonflies are lightly peppering their bodies into the window. I’m not one to believe in superstitious nonsense, but they’re behaving oddly. The barista has even come around the counter to stare at them.
He nods. “I sold something. I need you to get it back.”
I wait for him to tell me what it is so I can just go get it. Hey, if it’s an antique shop, I could probably just purchase it legally and give it back to him. Then I wouldn’t have to wait three years to settle down here.
He doesn’t go on. His eyes are flicking to the dragonflies.
“What do you need me to retrieve?”
He starts, as if he forgot I was here. “My soul. I traded my soul, and I need you to get it back.”
The man has lost it. I take another sip of my tea. Money is money. “What does your soul look like?”
“I traded my soul for three million dollars, and now he wants thirteen million to give it back.” The man’s lower lip trembles, and his eyes start to do that watery thing that people do right before they start crying.
The barista has noticed this and grabs a stack of napkins to bring over. She drops them on the table, gives my client an empathetic smile and thankfully goes back to her station behind the cash register to do whatever it is baristas do when they don’t have customers. I notice she is also watching the dragonflies.
He dabs at the corner of his eyes with the napkins.
The dragonflies are louder now, and the sound of their wings is giving me a headache.
I realize this man isn’t grounded in reality anymore, and I wonder if it’s ethically right to take his money. I’m not one of these low life scammers who takes televisions or jewelry from random homes, and I’m not the type of person who takes a vehicle from a parking lot. I am a professional thief. That means a reliable expert. In and out, no one even knows I was there for at least three days. No one gets hurt, and if I’m working with a team, no one gets caught and everyone gets paid.
“I don’t think I’m the person you need.” I move to set his envelope back on the table.
He catches my wrist in a surprisingly strong grip. “No please. I can’t get close. She always knows where I am.” His eyes are intense, and there’s an edge in his voice. I’ve heard it before. Because of how much I charge I’m usually the last resort people turn to when they’ve expended all other options.
The dragonflies have started swarming in a funnel, and somehow their wings are catching the light, casting the room in iridescent rainbows.
Behind the counter, the barista has started brewing herself a drink.
This man needs help. But from a mental health professional, not from me, and I don’t think it’s a good idea that I lean into his psychosis.
I open my mouth to decline.
He inhales sharply and says, “I’ll triple what I’m paying you.”
On the other hand, it couldn’t hurt to break into this antique shop and get one item to give to him. I’ll recommend a therapist when I’m done. “Okay.” I tuck the envelope back into my jacket. “What does your soul look like?”
My client visibly relaxes. “He put my soul in a small egg shaped music box. It’s ivory and gold with a clock on the front.”
I take a sip of my coffee.
My client bites his lip. “It has to be today, or I won’t be able to reabsorb my soul. Then I’ll be doomed to Hell.” He glances at the clock on the wall. “Church starts at 8:30 and lasts for two hours. She always attends church.”
I don’t have to look at the time. It’s 8:10 right now. That doesn’t leave me a lot of time to get in and find the gold and ivory egg thing.
The chair scrapes the old wooden floor as I stand. “Then I better get started.” I’m a little disappointed that I didn’t get to finish my tea, but I can order more when I’m done.
My client stands, his hands shaking.
“Do you normally go to church?”
He nods.
“Then do that. Try to act normal.” I straighten my jacket. “I’ll be back here after church, and you’ll have your soul back.”
He gives me a weak smile.
I exit out the front door and hop in my car. Some of the dragonflies circle my car as I drive to the antique shop. The roads are empty for the most part. A cat slinks across the street. I think about parking on the street and walking up the front stairs. But the roads are narrow and the front door is facing the street. I park in the back lot and approach what I think is the back door, only to discover that it’s actually the front door.
I frown at the hours. It’s closed Sunday through Friday. And it’s only open from noon to two on the second Saturday of every month.
As I pick the lock, I wonder what kind of business can afford to stay open for only two hours a week.
The doorknob clicks as my tools slide the lock into the open position. As I stand and enter the building, I glance out to see a quiet neighborhood.
I’ve been blinded by the sun, and it takes a minute for my eyes to adjust to the low light level here. So, I close my eyes.
The house smells like old books, antique dolls, and somewhere on the second floor, I can hear the faint sound of a radio. I can tell by the way the air feels that no one has been here for a while. It’s got that feeling that empty houses often do. Like the energy of living people hasn’t touched this place in a bit.
When I open my eyes, I realize it may be difficult to find what I’m looking for. There are random things everywhere. Finding a white and gold egg with a clock in it may be like trying to find a specific drop of water in a lake.
I take my time and move through the first room slowly. Mentally naming things as I go to help me actually see everything. A puke green lamp from the 70’s, a vintage set of cups – probably made from something toxic, books, so many books. I wished I had asked my client if he knew where the owner was storing the item.
I’ve moved through the three rooms on the first floor and am about to go to the second when I catch sight of the door to the basement. There’s a familiar sound coming from the door. I pause to listen to the buzzing. I can’t place it, but I know I’ve heard it before. The sound vanishes.
After a few seconds, I move to the basement door and open it. The lights are on, and I can see glass display cases. From here, I can’t tell what’s in them. But from the shape of them I can tell they are eggs.
I’ve seen horror movies. People always get trapped and murdered in basements.
I shake myself for being foolish. I still pull out my taser and make sure it’s on before descending the stairs.
The basement is a stark contrast to the upstairs. Where the main floor has a layer of dust on everything, and there seems to be no order, the basement is like a private museum. Or a private collection. Not a speck of dust to be seen. And I was right about the eggs. There are hundreds. White eggs, with gold embellishments and clocks inset on the front. Someone went to a lot of trouble to collect all of these. I’m not one to judge what rich people collect. It’s not even the weirdest thing I’ve seen.
Scratching my head. I start to make a slow circuit around the room. Every egg has a little name plate. It’s only as I search for my client’s name that I notice all the clocks are frozen. The second hand ticking the same second over and over. The batteries need to be changed. It takes me a while, but I finally find it. In the second to last case.
I open the case and grab the egg. As I’m about to close the case the sound of footsteps on the stairs freezes me in place. There’s nowhere to hide. Everything is well lit, and the windows are tiny little basement windows. I would need a few minutes to squeeze myself through it.
I decide the best way to get out of this is to play dumb. So, I tuck my taser into a pocket. Before I see who’s slowly walking down the stairs, I adopt my best tourist voice and say, “I hope you don’t mind. The door was unlocked, and I really wanted to do some thrifting.”
The girl is wearing a black dress that nicely sets off her blond hair. She gives me the sweetest smile. Somehow it reminds me of a fox that just found a litter of bunnies. I think I’ve seen this girl before, but I can’t place her.
The sound from earlier when I was standing at the top of the stairs returns. It’s coming from the windows. I know where I’d heard it before. The dragonflies at the coffeeshop. The room gets a little darker as they swarm over the windows. They slam themselves into them again and again.
I scratch my face, and I don’t have to pretend to be confused about the dragonflies. “Why are they doing that?”
Her smile doesn’t waver.
I realize where I saw her. She was the barista that served me my tea. She’s changed her clothes. But it’s her.
The floor overhead creaks as someone walks across it. I’m reaching for my taser when my client says from the first floor. “They’re trying to warn you.”
My breath catches in my throat. I’ve fallen prey to a classic, betrayal by my client. Something I haven’t done since I started out. His pitiful old rich man in spiritual trouble routine got me.
He descends the stairs more quickly than I thought he would have been able. More quickly than I am able. Confidence oozes off him.
I pull out the taser and hold it defensively. “Get out of my way.” I charge it for a second so they can see the electricity jump from one piece of metal to another.
The younger girl pulls out an egg that looks like all the others and hands it to my client. “That’s five hundred and sixty six.”
The older man takes the egg. “I know.”
The girl sits on the second to last stair and folds one leg over the other. “I wonder what color this one will be. My bet is green.” She cocks her head to the side. “No. Hazel.”
As the older man approaches me, I try to slide past him.
He catches my taser arm and holds it away from him. He’s so strong. I yank and push but can’t get my arm free.
He’s muttering in a language I don’t know.
The dragonflies are so loud that I can’t hear the sound of my own breathing.
I drop the taser into my free hand. Or I try to. My arm is numb, and it won’t move. I’m trying to scream, and I can’t. My body feels numb and tingly. The way my hand feels after I’ve slept on it too long.
I start cramping. The worst cramps I’ve ever felt. Worse than any food poisoning or illness. Worse than dehydration.
Then my clothes fall, and I’m on the ground. I try to push myself up only to hover into the air in front of the man.
I catch sight of my reflection. I’m a hazel dragonfly. I’m drawn to the egg in the man’s hand – I am lost at sea and that’s my northern star. It’s my soul beckoning me to safety. I know it. If I can get it back, I’ll turn back into a human. I dive bomb the man.
He’s impossibly fast. He’s got me by the wings. By my wings.
I realize it’s silent. The dragonflies have gone silent. They aren’t at the windows. I don’t know where they are.
As the man makes his way to the stairs, he says, “Don’t worry, I’m doing you a favor. Immortality as a dragonfly isn’t so bad. You’ll never have to pay rent, or for food, or healthcare.”
I try to break free, but my arms hurt. No not my arms. My wings.
The man carries me to the door facing the street and tosses me onto the patio next to the fake skeleton. He closes the door before I have a chance to chase after him.
There are dragonflies everywhere. As I watch, dragonflies fly away from the swarm. I don’t bother to count how many.
I fly to the basement window and watch the man put my egg in one of the display cases. It still beckons me.
Others who have been turned into dragonflies land next to me. I realize why the town was so deserted. These are the townspeople. Some of them are old. They’ve never given up. I realize I’ll never get my soul back.
The End.
Thanks for reading! Fun fact: That shop is based on a real place in Elizabethtown, Kentucky.
Janessa Keeling 
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