The Brass Ring

I looked through the peephole and saw an older man dressed like a Southern Colonel, right down to his Colonel Sanders mustache and goatee, only his was salt and pepper in color.

I opened the door a crack and he took off his hat and said, “May I have a word with you about the treasure?”

“Treasure?” I replied.

“Come now sir,” he said in his southern drawl, “do me the honor of not assuming that I’m an idiot. You were seen removing the paper from the behind the brass star. I’ve come to ask you to put it back.”

I sighed. I had been caught and not I had to face the music. I opened the door and let the man in.

“Let me introduce myself, I’m Zebediah Allister Davenport,” he said sitting down in the only chair in the hotel room. Right in front of the recovered paper. “I see you’ve already read the old scroll. Well don’t believe its lies.”


“Yes, lies,” he said with a firm voice. “This is no treasure map or guide to wealth. It is a cursed thing, it will be your downfall.”

“Um, cursed?”

“Yes son, cursed.”

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