"Possessions of the Damned: A Flashback to Child’s Play and the Price of Collecting"
Monologue of the Nightly Storyteller There’s something curious about humanity’s obsession with possession—not the demonic kind, though that has its place—but the compulsion to collect. Trinkets, heirlooms, antiques... objects we cling to like charms, as if they tether us to meaning. But not all meaning is benign. I’ve started to wonder: do we own our collections, or do they own us? Take this necklace—cursed or not, it's mine now. I didn’t even realize I was fidgeting with it until Val pointed it out at work. “You polishing it or casting a spell?” she joked, laughter hiding just a hint of concern. I laughed too, but my grip tightened without thinking. She doesn't know about the messages. The last call. The voice that promised I was on my way to becoming… something else. I don’t remember choosing to wear the necklace today. But there it was, warm against my chest. Whispering. Val waved it off with a chuckle. “Relax. It’s just a necklace.” But we both know better. --- ...