Author: Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is first installment of the title story from my latest book: The Bracelet and the other short stories. You can find the second part here: The Bracelet: Part 2

I pick up the bracelet in my gloved hands gingerly and try to brush off the weirdness that fills me.

Yes, this is a museum. Yes, it houses curios from across the history. But these are just things, not people…

Then why am I getting goosebumps?

All summer, I have been working behind the scenes in this small museum to restore old artifacts. Most people would consider it charity work, considering the payment in peanuts, but the experience would help me secure a job in a bigger and better museum once I get my degree. So far, I had worked during the day. It is my first night at the museum, thanks to the set of recently acquired medieval jewellery I am restoring. It goes on display tomorrow on the first day of holidays.

It is a small place in a safe community, and lock and key are considered enough security—so, there are no guards. Since it would take a couple of hours, I have locked the place from inside. It should make me feel secure, but I am rather queasy instead…

Museums are rather stuffy at night since it is filled with so many lost memories—children’s playthings, items used for life and magic, ritual sacrifices buried alongside the bones of long‑dead people (hopefully, not my ancestors) and the likes. During the day, open doors and windows, the din of the staff and visitors keeps away the prickly feeling. But at night, without these sounds and sights to distract me, the sensation of not being alone is overwhelming.

I had been putting off working on this bracelet for similar reasons. Up close, it makes me feel uncomfortable. It was donated by a rich old family with a history of housing curios. While its origin is unclear, it is famed that it originally belonged to a ‘witch’. According to the legend, she was a tribal woman accused of using witchcraft to allure the local priest, ‘forcing’ him to impregnate her. The woman was burnt alive. The priest was, of course, absolved of all charges. He had picked the bracelet from her ashes and worn it. He died the same night of unknown causes with just a slight burn mark around his wrist. His successor at the church declared that the bracelet is cursed and kills the wearer. Later, he sold the same cursed item to a private collector at an exorbitant price to raise money for God’s work.

Not that I believe any of it. Anyone working in the restoration field in museums would know better. But it is such a waste because no one would wear it—and the bracelet is breathtaking…

I stroke the bracelet delicately…reverentially…

The delicate silver chains are intertwined to form a couple of entwined snakes who kiss each other when the clasp is done. The intricate dangling animal figurines, famous as witch’s familiars, are carved out of Cat’s‑eye stones—a crow, a cat, a toad, an owl, a bat and a spider. They look so real that my fingers itch to touch them…

Not sure when I took my gloves off…

Stroking the owl, I could clearly imagine a barn owl sitting on the windowsill of my cottage against the dark night outside. The wooden walls were adorned with herbs collected from the forest. The cauldron in the fireplace was cooking cough medicine for the villagers. The air was thick with the incense of the cooking flowers and burning candles…

Where did that come from? I don’t have a cottage, I live in an apartment…but the owl looks so real, its feathers are ruffling in the wind.

The toad sitting atop the work‑table croaks, asking for his treat, and moves close to the crystal jar in which my spider is weaving her web as usual. I tell the toad to leave her alone. There are plenty of other insects to eat around the many candles…

But I own no toad nor spider…The little bat remains unbothered by them, flying around the roof to tease the cat who is now tired of chasing him around and jumps on my lap to take her rightful place.

I sit on the floor cross‑legged stitching the beaver skin together to form another set of little shoes for the soon‑to‑arrive. I blush and smile at the thought as I stroke the cat and remind her that she only has five more months until someone else claims my lap. The old crow sleeps on his perch, oblivious to it all.

Suddenly, the door of the cottage opens with a loud thud.

Author’s note: To be continued…

Photo by Manpreet Kaur

If you would rather read it all together in the book, The Bracelet and other short stories is available for free download here: Link