Amorous Goods: The Victrola Part 2
AMOROUS
GOODS: THE VICTROLA [https://www.literotica.com/s/amorous-goods-the-victrola] � PART 2
AN OLD RECORD
PLAYER AND A RING CHANGES THEIR LIVES.
Based
on a post by ShowTime8 [https://www.literotica.com/s/amorous-goods-gaudus].
Listen to the
Podcast [https://archive.org/download/amorous-goods/AmorousGoods1-11.mp3] at Explicit
Novels [https://feeds.feedburner.com/explicitnovels].
https://archive.org/download/amorous-goods/AmorousGoods.jpg [https://archive.org/download/amorous-goods/AmorousGoods.jpg]
Prologue:
A
lifelong collector of goods and objects from far and wide has passed and left
the entire collection and the business built around them to the only remaining
relative, a niece on a career path of her own. Vikki has taken on the task of
administering the estate and liquidating the business and collection. However,
she has come to find out that many of the goods have been cursed or enchanted
with amorous powers that affect those who encounter them. This 18 part series
is devoted to many of the stories of those encounters with objects found at Amorous Goods [https://www.literotica.com/s/amorous-goods-a-lit-anthology-series].
It
was the end of the quarter for us, and I was tied up in meetings and
spreadsheets for several days, making sure everything was as it should be. I
went over all the expense reports, the balance sheets, and the spreadsheets
provided by the various departments. I also spent a lot of time making sure our
tax filings were correct, so I didn't have much time at work to do any research
on the record player.
I
also spent that time watching Terri closely. I noticed some things after a few
days. Call it a trend, if you wish. For starters, she always wore that ring on
the days she went to the Parker house. I also realized that we never had sex on
those days, or most of the other days for that matter, but Never on the days
she wore that ring.
I
also noticed her temperament was quite different on the days she was at the
house. Instead of the carefree, happy woman I married, she seemed distant and
sometimes short-tempered. At first, I thought it was the stress of selling the
place, but she was always under stress to sell more property, so that couldn't
be it. What was so different about those days, I wondered.
I
also noticed that she was spending more days at the Parker house than before,
and she was coming home later and later. Sometimes, she wouldn't get home
before midnight. She always dressed professionally and she never appeared
disheveled when she came home. I never said anything because I didn't want to
set her off. The few times I asked if everything was okay, she simply said,
"just fine," waving me off before she turned and went the other way.
Eventually,
the kids began to notice as well. Both of them came to me, asking if there was
anything wrong between Terri and me.
"It's
just that damn house she's been trying to sell," I told them.
"Well
I hope she sells it soon. It's like she's two different people, and I want our
old Mom back," April said.
"Yeah,
me too," I said.
It
was about the middle of October when things settled down at work. By then, I
had found what I thought might be a solution to the volume issue. I found a
couple websites where people said they used to put socks in the horns to quiet
them a bit. According to one site, that's where the phrase, "put a sock in
it" came from. Whatever works, I thought, but I didn't want to use
anything that might scratch the ornate wooden horn, so I found a nice soft
towel and decided to give that a try.
The
next day, I put the towel in the horn of the old player and tested it with
"Stars and Stripes Forever." Sure enough, it worked like a charm. I
could even open the office door as it played and no one was bothered by it. I
decided to try it with the unlabeled record during my lunch hour.
When
the time came, I grabbed my lunch out of the refrigerator; a sandwich, a
banana, a small bag of chips and a Pepsi; packed by myself, since Terri was too
busy these days to really care about much except her work. I closed the door,
put up my "out to lunch" sign and pulled the shades; a signal to
everyone else to leave me alone; and fired up the player.
I
had just taken a bite out of my sandwich when I heard the voice of a man with a
slight accent come out of the horn.
"Good
afternoon, Mr. Thornton," the man's voice said. I nearly spewed Pepsi out
of my nose when that happened. I looked at the Victrola, shocked. "Yes,
I'm talking to you, Mr. Thornton. Jack, isn't it? May I call you Jack?"
"Uh,
yeah, Jack is fine," I said. "And who are you?"
"I'm
Jonas Parker," the man said.
"But
how can that be?" I asked. "You're dead. Aren't you?"
"It
is true that my physical body no longer functions and is what you would call
'dead,' at least on the physical plane you perceive as reality, but the essence
of who and what I really am continues on," the man said. "You might
call it the soul."
"But
how is that possible?" I asked. The man laughed before continuing.
"What
was it the Bard once wrote?" Jonas asked. "Ah yes, 'There are more
things in heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'
You have no idea how correct he was."
"But
how can you be speaking to me through this phonograph?" I asked.
"Because
it was once mine," he said. "It was in my home for many years and
like so many other things in my home, it has become what you might call
enchanted. Or cursed, as the case may be. Although I am glad it is now in the
hands of someone who appreciates history as you do. I know it will be well
cared for."
"You
still haven't answered my question," I said. "HOW is all this
possible?"
"Very
well," the man said. "I don't have time to explain more than 50 years
of work, but I'll give you a brief synopsis. In 1921 an amateur archaeologist
named Alfred Watkins discovered that ancient sites around the world, both
man-made and natural, seemed to have a form of alignment. When looked at on a
map, they seemed to be arranged in straight lines. These lines were later
called 'ley lines,' and the points where those lines intersect were thought to
be highly charged with pockets of supernatural energy that can be harnessed by
some individuals.
"It
turns out that my house happens to sit at the intersection of six of these
lines. My grandfather was something of a spiritualist in his day, and felt
there was something special about the location, so he built the house there,
long before Watkins made his discovery. Naturally, I took up his work and
traveled the world looking for clues; anything that might give me answers.
"Along
the way, I collected a number of artifacts and trinkets that on their own, held
some amount of power. But when brought together at that location, their power
grew in ways you cannot imagine. I learned to harness the power of those
objects for my own benefit. You see, the so-called 'scientific community'
wasn't interested in hearing about what men like Watkins had to say. They
dismissed it as just so much hokum."
"So
I endeavored to prove them all wrong. I spent over a half century collecting
and researching. I sold many of the items I collected, but there were others I
kept for myself. You wouldn't believe the mountain of information I gleaned.
Eventually, I was able to understand nearly all of it, but there was one step I
had to take before I could realize my ultimate goal," he said.
"What
was that?" I asked.
"I
had to let my physical body die," he said. "So I did. And voila, here
I am."
"You're
mad," I said. He chuckled.
"Perhaps,"
he said. "I've been called that and much worse, by experts. But consider
this. Of the two of us, which one is holding a conversation with a
machine?"
"I
see your point," I said.
"Each
of us has a purpose, Jack," he said. "Mine is to travel the
space-time continuum and enjoy whatever is out there. Yours is to raise your
two children to be responsible adults. And your wife is fulfilling her purpose
even now as we speak."
"What
are you talking about?" I asked, my anger rising.
"Oh
come on, Jack, surely you know what I'm talking about," he said.
"You
mean selling your house?" He laughed out loud.
"Selling
it?" he asked. "Heavens no. She's not selling it. She preparing
it."
"For
what?" I asked. "Quit talking in riddles, dammit!"
"For
our return," he said. "My wife was taken from me years ago by a cruel
disease. In short, I was robbed of a lifetime of love and happiness. I intend
to get that back."
"How
do you plan to do that?" I asked. "And what role does my wife play in
your scheme?"
"I'm
sure you noticed the ring she was given," he said. "The pattern came
from an ancient tribe of people who believed the dead could replace the souls
of the living. The pattern on that ring makes it possible. Your wife's body
will soon host my dear departed wife's soul for good. Haven't you noticed the
changes in your wife recently?"
"I
have," I said.
"That's
because the human mind was not made to house two people," he said.
"My wife's soul is slowly taking your wife's body and mind over. In the
meantime, she's learning to adapt and use what your wife's body has to offer.
And I must say, it's quite exhilarating. Your wife sure knows how to be a wild
woman in bed, the way my Annabelle once was."
"And
what happens to my wife's soul?" I asked.
"Eventually,
it will replace Annabelle's in the great beyond," he said. "Before
long, there'll be no need for the ring. When Annabelle gets strong enough,
she'll push your Terri out completely."
"You'll
never get away with this," I said. He laughed.
"Jack,
Jack," he said condescendingly. "Please don't insult my intelligence.
Look at the big picture here, will you? There's no way you can stop what has
already started. And who would believe you? You'd be sent to a mental
institution, and who would be left to care for your children. Hmm? Why not
simply accept the inevitable and get on with your life? There are other women
out there, you know. Many of them would love to be with someone like you."
"This
can't be real," I said quietly.
"Oh,
but it is real, Jack," he said. "It's as real as it gets. Look, I'd
love to chat some more, but the record finished playing long ago and I really
need to get back to what I was doing. I know this is a lot for you to embrace
at one time. Terri has left a message for you on one of the records you bought
this morning. The label is clearly marked. In the meantime, listen to this;�
His
voice went away and was replaced by moaning and the sound of flesh slapping
against flesh. I could hear a woman's voice in the background and knew it was
Terri.
"Oh
God, yes," she moaned. "Fuck my pussy, Master. Keep fucking me. Cum
inside my slutty cunt." I heard a man groan out loud and then there were
no more sounds. I looked and saw the needle was in the final groove next to the
label. How long had it been there, I wondered. Shocked, I lifted the needle and
stopped the player.
I
pulled the wax record off the turntable and replaced it in its paper sleeve
before putting it away. I looked through the other albums carefully and found
one with an old RCA label marked, "To Jack From Terri." Strange, I
thought. That wasn't there this morning. How could this possibly be? I thought
about playing that record, but had another idea. I had a turntable at home that
could play 78 RPM albums, so I decided I would take the record home and listen
to it there, and if necessary, confront my wife.
I
looked at the time and realized my lunch break was nearly over. Could I really
have been conversing with a dead man through an old phonograph that long?
Stunned and shocked, I tossed the rest of my lunch away and went back to my
desk. I called Terri's office, hoping to speak to her.
"Is
Terri Thornton available?" I asked the receptionist.
"I'm
sorry, Jack, but she's been out all day," the receptionist said. "I
don't expect her back until sometime tomorrow. Can I leave a message?"
"No,
that's alright," I said. "I'll talk to her later." I ended the
call, then pulled out the card and called Vikki.
"Hello,
Jack, I was expecting your call," she said. "Would you like to come
over so we can talk?"
"Yes,"
I said. "How did you know I'd be calling?"
"Call
it a woman's intuition," she said. "I suggest the sooner you get here
the better."
"Okay,
I'm coming right over," I said, ending the call. I went to Alan's office.
He looked at me and invited me inside. I walked in and closed the door behind
me.
"What's
the matter, Jack?" he asked. "You don't look too well. Are you
feeling alright?"
"I
need to take some time off," I said. "Family emergency."
"Well,
you've got comp time coming, and we don't have anything pressing, so go ahead.
Take a few days and get it under control," he said. "If there's
anything I can do, please let me know."
"Thanks,
Alan," I said. "I appreciate that." With that, I went back to my
office, put the record from Terri in my briefcase and headed out. I decided to
drive by the old Parker place to see if she was there. Sure enough, she was. I
could see her car along with another parked in front of the house. I couldn't
get in because the iron gate at the driveway was closed. I looked but didn't
see any signs indicating the place was for sale. Odd, I thought.
From
there, I drove straight to Vikki's shop. I was desperate for answers and I
hoped she could give me some. When I got there, I went inside and saw her
behind the counter. She looked up as I walked inside.
"Good
afternoon, Jack," she said. "I assume you want some answers."
"You
assume right," I said. She nodded her head, went to the door and locked
it, putting up a sign that red, "Closed." She turned back and started
walking to the back of the shop, I assumed, where her office was located. She
stopped and looked back at me.
"Perhaps
you should come with me," she said. I followed her into a small, crowded
office with a desk and three chairs. One of the chairs sat in a corner and was
covered with an afghan. She invited me to sit in the other chair as she took
her place behind her desk.
"I
take it you listened to the record with the blank label," she said. I
nodded my head.
"You
might say that," I said. "More to the point, I had a conversation
with the man who recorded that disk. What can you tell me about your
uncle?"
"Well,
for starters, he was actually my great-uncle; my grandfather's oldest
brother," she said. "He held two degrees. One in archaeology and
another in history. He got married and taught for a while, but after his wife
died of meningitis, he left the college and began exploring the world,
collecting artifacts from all over. About 35 years ago, he finally settled back
into the old house and opened this place. He never remarried and always talked
about how he and his beloved wife would one day be reunited."
"Did
he say how that might happen?" I asked. She shook her head.
"No,
but he did talk a lot about otherworldly things," she said.
"Supernatural things."
"Was
he involved with the occult?" I asked. She shrugged her shoulders.
"I
can tell you that he was accused of that, more than once, and I can tell you he
dabbled in things I never really cared to mess with," she said. I nodded
my head in understanding. "Would you like to see a picture of his
wife?" she asked.
"Sure,"
I said. She turned to her computer and pulled up a digitized black and white
photograph of a stunningly beautiful woman in her mid-twenties. I looked at the
photo in shock. She looked like the spitting image of my Terri. Vikki saw the
expression on my face. I pulled out my cell phone and showed her a recent picture
of Terri. She looked at it, shocked.
"What's
your wife's maiden name?" she asked.
"Hanson,"
I said. Vikki opened another file on her computer.
"Uncle
Jonas was really into genealogy," she said. "He originally had
everything on paper, but put it into a computer a few years before he
died." She pointed at one entry in a box. "This was his wife;
Annabelle. Her maiden name was Simpson and according to this, she had a sister,
Freida. We know Annabelle didn't have any children
and Uncle Jonas never remarried. Let's follow Freida's
line and see what we come up with."
We
both examined the screen, following the lines down through the generations.
Fortunately, there wasn't much to go through, but Vikki found it and pointed to
a box on the screen. I looked and saw it: Terri Ann Hanson. A box next to it
was connected with a line and had my name inside. Below that were the names of
our children.
"There's
your answer," she said. "He was waiting for someone who resembled
Annabelle."
"Do
you have a picture of your brother on here?" I asked.
"Sure,"
she said, going back to the pictures folder. She pulled one up and showed it to
me.
"How
much does he resemble your uncle?" I asked.
"Quite
a bit," she said. "His name is Donald. They were quite close."
"Is
it possible that your uncle had him give her that ring?" I asked.
"Anything's
possible, I guess," she said.
"Did
your uncle keep track of the things he picked up over the years?" I asked
her.
"Yes,"
she said. "Mostly for keeping inventory. It's all here in the database. He
spent years putting it together."
"Can
you search for 'ring' and 'soul' in that database?" I asked.
"Yes
I can," she said, pulling up what looked like a custom program built for a
database. She entered the search terms and hit enter. There were a few items
displayed and most were marked as "sold." The top item, however,
caught my eye. It was the exact ring I saw on Terri's hand. Vikki clicked on
the item description and we red the entry Jonas had input.
"According
to this, he discovered the ring at a dig in central Africa," Vikki said.
"Local legend had it that an ancient tribe used a ring like this to
commune with the dead. The wearer could supposedly channel the spirit of
someone who passed away and even take on some of that person's personality
traits. But there's a warning. If worn long enough, the departed spirit could
displace the spirit of the person wearing the ring."
"Oh
my God," I said. "Did Jonas say anything else? Like, how to reverse
the process?"
"He
has an entry here that gives a chant," she said. "According to Jonas,
it has to be spoken by two females, and one of them has to be related to the
person wearing the ring." Terri's mother lived in Florida, and was too far
to get here in time. But there was one other person. It was a risk, but if we
were ever to get Terri back, it had to be done.
"Would
you be willing to help me break that spell?" I asked.
"Yes,
I would," she said. "But we need two females. Where are you going to
get the other?"
"I'll
have to get her out of school," I said. "Print out two copies of that
chant if you would please. I have to call the school."
"Okay,"
she said. As she did that, I called April's school and told them there was a
family emergency and I needed to pull her out. They wanted to know the nature
of the emergency, and I simply told them it had to do with her mother. The vice
principal I spoke to reluctantly agreed and I said I would there shortly. By
the time I ended the call, Vikki was finished
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