The Barrier Island Chronicles

Several months ago in early April, all of the barrier islands in southern Brunswick County (Holden Beach, Ocean Isle and Sunset Beach) experienced extraordinary tides; both high and low. I remember the high tide coming nearer and nearer to the sandbags surrounding my house and wondering if I or the house would ever be found after washing out to sea.

The following low tide revealed parts of the beach that were rarely dry and as I walked along the newly uncovered sand, I spotted something shiny. As I got closer, I could see that the shiny object was an exposed corner of a partially buried box. I dug it out and found that it was about the size of a Black and Decker toaster oven. It was covered with a thin veneer of metal and showed no signs of corrosion from the saltwater. The box had a lid and was latched with a small clasp. Both the box and the lid bore inlaid markings of black and gold resembling ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs.

I wasted no time in walking back to my house to further examine my unearthed treasure. Once inside the house, I cleared my dining room table and set the box in the center. I was tempted to shake it once or twice but thought it better to open it gently and not disturb the contents, whatever they may be. A screwdriver and small set of pliers were all I needed to break the clasp and pry the lid off. I fully expected to find a dank and ancient odor escaping from the box but smelling nothing of note, went straight to examining the contents.

Neatly arranged and secured by velvet-like threads to the interior of the box was a yellow metal man’s ring with a lightning bolt engraved on its face. If it was gold, it could be worth a few thousand bucks. The next item was a baseball cap bearing the BB-55 and USS North Carolina logo from the Battleship Memorial in Wilmington. Nothing ancient about that! A small bundle of what appeared to be eagle feathers was next. I remembered that it was illegal to possess eagle feathers except those recognized for use in some Native American ceremonies. They were not fresh and had some kind of preservative on them. The next several items held no logic for me at all. A small vial of what looked to be blood, a golf tee, some shark’s teeth, a toll booth token, several acorns, a crystal radio kit (I built one as a boy) and what appeared to be an authentic Spanish gold coin of the 1700s.

I stood in my dining room and scratched my head at the box and its contents. It was on towards dinner time and I prepared my evening meal of chicken noodle soup, saltines and a protein shake. That was about all my cancer would allow. I always saved that double Jack Daniel’s for bedtime to help me get to sleep.

It was still light outside and the April sunset was beautiful but my walk earlier had left me exhausted so I lay down in the recliner, switched on the TV and immediately passed out. Hours later, I dreamed I heard a voice telling me to wake up. The voice also told me to put on the ring I found in the treasure box.

“Third finger, left hand!” the voice ordered. My eyes fluttered momentarily but then relaxed.

“I said wake up!” the voice ordered in the tone of a command from one who is used to commanding. I remember that my eyes shot open and I scanned the room for possible intruders. Some of my exhaustion was gone and I slowly rose from the recliner to scan for burglars, and walked over to the box on my dining room table.

“You said put the ring on my left hand, third finger?” I asked aloud. My question was met with silence. “Are you sure only the left hand and third finger will do?” More silence. I felt quite ridiculous but proceeded to open the box, take out the ring and place it on my left hand, third finger. The ring fit like it had been personally sized, even fitting over my edema filled knuckles. I held out my hand to observe and admire the ring then seeing a fleck of the box’s interior stuck to the top of the ring, brushed it away with my other hand.

Instantaneously, the ring began to glow, red at first then refining into a blinding white. I was shaken up and terrified to the point of fainting but felt strength emanating from the ring. I became aware that a gentle warmth was spreading from my left hand, down my arm and out to the rest of my frame. I also became aware that the walls of my home seemed to melt away and I found myself on the beach and facing a man in a grey business suit with no shoes. He smiled at me and I swear I saw large, white, shiny canine teeth before they disappeared.

“Who are you?” I stammered. “Better yet, what are you?”

“I am known by many names and have many faces. But you can call me Amir”, the entity said. “I have a proposition for you that will benefit us both.”

With a sudden blast of fortitude, I yelled at the man in the suit, “Are you Satan coming to bargain for my immortal soul?”

The man’s expression changed to one of utter disdain as he roared, “Oh please! We haven’t spoken to each other in ages.”

“Spoken to whom?” I shouted.

“Lucifer, of course!” the entity retorted, rolling his eyes which began emitting sparks.

“Give me one reason why I should trust or even listen to anything you have to say”, I challenged.

“Try this”, he laughed and waved his arms at the tide water beginning to surround my house. In an instant, the water receded revealing 100 feet of new beach in front of my bungalow. “Now shall we talk or should I simply leave?”

And that is how I met Amir Al-Braheem, the last of the Jinn.

Amir told me that the box was his and the contents were mementos of stories he wanted told. He explained that he was an active participant in some stories, an enabler in others and an observer in many. I asked him why he was so adamant that his stories be told and he was vague at best. The closest thing to an answer I got was, “I want to be remembered”. He said that the “Most High” who he also referred to as “The Creator” had taught him that his destiny was to be in service to the Sons of Adam or mankind if you will.

If this thing talks to God, who am I not to listen I wondered?

It was like he read my thoughts because the next words from him were,

“Wise decision!”

He waved his arm again and we were instantly back in my house. He said that he would return tomorrow evening to begin telling his first story for transcription. It would be the story of his origins and how he escaped cruel bondage to discover his purpose and destiny. But before he vanished, I told him of my prognosis and that I may not live long enough to finish the works. His eyes flashed those sparks again and that canine-filled grin reappeared.

“I am aware of your health and your prognosis, but hear me now. As long as you write for me, you will live. That is your part of the bargain. Now, do you require anything else?”

“An old fashioned cassette tape recorder and table mic would be nice. That way, I would be sure to capture all of your thoughts”, I answered. The machine materialized on my dining room table next to his box of treasures and he vanished.

I remember standing next to my table for several minutes, trying to comprehend all that just transpired. My next thoughts were pangs of hunger, missing since the radiation treatments started. I also remembered that I had not coughed since opening his box. I went to the phone and called the number on one of the several magnets on my refrigerator. Sharkey’s Pizza and Jack Daniel’s on the rocks was sounding real good.

I distinctly remember wondering why this creature picked me to transcribe his tales. I would not find out until much later.

Dear Reader. This is how the collection of stories came about and yes, I am still alive and writing!

Sincerely,

The Narrator