Ghost of a Chance

I'm currently writing a book (heading towards publication). When I get writer's block, I found the best way to combat it is by writing something completely different; a short story, an essay, a few paragraphs. This is one of those stories. It started out small, then grew to 'series' potential. If folks like it, I'll keep going with it.

Enjoy.

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Tom slammed the shovel into the ground, loosening up more dirt and widening the hole for the new fence post. It felt like he was digging his own grave. He had felt this way for years but when Helen left, that was the final nail in the coffin.

All his life, Tom was the center of ridicule and was bullied and dumped on by his peers. Growing up a skinny, sickly looking kid, his tormentors wasted no time in zeroing in on him. In high school, the best four years of his life turned into four of the worst. No guy would befriend him, no girl would even give him a second glance (or a first, for that matter), much less date him. By the time he had grown out of his awkward appearance, high school was over.

He had to work his way through college; two jobs, and even that didn't help much. The only thing it did was to put some weight and muscle on his frame. The construction jobs transformed him from a skinny kid into the 5' 11", 190 lbs. husky man he was now. His skin, once acne covered, was smooth and chiseled and his flat oily hair was now a soft, well groomed thatch of auburn.

He was considered a 'late bloomer' in school, much to the delight of his tormentors in the boy's locker room. That had definitely changed around his senior year, but even the rumors that floated around about his 'package' did nothing for his confidence. All the girls wanted him for was his thick, eight and a half inch cock, and nothing more.

Despite his good looking appearance, Tom still didn't have any luck with women because of the low self esteem he had in high school, and had carried on into college. The degree he struggled to get didn't help, either; there just weren't any jobs where he and his family lived.

Tom decided to move away the first chance he got, not that his parents would really care much. They always doted on his older brother and sister, praising them for their accomplishments, but he received none of it. They kept telling him that he was useless and wouldn't amount to anything, much less reach the level of his darling siblings. After a while, his mother took a cocktail waitress job and became an almost full blown alcoholic after his bullying father left her and ran off with some young brunette.

Tom got his chance when he tried to contact him a year later to tell him that his mother drank herself to death, but found out that his old man and his slut girlfriend were also dead; killed in a car wreck, both of them drunk and hopped up on drugs.

Being wrapped up in their own selfish lives, Tom's siblings wanted nothing to do with their dead parents or the estate they left behind, not that there was much of one. So, being the only beneficiary, Tom sold off the estate and moved on.

With what money he had, Tom managed to buy a house on the outskirts of a city growing and coming into its own. The country house was nice but needed repair, and Tom figured that once he got a good job, he could fix it up.

Finally, he thought, things are starting to look up.

No such luck. He did manage to find a good paying job using his Engineering degree, but always felt that the hammer would fall on him any second. It fell the day the new boss walked into the building. The guy was one of Tom's fellow school mates, one of many tormentors, and he wasted no time in starting up his old bullying routine.

Lacking the confidence that should have come his way during his adolescence, Tom couldn't muster any kind of defense against his new boss and the ridicule he spewed on a daily basis. And, not wanting to jeopardize his position, didn't try.

The only bright spot was Helen, a woman he met at a party. They hit it off fairly well and dated for a year or so before he finally got up the nerve to ask her to marry him. She said 'yes' and his confidence was finally starting to spring to life. He planned on telling off his boss, warning him that if he didn't back off he would have the company's board members fire him for harassment.

Tom never got the chance.

It turned out that his old high school 'chum' was a thief. He had made off with the company's money, leaving the board members and employees holding the bag. As news leaked out about the investigation, contract offers dried up and disappeared until the company was forced into bankruptcy. All of the employees' jobs were terminated, including Tom's.

When Helen found out, that's when he discovered who and what she really was: a gold digger. Once she found out that his great pay was no longer heading his way, she immediately dumped him and took off. Not that he was sorry to see her go, of course; at the very least, she didn't get her hands on the money he had saved up. A mixed blessing though, for he honestly thought she loved him but she turned out to be like all the rest: using and abusing him for her own purposes and delight.

Now, here he was: a 28 year old shell of a man that should have had his turn in the sun but didn't, financially stable (for now) but unemployed, handsome and ready to give and receive love and was now alone. He was right back where he started.

"It's not fair," he grumbled, slamming the shovel into the dirt, "Why is this happening to me? I didn't do anything wrong, but I'm the one that got shit on." He shouted to the sky, "When is it going to be my turn? When am I going to get a chance?" and speared the ground with the shovel... producing a clanking noise.

Frowning, he groused, "Now what the Hell did I hit?"

Tom tested the area where the blade made contact, and produced another clank, then another. Something was definitely down there, and it wasn't a rock.

Digging around wide, Tom pried up more and more dirt until the object he hit was revealed: it was a box. About the size of a thick paperback book, the metal box looked old with an equally looking old small padlock clamped to the front.

What the Hell is this, he thought. A time capsule? Somebody's old safety deposit box? With my luck, it's probably some young girl's old jewelry case filled with fake earrings or something.

Giving up on digging a new hole for his fence post for the day, Tom took the box to his garage workshop. He examined his newfound treasure on the way wondering, if it wasn't that important, why bother burying it? He decided that there must be something of import inside it, and proceeded to work on opening the lock.

Giving up on most of the tools he was using, for he was getting nowhere with them fast, Tom did the only thing left that would surely work. Giving it a firm grip, he swung his trusty roofing hammer down on the lock and, with a loud crack, broke it free. Feeling the rush of 'jackpot', Tom pitched the broken lock and carefully opened the box.

He found a piece of old paper lying in it, and that was all.

I knew it was too good to be true, he thought. Nothing but somebody's old love letter or...

He didn't finish his thought, for when he picked up the paper, something fell out from the folds. Two 'somethings' made of metal, for they hit the bottom of the box with a pair of pings.

They were a pair of rings; ordinary gold bands with some type of inscription inside.

"Who would bury rings?" Tom said, to himself of course.

Then he realized that the answer was in his hand: the paper. Carefully opening it up, he read what was written for it was indeed a letter...

'...My name isn't important.'

'I am the last recipient of these rings. I found them years ago while planting my crops, in a box similar to the one you have just opened. Along with the rings was a note like this one, and I have copied the instructions for you on how to use them. These instructions were copied by the previous owner, and the owner before him. No one knows where the rings came from or when they were made...'

"'Use the rings'," Tom muttered, "Use them for what?"

He picked up one of them and saw that, to him, it was just a plain ordinary ring. He read on...

'...The inscription inside the rings is possibly ancient Latin; I'm not sure, nor were any other of the previous owners. All we, and I, were sure of was that these rings have an unusual ability.'

'All you have to do is say the inscription aloud, place one of the rings on your finger, and no one will be able to see you. The rings render the wearers invisible. I know it...'

"What?" Tom said, incredulously, "Is this guy for real? Wonder what the Hell he was drinking when he wrote this."

Curious, he kept reading...

'...I know it sounds ridiculous but I swear on my life, it's the truth. Folks can still hear you, they can even touch you, but they can't see you. Anything you pick up and hold onto will turn invisible with you, and it will reappear when you let go of it. You can't make everything invisible, though; only things about the same size as you, maybe a little bigger. You will become visible again when you remove the rings. Remember: you have to recite the inscription each time you put a ring on or it won't work.'

'I accomplished many things with these rings. Some things were for myself, my missus, and my young ones. Other things were to help others in need. Imagine what you could do with this power.'

'I can only hope that you are a person with good intentions, for that's the only thing we used the rings for, me and my wife. That isn't to say we didn't have our fun with them, but we never stole anything with them, nor did we harm anyone... well, those that didn't deserve it, that is. I stopped a gang of bank robbers with mine once; almost got cut in half by a Tommy gun...'

"'Tommy gun'?"

'...I was told by the previous note to seal the rings, along with the instructions, in a box and bury it when I was finished with them. Having achieved all I have after forty-odd years, it's time for another to use them. All I, and the others, ask of you is to do the same when the time comes.'

'Remember: use this gift wisely, use it for good purposes, and, if you can, use it to help folks. The Almighty will reward you for it.'

'God bless, and good luck...'

Tom's eyes widened a bit when he saw what was written at the bottom of the paper...

...September 6, 1938...

1938?

That explained the 'missus', 'young ones', and the 'Tommy gun' references; the previous owner had the rings since the late 1800's, right at the turn of the century, and all the way through the Great Depression. It also meant that the box had been in the ground for over seventy years.

"Well," Tom huffed, "A couple of old rings might be worth something. Heh, invisible..." He just shook his head and when inside the house to get something cold to drink, the box and its contents under his arm.

Sitting at the kitchen table with a beer, Tom removed the bigger ring and examined it again. It didn't look like anything special; just a gold ring.

"The guy was probably drinking too much of his moonshine or something," he chuckled. "All right old man; I'll humor you. You went to all the trouble, so why not. Besides, what have I got to lose?"

Peering into the inside edge of the ring, it took him three tries to pronounce the words etched there, but on the third try he finally got it out in a coherent sentence.

"Per is vox, lux lucis sinus."

Tom slid the ring onto his third finger, the only finger the ring would fit without slipping off or getting stuck... and almost fell out of his chair when everything around him brightened slightly. Every object around him was in clear and crisp focus, with a whisper of a glow around it, like an aura. He slowly rose from his chair and looked around him.

"What the Hell just happened?"

He took off the ring, and everything was back to the way it was, the strange glow shimmering and fading. Tom blinked a few times to clear his vision, thinking it was the beer he was drinking. But he had been drinking beer for years; one wouldn't do this to him. Hell, it wasn't even one; he had only taken a sip or two.

Cautiously, Tom repeated the phrase, "Per is vox, lux lucis sinus", and put the ring back on. Once again, everything took on an aura of dim light, startling him. He looked at his own hands next; they looked the same as they always did, maybe a little out of focus but no aura around them.

"This is weird," he mumbling, slipping the ring off. Again, everything returned to normal. Speaking into the air, he said, "Okay, old timer; let's see if you were telling the truth."

Tom rushed over to the hallway mirror and recited the inscription again, slipping the ring back on... and backed away in fright when he looked into the mirror and saw no one looking back at him. It had the faint aura around it, as well as the couple of pictures hanging near it, but there was no reflection of his face staring back.

"Oh, my God!"

Tom wanted to test the power of this ring by making things invisible. He plucked one of the pictures off the wall at random and passed it in front of the mirror. It threw back a reflection of it, but that was all. It seemed to just hover in mid-air. Tom was shocked further when after a few seconds, just like the note said, the picture shimmered and faded into nothing. Its reflection in the mirror disappeared, but he could still see it in his grasp... well, sort of.

The picture no longer had an aura around it, just as his hands didn't, but the picture was gone as well. Only an outline of the picture, like the negative of a child's pencil drawing, remained. He hung it back on the wall, and it shimmered back into existence a second later, the aura around it reappearing.

"Holy shit; it really does work!"

Tom went over to the table to try the other ring. It had the same inscription inside it, but was too small for him. The second ring was made to fit a lady's finger or, at the very least, a finger smaller than any of his. It might have fit his pinky, but he didn't want to take the chance of it getting stuck and not coming off. He glanced at the one he was wearing and thought, "I only need one." Putting the other ring away, he hid the box on top of one of his kitchen cupboards behind some brick-a-brack his ex-fiancé forgot to take with her when she left.

Tom took off his own ring and everything went back to the way it was. Cradling it as if it were made of fine crystal, he just stared at the ring for a moment. All sorts of wild thoughts ran through his brain. All the things he could do with this ability, things that could make him powerful, wealthy, commanding and controlling. No more would he have to tolerate the abuse he had been given throughout the years. He could turn the tables; he could get even with all of the bullies and stuck-up women that had...

But two dominate thoughts popped into his head.

First, and most important of all, he knew in his heart that he was not the type of person to take advantage of people for his own gain. He was hard working, honest, and always tried to do the right thing no matter what others would do or say to him. He was not a manipulator or a bully; he refused to become that which he had come to despise the most.

Second, the words the old man wrote in the note floated in front of his eyes... 'I can only hope that you are a person with good intentions, for that's the only thing we used the rings for... ...we never stole anything with them, nor did we harm anyone... ... Remember: use this gift wisely, use it for good purposes, and, if you can, use it to help folks.'

"He's right," Tom said to himself, "I can't use this ring to hurt anyone or steal anything; that wouldn't be right. I'm not that kind of man; I'll never be that kind of a person."

But then he recalled something else the old man had written... 'That isn't to say we didn't have our fun with them...'

"'Fun', eh? I wonder what kind of fun you had with this..." Amusing and wicked thoughts were now going through his head, but the important thoughts were still prevalent.

Tom looked up, clutching the ring in his fist, "I'll have my fun, but I promise you this: I'll do what you did, old man. I'll use it to do good things. I'll help people with this power if I can, and punish those who want to hurt them. That's a promise."

***

The next morning, Tom decided to go into town and test his new ability. Before leaving the house, he wondered what the rings' inscription meant and looked it up on the Internet. The closest he came to a translation was something in Latin. The words 'Per is vox, lux lucis sinus' roughly translated into English as 'With this power, the light bends'.

On his way into town, Tom remembered some of his science class text book chapters from high school, and recalled something about how objects could be seen by the human eye. The reason things could be seen was because light waves were bouncing off their surfaces and being reflected back into people's eyes. Different wave lengths represented different colors. A blue object would absorb all the wave lengths of color, except the blue wave length. It would be reflected back and people would see that the object was the color blue. A black object would absorb all the wave lengths hitting it; a white object would reflect all of them.

But Tom remembered the words and what they meant. 'The light bends' it said. Not 'reflects', but 'bends'. He had come to the conclusion that, if he wasn't reflecting light waves while he wore the ring, he must be bending them somehow. The ring must have the power to bend light waves around him and, if no light waves at all were hitting him and being reflected back into peoples' eyes, no one would be able to see him. He really would be, for all practical purposes, invisible.

Tom parked his car in a supermarket lot and readied himself for the chance to test his newfound power.

"Okay," he breathed, "here goes. Per is vox, lux lucis sinus." The ring slipped into place, and everything shimmered for a second, coming into clear focus and dimly glowing with an aura. Tom gave a quick glance into the rear view mirror, not seeing any reflection of himself, and smiled (not seeing that, either).

"So far, so good." Tom said, and waited for someone to come out of the store to try his next test.

After a minute, an elderly lady emerged pushing a small cart of groceries to the car right across from his. The next thing he saw made him smile more as the woman's eyes almost popped out of her head when she the door of his car open and close, apparently all by itself. After seeing her shake her head and rub at her eyes, Tom repeated the maneuver, doing it fast so there wasn't enough time for the car door to vanish. This time she didn't wait around to figure it out, as she hastily shove the rest of her groceries into the back seat and came within a foot of hitting another oncoming car as she hurried out of the lot on squealing tires.

Tom started to laugh but stopped himself short.

I have to be careful, he thought, I don't want to cause an accident by scaring someone too much. Time to try something else.

Tom entered the market that was full of shoppers, banging carts, and the beeping of register tag scanners. He idly walked around, trying to figure out his next test, until he found himself in the produce aisle. That's where he spied his next target.

The woman he saw was quite lovely. About five and a half feet tall, blondish, and was wearing a summer dress that didn't quite hide the fact that she was built. Her dress was hugging luscious curves that presented themselves when she stretched to reach for a head of cabbage, and managed to show off a little bit of creamy thigh for good measure. In the reflecting mirror of the display case, he was treated to a beautiful view of abundant cleavage.