The Heir's Dominance

12

“Grandad, have a rest here for a while, will you? Later, if any locals pass by or the police turn up, just tell them you’d had a fall,” said Harry.

Just as Harry was about to step forward to pick up the enchanted mirror, which now lay subdued within the Barong Mask’s aura, the shadowy figure of the Spirit of the Padlock floated down, breaking through the front door of the old pawnshop.

The spirit’s ethereal form grew intensely dense and tense. It stared intently towards the cashier’s desk deep within the dark building.

“Boy… come here,” called the Spirit of the Padlock in a faintly trembling voice—a tone Harry rarely heard from the usually haughty spirit.

“What is it, old man?” asked Harry, stopping in his tracks.

“Look at this,” said the spirit of the Padlock, pointing with his ethereal fingers.

Harry stepped inside the dimly lit shop, leaving Jack, who was still anxiously keeping watch outside with his grandfather.

On top of the old teakwood till, thick with dust, lay a notebook with an antique black leather cover.

The book was open right at the centre.

Harry brought his face closer. On the dull, slightly yellowed paper, there was a neat row of old handwriting, complete with a sketch of a map showing the locations of the seven main antiques scattered across various corners of the city.

However, what made the blood in Harry’s body suddenly run cold, as if it had frozen, was a line of writing in the top right-hand corner of the page.

There was a name written there that he recognised all too well: ‘Sukma’.

“Grandma Sukma…?” Harry whispered, his voice catching. His words echoed faintly through the room.

That handwriting… Harry recognised it. There was no way he could have misidentified the distinctive style of his own grandmother’s handwriting—she had passed away just a few weeks ago.

“You’re right… It was your grandmother who wrote this note, lad,” said the Spirit of the Padlock, his tone flat yet heavy.

Harry froze where he stood. His head was suddenly filled with hundreds of questions colliding with one another.

“Grandmother? Wasn’t she just an ordinary collector of old things? Why would your grandmother’s writing be in a deserted shop like this?”

“She wasn’t just a collector,” replied the Spirit of the Padlock, pointing to the sketch of a map on the page of the book.

“Your grandmother was an extraordinarily brave woman. She risked her own life to seal away objects possessed by evil spirits like this, so they wouldn’t fall into the wrong hands! Because their power could be exploited by humans.”

Harry ran his hand over his chest, touching the old padlock pendant left to him by his grandmother. All this time, he’d thought his grandmother was just an old woman who enjoyed collecting unique antiques for her home. It turned out, however, that she’d been carrying a huge secret burden all on her own throughout her life.

“So… all the items in my grandmother’s antique shop… They’re all dangerous objects that she deliberately kept?” muttered Harry, his eyes glistening.

“Yes. But now your grandmother has passed away,” said the Spirit of the Padlock with a serious expression. “The seal is gone. That’s why, one by one, these antiques are coming to life and running amok.”

Harry’s eyes scanned the bottom of the map. There, he spotted a small line of notes written in deep red ink that looked as fresh as if it had been written just a few days ago.

'A major artefact has been constructed at the Old City Hospital. The souls of the children there... are beginning to be sucked away.'

Harry held his breath.

"The Old City Hospital...?" whispered Harry.

"Harry. Let’s go home! We’re all done, aren’t we?" called Jack from the front of the room. Harry nodded and followed him out to head home first. He had to come up with a strategy to deal with the next spirit.

“Aren’t you staying overnight at the shop?”

“No way! Instead of sleeping here, I’d just end up being tormented by your pet ghosts,” joked Jack, which was met with laughter from both of them.

"But, will you give me a lift again tomorrow?"

"Harry, are you serious? Are you really going to do this every day?"

"Don’t worry, I told you I’m not on my own."

"Fine, whatever you say! But I don’t think I’ll be able to go with you tomorrow, as I’ve got to take my mum somewhere."

"All right then, I’ll go on my own."

After that, Jack took Harry to his grandmother’s shop and went home.

***

Harry slumped listlessly on the old leather sofa. He hadn’t slept a wink all night. The sun was already high in the sky, yet Harry’s eyes still hadn’t closed properly.

Before him, an old hand-drawn map by Grandmother Sukma lay spread out on the wooden table.

Seven red dots marking the location of the cursed antiques glowed faintly through the Level 2 Inner Eye that Harry had just attained.

The Spirit of the Padlock floated leisurely in the air, its legs crossed, clad in colonial-style cloth trousers.

Its pair of red eyes no longer burned with the fierce intensity they had when they first met in the corner of this old shop.

“Old Man, could you please stop hovering round and round above my head?” muttered Harry without taking his eyes off the map.

“My head’s still spinning from that knock last night.”

The Spirit of the Padlock flicked his jacket sleeve, hovering down until he was level with Harry’s face, feigning offence.

“Watch your tongue, you coward! I may be centuries old, but I’m still far better dressed than you in that office shirt covered in stinking ink stains!” sneered the Spirit in a deep voice that now sounded more like a playful taunt than a threat.

“I warned you not to go out last night. That human body of yours is weak. If you keep using it, you’ll be the one to feel the exhaustion.”