by Christi Thorbecke
Milton's Pawnshop was not the only shop on Quinns Street. In fact
there were many others like Johnson's Vegetable Shack, Joe's Shoe Repair, and
Maria's Sewing Shop. But it sure seemed like the only one.
I lived in a small apartment right above Ben's Butcher Shop. It was across the street from Milton's Pawnshop. From my second story window, I could see everything.
My parents slept and worked on a farm somewhere in the country and sent money every month. I had almost nobody. I was practically a street kid, or I would have been if it weren't for my Grandma who made sure I was fed.
I knew eventually I would have to work on the farm, but for now I was too young. My only company was my Grandma, or she was until she fell ill and slept the whole day.
I would have been bored without my Grandma to talk to, but luckily I had a clear view of Milton's Pawnshop. It was all the entertainment I needed. Everyday, a huge crowd of people from peasants to wealthy merchants would line up in front of it. They were all pushing and shoving impatiently to get into the store. They ignored all the other shops on Quinns Street. And Mr. Milton, one by one, would let them in. What puzzled me was that none of the people brought anything to sell or trade. And most of them looked far too poor to be wasting their money in a poor pawnshop. And there were people who weren't poor, but filthy rich. What were they doing in a low-class pawnshop on a poor old street? What were they doing here? Quinns street wasn't exactly a hot spot for the wealthy. It's not where they lived or had parties or anything. What puzzled me even more was that for all the people that went in, I never saw anyone come out. In fact, I never saw Mr. Milton leave his shop ever. But how could you never leave your own shop? I tried to convince myself that Mr. Milton did leave his shop. But then again, I watched his shop all the time. How could I have missed him? He couldn't go out at night, all the stores were closed then.
People who lived near Milton's Pawnshop began to gossip about how Mr. Milton never leaves his shop. They talked about how nobody ever saw him. People began to whisper that Mr. MIlton had a secret. They said he had a secret room with treasures beyond imagination. News traveled quickly and people from far out in the country and people from deep in the city came to the pawnshop hoping to see the secret room. Mr. Milton's shop became known as the "Secret Shop." One by one, Mr. Milton would let them in and show them the room
One day, when the secret of the pawnshop became unbearable to me, I felt that I just had to go. People from so far away came to see the pawnshop and yet I was so close. How could I not go? One night, when my Grandma was sleeping, I decided to go. I went across the street to the pawnshop. Before I went in I tried to peek in the window. It was far too dusty to see anything, so I took a deep breath and knocked on the door. The door opened inward, but there was nobody there. I started to fear that there might be a ghost behind it, but then I realized it was just Mr. Milton hiding behind the door. I stepped in and took a second to look around. At first it looked like a normal pawnshop. There were old books and toys and stuff. But the windows caught my attention. They were so heavily dusted that it looked as if it were done on purpose.
"Here to see the secret room?"
This question startled me out of my thoughts. I just managed to nod. He nodded back and opened a door that led into a narrow hallway.
"This way little miss," was the last thing he said to me. Mr. Milton walked quickly down the hallway but I walked slowly, thinking. At last we stopped at a door at the very end of the hallway. Mr. Milton was unlocking the door, finally, it clicked open, and he entered. Before I entered I took a deep breath, knowing that this was the secret room. Why else would he have brought me here? Finally I entered. When I was in I was a little surprised. The room was dark and the only light came from what appeared to be a little glowing window. Mr. Milton was typing away on a keyboard. But when he noticed me he led me to stand on a board with some sort of machinery on it. There was a huge medal pole facing me. Mr. Milton was again typing on his board of buttons. But this time, four numbers appeared on the glowing window. The numbers were: 2-0-1-2. Then, suddenly, Mr. Milton stopped typing. He glanced at me quickly. He almost looked as if he was feeling guilty. Then he pushed one last button and the glowing windows started flashing crazily. There was a loud beeping noise and then there was a voice saying "10, 9, 8...." Then Mr. Milton was rushing out of the room. He had just slipped out the door when the voice said "0." Then a blue light was spilling from the pole rushing directly at me. Then the noise stopped, the glowing window went blank and I was gone. Gone, gone to 2012.