Necklace of Opals

"Bryn, this place is creepy. Can we leave now?"

Camille, my best friend, hates creepy stuff. She can barely stomach hearing a scream. Today, the source of her squeamishness was our location. We were in 'The Antique Shop of Antiques,' in Attard, Malta. We were on holiday there, the beautiful Maltese Islands. As we were walking once, we saw a blue sign with an arrow that pointed towards 'Attard' and decided to go check out the town. That's how we chanced upon the old shop. As our parents were exporing the local church, Cam and I went down a road to check out the few shops there. There was a stationary, a shop full of bags, and, right in between them, this little antique shop.

In her fourteen years of life, Cam has never risked anything. Me? Heh, LOL. What's life without a few risks?

And anyway, what's so risky about an antique shop?

Tell that to Cam.

"No, let's check it out!" I said. I ran in without waiting for a response. The door tinkled as I pushed it open. I heard it slam shut, and open again behind me.

"Bryn, just check this place out and let's split." Cam had followed me inside after all. Huh.

I walked around. Where was the person who owned this shop? There was no one else in there apart from me and Cam. I saw rickety bits of furniture, ancient rings, old bracelets, earrings older than my granddad, and ...

"Whoa!! Cam, look at this one! It's so pretty!" I exclaimed. I had just spotted an ornate silver necklace, dripping with opals - dazzling, deep blue opals with light flecks of the darkest, purest green. I stood and admired it in silent wonder. Even Cam stepped up behind me and looked longingly at the necklace, despite her initial misgivings.

A voice behind me went, "Beautiful, isn't it?"

I turned: an old man stood there. He was bald, tall, and thin, with hollow cheeks, sallow skin, very thin lips, and so many deep wrinkles he looked almost comical.

Almost.

There was an aura of eeriness around him, floating in the air like a tangible thing. He wore a mouldy old tailcoat over a stained white shirt, and tattered black pants. His scuffed-up black shoes completed his overall scruffy look.

"It's very pretty," I said.

"Take it," he urged, his accent strong.

"Oh! Um ... how much?" I asked.

"Free," he said, lifting it. He placed the necklace in my hands. I looked at it, then looked up, quizzical. The old man was nowhere to be seen.

He'd gone.

"Let's SCRAM, Bryn, I hate this place!" squealed Camille, and she pulled my arm. I obediently followed her out of the shop.