VALAFAR By: Sierra

"You're three days late on your rent again?!" came the exasperated voice on the other end. "Yeah, three days and counting," replied Jon in a monotone. He was much too used to this conversation to feel any specific emotion towards it. "This has got to stop Jon, I can't keep lending you money. And you can't keep pawning everything to stay afloat." "Yes, I realize that Ilene, I haven't asked you for any money, and I'm not going to. Gonna try this by myself for once, I can't keep doing this to everyone." He knew that she was shaking her head and getting ready to sigh, since she had heard it all before. "What about your paycheck? How much does that cover?" she asked. "A little more than half. Christ, I can't believe it costs almost a thousand bucks a month here. I should just go rent a box somewhere and live with a rat or two. What do you think?" Not waiting for her reply, he said, "Well, I have two days to scrounge up four hundred and fifty dollars or Mr. Cassevetes says they are going to draw up the eviction notice." This time it was his head that shook, as the grim reality of his predicament sunk in. He couldn't ask for a loan, he had already used up all of his favors from friends and family (what was left of it). He couldn't ask to move in with Ilene, all that would do is bring her down to his 'black hole'. He had some stuff he could pawn, like his printer and his high school class ring which rested loosely on his right ring finger. However, he doubted the shop would give him as much cash as he needed to slum his way through another month. Life was becoming exceedingly difficult for Jonathan Miller. He was running out of escape paths. Ilene's velvety voice suddenly jarred him out of his trance. "How are you going to do it, Jon?" she asked. For the first time in his twenty- seven years, Jonathan searched the realms of his once crafty mind for the answer, of which none was found. He decided to answer honestly for once in his life. "I have no idea".

Upon hanging up the receiver, Jon hurriedly unplugged his printer from the computer and whizzed out the door with it in tow. As he walked down the stone steps of his apartment building, he began to ponder the recent events life had bestowed upon him. Besides his current financial situation, the death of his father two months prior had left Jon with a sullen pit of emotions and his work had suffered from this. After several warnings, he was fired, which only added to the increasingly delicate ledge he clung to. The notion of him being jobless was more, he knew, than Ilene could take. It was for this reason that Jon neglected to inform her and chose to confide only in himself, for now. After climbing into his black '89 Tacoma, Jon started for the only lifesaver he had left. Clootie's Pawn Shop. He arrived in less than fifteen minutes to the rather desolate shop, tucked away behind some bargain warehouses. He was surprised the shop was so empty, usually several others were there waiting to hock their electronic equipment or jewelry to make their monthly bills or pay for their girlfriend's abortion after a careless night of "unbridled passion". Jon shrugged off his surprise and walked through the glass doors. The sweet stench of Opium incense overwhelmed his nasal passages as he entered and filled his head with a light-headedness that was not entirely unfamiliar. Reminded him of his experimental days as a teen. Smoke billowed out of the mouth of a stone dragon, perched on a small table in the left corner. The room was dimly lit, darker than usual, and was empty except for a man at the far end of the room sitting at a desk. Jon could only assume that the man was Clootie himself, since Jon was a store regular and had seen Clootie several times in the back room but had yet to speak with him personally. He was hunched over the desk, which was fixed with a writing lamp, examining what looked to be a large emerald stone. Jon sauntered over to the counter and placed the printer on top. "Don't stand over there in oblivion, bring it over here," said the man without looking up from the gem. Jon complied, while the man stood up to meet him. The man put down his loupe and as he approached, Jon took in his appearance and noticed they were completely diverse. Where Jon was blond and tan, this man was raven- haired and pale. Eyes consisting of a richly green hue were in sharp contrast with Jon's brown eyes. "How much will you give for this?" Jon inquired as he pointed at the printer. Without examining it, the man said, "Nothing." Jon stood dumbfounded for half a second, then spat, "Whaddya mean nothing? This printer is brand new. I bought it six months ago." "You bought it three years ago," the dark-haired man replied with absolute certainty. "Six months, from a computer store in Sherwood Oaks," Jon was trying to sound confident, but suspected he was failing miserably. What the man said next convinced him he was. "You bought it three years ago in Placentia for thirty dollars from a man who was selling them out of his garage, he was also busted later for running an insurance scam." He finished this with a smug grin that showed a row of white crooked teeth, throwing off a balance an otherwise handsome face. "What the hell?" Jon could not think of anything to say, so he stood there with his mouth hanging open and his eyebrows furrowed. "Surprised?" the man asked, arching his own thick brows. When he could finally speak, Jon answered quietly, "That's an understatement. I feel like someone just struck me with a bolt of lightning. How could you possibly have known all that?" The man let out a small chuckle and said, "First of all, they stopped making this model over a year ago. Second of all, I see you come here regularly with loads of stuff. I figured you must buy them in cheap lots from people and then sell the stuff or pawn it all for extra cash. Third, I knew the Placentia guy, went by the name of Guy Pritchard. The rest I could tell by your eyes." "My eyes, eh? The old windows of the soul routine?" Jon asked. "Something like that. Name's Cloot, or Clootie. Whichever you prefer," this confirmed Jon's assumption that he was the owner. He put out his hand. "Nice to meet ya Cloot, I'm Jon," he grasped Cloot's hand and found the man's grip to be extremely firm, maybe even too firm. But his hand was warm and dry, yet soft like a child's. "So you can't take the printer?" Jon asked. "Afraid not, we can only accept electronics that are one or two years old." "What about my ring?" Jon asked as he took it off his finger and handed it to Clootie. He took the ring into the back room and after a moment, came back out again. "Yes, it's fine. I'll give you fifty bucks for it." Though it was much less than Jon expected, he agreed. A little money was better than nothing. The only thing left was his watch, which he offered to Clootie. After appraising it, he offered one hundred dollars for it. "That's a Movado Sport Steel watch. Those sell for almost a thousand in certain stores. It was an inheritance from my father. Give me a break, man," Jon pleaded. Clootie softened his stare a bit, and after Jon told him about his situation, his hard face turned into that of a sympathetic child. "I can give two hundred but that's all I can spare in cash," he reasoned. "There is something else, though," he continued. He walked over to a cupboard and stooped down. Jon could hear his gravelly voice from behind the counter, "It's something that I lend in circumstances such as yours." When he reappeared, he was carrying a box. His pale, veined hands pulled a statue from the box. Made of what looked to be jade and some other unrecognizable gems, Jon didn't know quite what to make of it. It was half animal, half man. Like the symbol for the zodiac sign Sagittarius. Only instead of a half-man, half-horse figure this one had a man's head on what appeared to be a cat's body. Clootie set it gently down on the glass countertop. "This is a statue depicting Valafar, if you are in financial need he can bring you wealth. Let him guide you. Trust him." "Pfft, sure," Jon smirked. "What's it made out of?" "It's carved out of opal, with topaz eyes. These were believed to project wealth and luck to the owner," as Clootie spoke, Jon began to notice how young the man actually looked. He had the face of someone no older than twenty, yet the air of a very worldly man. His eyes were the only things that seemed out of place. Bright green, almost as deep as the emerald he had been examining earlier. But they somehow seemed off, old or something. Surrounded by dark lashes and the pallid complexion of his flesh, they seemed to appear crystallized. "I can't afford a statue, I just told you that I don't even have the money to keep a roof over my head next month. Carvings like that can be quite expensi-." "Yes, they can be," Clootie interrupted, "but this one is on loan to you, think of it as the shop's gift for being such a good customer. There is a catch though." "Oh gee, how did I see this one coming?" Jon remarked sarcastically. Clootie paid no attention to the cynicism. "The statue is yours for eleven days, free of charge, as long as you agree to my terms," Clootie continued. "Which are?" asked Jon. "You must keep an open mind, Jon. Unpliable minds are a thorn in my side," Clootie said flatly. Jon cleared his throat and nodded for the man to continue. "As I said, yours for eleven days during which the statue will bestow upon you wealth and prosperity. Provided that it is kept at your bedside and you allow it's energy to penetrate your mind. If you allow the statue to do it's work, then your financial problems will disappear." Needless to say, Jon was skeptic. "How is a statue going to cure my troubles? What is it? A genie?" Clootie scoffed at this, "This is no genie. Valafar was an eminent spirit, believed to be a supreme power of money and luck. Through magic he can help you, if you believe in him." Jon thought this sounded quite farfetched and superstitious, but he was mildly intrigued nonetheless. Then came the inevitable question. "So what happens after the eleven days? Do I have to pay you money or does the statue sprout wings and fly back to you, or what?" Clootie leaned back on his heels. "It must be back in my possession by the time the clock strikes midnight on the eleventh day. If it's not, then all the luck and riches it has bestowed upon you will undo and you must pay for what you have received and enjoyed. With interest." "So now, I'm dealing with a loan? How much interest?" "That's to be determined at the end of the loan, Mr. Miller. It is more for some than for others. I know this sounds crazy Jon, but believe me, you will see for yourself quite soon. If you want my opinion, I don't think you will be able to make your deadline without the help of our little friend here." Jon let out a weary sigh, as Cloot's words settled in. He was right, Jon had nowhere left to turn for help. He would say that Cloot was crazy for even suggesting a "magical statue", but the truth was he didn't believe Cloot was crazy, he seemed perfectly sensible to Jon. Standing before him in his perfect attire of black and white, every hair in it's place and clean-shaven, he gave off the impression that he knew everything. And everyone for that matter. Jon didn't question how or why Cloot knew about ancient spirits, or how he knew Jon was lying earlier, he just had a gut feeling that Cloot was a man who knew much more than he appeared to. "So if the statue is brought back to you by midnight, then I get to keep all of the stuff it brings me?" He inquired. "Absolutely," Cloot replied. "I always keep my end of the bargain. So is it a deal?" Jon looked at the statue for a minute or two, trying to make a quick decision. "Sure," he said at last. "I mean, it's all pretty easy, don't think I'll have trouble getting it back to ya. After all, eleven days is a pretty long time." He wore a half-smile and hoped that it looked reassuring to Cloot. "Great, I'll get it ready for you," Cloot said as he took the statue from the counter and carried it around the corner. "Oh, I almost forgot, there is one other little detail. You'll have to sign a contract. It's just a terms and agreement thing. A precaution, so you don't go running off with it after it delivers it's promise. You understand." Jon nodded, "Sure, sure. Protecting your interest. You don't have to worry about me though, I'm not a thief." Cloot peeked his head around the corner, "You sure?" he asked, there was a hint of accusation in his tone. Jon laughed a little and replied, "Yeah, I'm sure. Now just get the contract, I gotta get home. It looked like there was a storm brewing outside, don't want to be caught in it right now. My car isn't running too well." "Oh, hold your horses. You want this packaged right, don't ya? It's not gonna work if it busts into a million pieces." After a moment, he came out, box in hand. "Here it is, be gentle with it. It's the only one of it's kind. And here's the contract," Cloot presented him with a stack of papers about three inches thick. Surrounded in a swirly black border, the off-white pages were all hand-written in black ink. Majestic handwriting that appeared to be made from an old-fashioned quill. Jon thought it was slightly unorthodox, but oddly beautiful. "Basically it explains all of what I already told you about the statue and the deadline and the terms. Just sign on the bottom line of the last page." After his signature was firmly in place, Jon placed the pen down and heard Cloot say, "Now give me your hand." "Why?" "Just give it to me." Jon placed his hand in Cloot's, as Cloot swiped his thumb with something sharp. Blood immediately poured from the thin opening as Jon let out a surprised yelp. "Hey?! What the hell did you do that for?!" he gasped. "Relax," Cloot answered, "it's sterile." He showed him the small scalpel he had used to slit his thumb. He then gently squeezed Jon's thumb until a tiny puddle of blood was formed on the counter. "Now press your other thumb to the blood and place your print on the paper next to the signature," Cloot continued. Jon gaped with a reasonable amount of bewilderment and disbelief at this last request. "You're kidding, right?" "No, I'm not. This is how I run all of my "under the table" transactions. I keep each person in track with this method. " "Really, how's that?" Jon asked. "Signatures will hold up in any court, and fingerprints are just a way for me to seal the deal, so to speak. Kind of like the expression, 'sealed with a kiss', only with my own little spice added to the recipe." "Well, I guess I can see where you're comin from, but, damn, you could of warned me before you did it," Jon whined. Clootie appeared unmoved from Jon's complaining, and replied, "Every man has his own pleasures." "What does that mean?" "You'll learn soon enough. Now stop being a sissy and suck it up. Besides, you're not even hurt anymore." Jon looked down and noticed that his thumb was dry of all it's blood and the cut had transformed to a scar. The papers had disappeared from the counter also, but Jon did not remember seeing Cloot remove them. He decided it was time to go. He thanked Cloot and reassured him they'd be seeing each other in eleven days before grabbing the wrapped statue and heading for the door. He was in such a rush to leave that he didn't hear Cloot whisper, "Nosce te ipsum, Jonathan Miller" behind him. Nor did he notice the now vacant room with the "Closed" sign on the door as he stepped through it.

The drive home turned out to be a liberating experience for Jon as he began to find new hope that things were going to get better. Although optimism had long since left his realm of thought, he was welcoming back this uplifting mood the way a recovering alcoholic welcomes back that first tempting drink after six months of failed sobriety. He was reveling in his strange mood change so much that he wasn't even thinking of how he was going to get the two hundred dollars that he was short of in the next two days. The statue itself was nestled comfortably in the passenger sheet, wrapped in the burgundy cloth that Cloot had placed it in. It's citron eyes had taken on the tint of hot steel. The fire that burned within them twirled and danced, anxious to be released. That night, plagued by nightmares, Jon awoke to the unshakable feeling that he wasn't alone. The room was too dark to see anything but shadowy outlines against a pitch-black canvas. Nothing moved as he stared out into blackness, however, that did not eliminate his unease. The air was heavily sinister with a bittersweet, unfamiliar stench floating above his head. Fear was filling his mind and overtaking his body as he reached for the lamp on his nightstand. Oh come on, he thought, there's no boogeyman, or monster under the bed. You just got a case of the old heeby jeebies. But as he grabbed the lightswitch, a low sound penetrated the darkness, almost inaudible. Jon wasn't quite sure what he had heard, or if, in fact, he had heard anything, but his breathing became labored and loud despite his efforts to silence it. His efforts proved worthless when he realized the breathing he was hearing, was not his own. The smell grew stronger as well, enveloping Jon's nose with a sensation that was repulsive as well as inviting. The urge to crawl under the covers and pray that he was dreaming was overcome by his inner child and the curiousness that accompanied it. His fingers began to turn the switch. "Do not illuminate this room," came a sudden command from the figure hiding in the corner. Jon's hand flew back to him and he turned, startled, towards the voice. "Wh-who's there?" he stammered. Then he thought it might be a better idea if he didn't know where it came from. No answer was returned. Jon scraped up enough to nerve to repeat himself and added, "Please, I can't see you, tell me who you are or show yourself." Jon quickly regretted his request and his fear turned to paralysis as the figure stepped closer and into a strip of light that had creeped its way through the curtains. Never again would he be curious to look under his bed at night, or peek into a closet when the door was ajar, for in front of him now stood a creature that was beyond the realm of human imagination and boyhood fear of boogeymen. Though the minimal light only allowed Jon to view the creature partially, from what he could see, it was very large in stature, standing a little over six feet tall. The lower half of its body stood on all fours and was cat-like in its appearance, with paws replacing feet. Yet its upper torso and head resembled that of a robust man. Its arms were slightly longer than the average human's, but were sinewy and had a graceful quality to them. "I apologize for any seeming rudeness that I may exude, I am just quite partial to the dark," it's voice was thunderous in volume, yet serene in tone. Jon's paralysis had yet to vanish and he sat, frozen in his bed. "Do not fear, I realize my appearance must be unnerving, but you have my word that harm shall befall you." It stated this with undeniable sincerity. "Who are you? What do you want?" Jon asked when he was able to speak. "The name is Valafar. I am bequeathed with the power to assist you in your pursuit of wealth and power. In short, a friend." "Right," Jon said, "and how is it that you can assist me?" "I am empowered with the ability to allow one to see that which is invisible otherwise," Valafar replied. Stupefied, Jon asked, "Say what?" "Opportunities, Mr. Miller. Natural treasures that one of your caliber could not realize on their own." "My caliber?" "Human," Valafar explained. Jon thought he could hear a smile in the creature's voice. "You are homo sapien, are you not?" "That I am," Jon confirmed. "And what, may I ask, are you?" "To be perfectly honest, you haven't the brain power to understand my species and their origin, Mr. Miller. Besides, we haven't the time to exchange histories. I understand that you have but tow days to gather a substantial amount of money." "Yeah, over four hundred dollars. I still don't understand how this is gonna work," Jon remarked as he watched Valafar turn and pace the room in deep thought. "You will in time, Jon Miller. All things come to those who wait, as they say. I'm afraid I can only assist you during the nightly hours though. So, during the day you're on your own. But if you take my advice you will get what is coming to you. By tomorrow you will receive the funds you are in need of. You will need to do more though. Listen carefully," Valafar instructed. Jon was a bit confused, but listened intently anyway. They talked through the night, analyzing and planning. By 5 am, Jon was showing signs of weariness. Valafar assured him that all would be fine if Jon followed his instructions the next day. Jon couldn't explain why, but he believed everything the creature said. He couldn't remember falling asleep but when he woke it was daylight and Valafar was gone. No doubt planning to return after nightfall, but for now, Jon was on his own. He looked at the statue sitting on the table, it sat, lifeless and motionless. After a shower and a nice, hot cup of hazelnut-flavored coffee, Jon was ready to go. He grabbed a jacket from the closet and opened his front door to leave. Instead he collided with Ilene, who was walking up to the door. Her soft body knocked into him before she stumbled back. "Oh Jon," she said, a bit flustered. "I'm glad I caught you." She was breathing quite heavily, as if she'd been running. "Yeah, I was just leaving. Gotta get a lotto ticket," he answered as he stepped onto the porch. She shrugged it off, "Why do you spend your money on such things? The odds are a million to one that you'll win anything, besides, you have hundreds of dollars due in less than two days, don't you think you should be saving every penny?" she lectured. "One has to have faith," he retorted. "Now, can you wait here? I'll be right back," he continued as he walked down the stairs without waiting for an answer. Ilene began to speak but Jon held his hand up, "Right back," he said and disappeared under the stairwell.

Ilene sighed loudly as she watched Jon walk out of sight. She hated when he cast her aside whenever he had to conduct business. Unfortunately for her, she loved him. It came with the territory. Frustrated, she swung her purse to the side and stepped through the door into Jon's apartment. It was in complete disarray. Oh brother, she thought as she began picking up clothes from the floor and plates from the table. "I've seen this place messy before," she quietly said to herself, "but this is ridiculous." Clothes were strewn about, empty and half empty plates were resting on the coffee table, there were crumbs all over the floor. Upon entering the kitchen Ilene found the sing full of dirty cups and silverware. "Men," she breathed shaking her head. She placed the dishes in her hands into the sink and carried the clothes into the bedroom to place in the hamper. Of course the bed was unmade. "Why doesn't that surprise me?" she wondered. She quickly made the bed and fixed up the room as best she could, before she noticed the statue that sat atop the nightstand. She furrowed her dark, shaped eyebrows and picked it up. Though it looked to weigh about ten pounds, Ilene found it to be almost weightless in her hands. "What an unusual sculpture," she exclaimed as she slowly turned it about in her thin hands. "I haven't seen you before, what are you supposed to be?" She asked. Of course, the statue didn't answer back, just stared. Stared with its fiery topaz eyes. The color of flame, shimmering and full of sparkle. Beautiful. She studied it from side to side. "Such fine detail, every protruding muscle, every fine line," she examined. She ran a finger along its arm, feeling the contours of the stone. Surprisingly it was warm, not cold like a typical stone. She stared at the face of the creature, transfixed. "Exquisite," she said. The nose was perfectly shaped, as were the lips. Both were thin, yet pronounced. The face looked to be one of seriousness and sapience. Resembled a man in deep thought. Even the hair was sculpted in detail, with every wave. Ilene put the statue down and continued straightening up before Jon got back. Jon walked out of the liquor store with his ticket secure in his hands. He looked at it outside the door. He hoped with all his might that this was going to work. He picked the numbers Valafar had suggested the night before. He had to hope and pray that it worked, since hope was the only thing he had left. Everything else had dwindled away until his hands were empty, along with his bank account. He stuck the lotto ticket in his pocket and started home. When he arrived he found a tired Ilene rummaging through the kitchen cupboard in a miserable attempt to find a snack. "There's nothing in there, ya know?" Jon announced as he shut the door. "Tell me something I don't know," she remarked as she tied her sweater around her waist. "I'll go shopping in a little bit," he informed her as he walked around the corner to hug her. A sweet scent filled his nasal cavity as his nose brushed against her hair for a moment. He slipped his fingers through several strands in a light caress. "What shampoo be you using, m'lady?" he asked in his best English accent. She smiled, radiant and warm, "It's freesia-scented, kind sir," she answered in her best southern belle tone. Jon let go of her hair and placed his arms around her waist and clasped his hands behind her back, locking her in his grasp. He grinned playfully and said, "Mmm. Well, it be a mighty fine one at that." He took another whiff of the smell emanating off her. "Hmm, and something else as well?" he inquired. "It's called soap," Ilene answered. "Maybe you should try it sometime," she giggled devilishly. Jon chuckled lightly and kissed her. They held tight for a moment then released eachother. Jon took off his coat and walked back to the living room. "So did you get your ticket?" Ilene called from the kitchen. "Yeah, line was damn long though. They announce the numbers tonight. Cross your fingers for me," he said. "Yeah, yeah," she answered sarcastically. She didn't believe in the foolishness known as the lottery. People flung themselves at it, pouring their money down a rat-hole. It seemed to her that the only people who won were those who were already financially successful. "Any luck scraping up money?" she asked her boyfriend. "Some," he answered back, sounding doubtful. "Got some from the pawn shop, but not enough." Ilene walked into the living and sat on the beige couch. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I have the money for you," she said as she dug through her purse. "What?!" She pulled out a wad of bills and handed it to him. "Four hundred and fifty dollars. Now go pay your rent." "How did you get this?!" he asked, flabbergasted. She was beaming, "I sold a piece." "Really? That's great. To who?" he asked. "This collector in Los Angeles. I guess it fit into his décor and he made me an offer. I got a thousand dollars for it, can you believe it?" Jon could see she was ecstatic and the excitement only made her more beautiful.