Good morning one and all. we’ve managed to reach the middle of the week, all in one piece I hope. Tree limbs were shattered by the sudden temperatures but we survived. That’s always an encouraging sign. So since we made it to the middle of the week, shall we kick Wednesday off right with a writing prompt? I think we should. Timers at the ready? Then let’s go.
I kind of like this. I think I’d want to go back and take it a bit slower to develop Harold and his greed a little more. Give him reasons to need money quickly as well as just believing it was his by rights. He could be fun to play with at some point.
Wednesday, January 5th: The sale was well advertised.
The sale was well advertised. There were notices put on every possible bulletin board both electronic and old fashioned. All of the agents were sent personal invitations through the mail. E-mail flyers were mailed as well, hoping to snag those who treated the mailed invites as junk mail or to remind those who saw the letter that the sale was imminent. Harold fairly plastered both the real world and the electronic world with notices of the estate sale. If he could have found something broadcasting intergalactically via satellite he would have done so.
Still, as the day of the sale arrived, attendance was meager. He looked out over the few wandering around the house. They were looking at all of the items up for sale. Some were even touching, picking items up experimentally as though trying to decide what it would be like to own such things.
Still, no one was buying.
Whatever item was chosen was picked up, inspected and then invariably put down as the person went off to inspect another item.
‘It’s like they are visiting a museum where they can touch things because the restrictions have been lifted,’ he thought to himself, trying to watch those circling without looking like he was staring. He had to admit that the comparison wasn’t that far off the mark. It had been a long time since visitors had been welcomed to Colton House. Many of its famed treasures had entered into local legend.
Harold began to sweat and lick his lips nervously. This sale was his only chance to get some money out of the estate. He had to sell what he could now, before anyone realized it wasn’t his to sell.
‘Might not be,’ he self-corrected, soothing the slight twinge in his actions caused him. ‘Should be,’ he added to soothe the last of it. “It all should have been mine.’
The fact that his great-aunt did not seem to agree still rankled. He was the eldest son. The only one to carry on the family name. Everything on the family estate should by rights be his to do with as he pleased. Instead she made a will. No one was supposed to know about the will of course, not before she died. He knew because he found a copy, knew that he was going to be cut out of her will entirely. That she was going to try to take this from him completely.
But no one else knew about the changes to the will, and Harold had been careful to word his announcement so that it looked like the family was all behind him. Since he was the only family member still living in town the others wouldn’t know until after the sale had gone through and there was no recovering of the property. Harold was confident that the money from the sale would be forgotten. After all there was so much that it would be hard for anyone to keep track of it. And if all else failed he could give the others part of the proceeds.
Except that it didn’t look like there would be any proceeds. Harold heard the sound of an engine approaching and walked calmly towards the door hoping that more people would soon arrive. He felt perhaps now was the time to greet them personally instead of standing off to the side. His heart lifted as he constructed words of welcome in his mind. The words fell away as he saw the car arriving was the sheriff’s.