Fool's Gold

November, 1958

William “Willy” Perkins stood across from the Wainwright residence on Dartmouth Street. The house was dark, except for the glow in the second-floor corner windows — the location of a rare gold coin, and he wanted it. He crept to the rear of the building and checked the back door. He found an animal pass-through, reached inside, and ran his hand along the jamb as high as he could, following it to the floor.

Ah... Ha. Magnetic switch.

He placed the powerful magnet he’d brought near the sensor and jimmied the door with a pry bar. No alarm sounded.

Taking care to avoid any noise, Willy entered and tiptoed through the kitchen to the dining room. Synchronizing his steps with the enormous grandfather clock’s ticking, Willy climbed one flight of stairs to the first-floor landing.

Willy then crept to the second floor as the clock chimed twelve times. By now, his stomach churned like a washing machine, and he popped an antacid.

The second floor was long and narrow, and a deep-pile runner covered the entire hallway. Three doors opened off the passageway’s right side. An ornately carved balustrade and one door completed the left side.

Willy stopped to get his bearings.

Marlborough ahead. Dartmouth left. Coin behind the left door.

He slid his hand along the railing and tiptoed carefully, each step bringing him closer to his prize. But to his horror, the floorboard creaked.

Willy froze.

He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. He licked his lips and extended his footstep half again as much, hoping to avoid the loose board.

But the floor creaked again.

Willy’s heart leaped as if it were about to leap out of his chest. He slid onto the railing, past the loose floorboards, and put his weight on the floor — no more creaks.

Warily, he moved to the left door.

He carefully opened the door, avoiding any noise, and slipped inside. Illumination from a display case brightened the area at the far side of the dimly lit room. Several bookcases, display cases, and coin cabinets were arranged along the room’s perimeter, but the lighted display served as the room’s centerpiece.

Willy’s eyes widened as he approached it. He stopped and stooped for a closer look. The ancient coin lay on a velvet bed, precisely as the man in the pub had described. It was thick, worn, irregularly round, and engraved with letters he didn’t recognize, making words he couldn’t read.

The coin’s enclosure was a glass-domed structure set into a milled ebony base, attached to a pedestal securely anchored to the floor. A brass plate inscribed with “Amazonian tribal coin - Age: Unknown” was affixed to its wooden base.

Willy checked for obvious alarms but found none. He examined the locking mechanism and determined it was a pin-tumbler design, with its solid-brass innards embedded in the base, flush with its front edge.

His watch showed twelve-twenty. Willy figured he had two hours to open the case, pocket the coin, and make his escape. But first, he needed a few moments to think.

Picking the lock? Easy peasy... Hidden alarms? Maybe too risky... Gotta be other coins worth taking.

After searching through the other display cases and cabinet drawers, Willy found a few coins of dubious value. When the grandfather clock chimed one, Willy’s attention returned to the lighted display and the golden coin.

He knelt in front of the display case and laid out his lock-picking tools on the carpet. Closely examining the lock, its design called for a medium-sized tension tool and pick, which, when inserted and rotated, would engage the key pin.

But when Willy inserted the tools, nothing happened.

He tried again, but the tools slipped past the smooth-barreled interlock without engaging the key pins. Willy carefully slid a drag-rake in and out, expecting to snag something.

The tools failed to engage.

Perspiration beaded on his temples. Willy loosened his collar for another go at the lock. He chose a smaller pick-and-drag rake and rotated it full circle along the entire length of the barrel. Neither could hook nor find the slightest depression where pins should have punctured the plug.

“Oddest lock I’ve ever seen.”

Willy wagged his head from side to side. He licked his upper lip.

When the grandfather clock chimed twice, Willy checked his watch: an hour had passed without success. He sat by his tools, thinking.

Fake lock? Maybe... For show?

“Just lift it off? Too obvious. Too easy.”

With little effort, Willy grasped the dome, lifted it off its base, and lowered it to the carpet. His eyes twinkled when he picked up the shiny coin. He licked his lips.

“Gotta be pure gold.”

The coin’s flip side had the same lettering and an image of a man standing in a light or sunbeam. He couldn’t tell which. Frankly, he didn’t care. All he thought about was how much he could sell it for.

Willy returned the coin to its velvet bed, turned, and knelt to gather his tools. From behind, the radiance grew brighter and brighter. He stuffed the tools in his coat pocket, stood, and faced the light shining from the coin.

“What the bloody hell is this?”

The light beam, now brighter than the sun, focused horizontally until it was as sharp and narrow as a knife’s edge. It scanned him from head to toe. He instinctively raised his arms to shield his eyes, but the blinding light pierced his flesh like glass, revealing his bones floating and shifting in space. His eyes widened, his mouth dropped open in disbelief, and he tried to scream but could barely utter a sound.

The strangest sensation of everything around him growing larger unnerved him. But he realized it wasn’t the surrounding objects that were enlarging; it was he who was shrinking. The floor, walls, and display case moved farther away as he remained suspended mid-air, feeling tiny and bewildered. Suddenly, the beam of light vanished. He fell, landing softly on the carpet below and thoroughly confused.

Willy attempted to make sense of his predicament. Standing barely three inches tall, he didn’t know what to do next. Countless questions flooded his mind. Could he return to his regular height? How could he do it? How was he to survive? Food? Water? Shelter? Soon, he was overwhelmed. But he realized standing in the middle of the carpet wasn’t a safe option, so he dashed to the edge of the room, found refuge behind the sturdy leg of a chair, and weighed his next move.

At first, Willy didn’t recognize the sound—a deep-throated squeak.

“A mouse? Have sounds changed?”

The mouse’s high-pitched squeal was several octaves lower.

“Where is it?”

Willy realized his outburst had given away his presence and location.

In the shadows across the room, the silhouette of a giant creature turned its head toward Willy. It lifted its gigantic snout and sniffed. He nearly collapsed from fear, but the beast turned back. It scurried about the corner of the room, stopping, sniffing, and moving on. It vanished behind a bookcase.

Willy sighed in relief, but his knees grew weak moments later when the muffled sound of padded paws drew closer. He shuddered as the unmistakable outline of a cat glided along the wall opposite him, prowling. His heart skipped a beat while he watched the cat sniff the baseboards where the mouse had been. Following the mouse’s trail, the cat traced its movements until the bookcase stopped it.

The cat crouched and flicked its tail while thrusting its paw under the case, exploring. It emitted low guttural growls when it moved from one end of the bookcase to the other. The cat plunged its paw into every opening it could find. Soon, it tired of the hunt and continued searching the room.

Willy was near panic when the cat walked across the carpet, stopped, and sniffed the spot where he had fallen. The cat looked around the room and growled. Willy ran and dove under a bookcase, hoping to elude it, but the cat saw him. Without a moment’s hesitation, the cat bounded after its fleeing prey. Pawing under the furniture from every angle, the cat was relentless. It leaped, sniffed, and hissed. Its claws nipped at Willy’s clothing.

He ran from one end to the other, scarcely keeping out of reach of the cat’s clutches. But it wouldn’t give up. The cat’s scent was more potent with each swipe. Remnants of fur hung in the air. Willy’s eyes and nose were running, and he coughed from the dust stirred by the activity. He wiped tears, mucus, and spittle with his coat sleeve as he gasped for breath. His environment, fear, and exhaustion were taking a toll on him. He took off his coat and flung it against the baseboard.

Clunk.

“My tools!”

Willy searched his coat pockets and found the screwdriver and small pry bar he used to break into the house.

“Weapons!”

He held one in each hand and waited. He didn’t have to wait long.

The cat jabbed its paw under the bookcase, probing for him. Willy ducked, rolled out of the way, barely avoiding its claws, and stood. The next time the paw came within reach, he planted the screwdriver into the tender flesh between the toes.

The cat growled, hissed, meowed, and retreated to lick its paw. Willy hoped this ended the battle and leaned against the baseboard for a breather.

But he underestimated the cat’s bloodlust once it cornered its prey.

The cat attacked and snagged Willy’s trousers at waist level with renewed fever. He fought to free himself, but the other paw closed on him. Sharp talons penetrated his clothing and sank into his flesh. He screamed and cursed, but the cat paid no attention and hauled him closer.

But Willy fought back. He raised the pry bar with both hands above his head. He slammed it down with all his strength. It disappeared deep into the soft, fleshy part between its toes. The cat hissed, dropped him, withdrew its paw, and limped out of the room.

Willy collapsed on the floor, wounded and exhausted.

“Think, Willy! Think!”

His adrenaline levels peaked, racing through his bloodstream.

Willy scanned the room for anything he could use as a weapon when the cat would most certainly return, but found nothing useful. He weighed all the options—food, shelter, safety—and they all looked very bleak. Then he spied the window drapery and the table near the coin display.

That’s my ticket!

Willy scurried across the carpet to the drapery. He climbed them using the coarse material and tasseled fringe as footholds. Finally, he swung to the tabletop, jumped from the table to the pedestal, and shimmied to the velvet bed.

A deep rumbling chime struck three times. Willy sat briefly to catch his breath and ponder his next move.

It shrunk me, but will it make me bigger or smaller again?

Willy’s mind raced.

How does it work?

Willy tried lifting the coin, but it was too heavy. He pushed with all his might, and it slid slightly to one side. The movement was enough to trigger the forces within. It wobbled. It shuddered.  

Willy fell backward off the velvet.

“What the hell!”

The coin glowed; its luminosity grew brighter by the moment. A shaft of radiant light shot out from the sunbeam image. It broadened and swept the room from left to right, floor to ceiling.

Willy stepped onto the velvet, waiting for the beam to scan him. The beam narrowed to a horizontal knife’s edge, lowering from the ceiling. His heart pounded rapidly in anticipation as he watched the beam descend toward him. He raised his hand into the beam, and his bones were visible, floating above him like before. Within a few inches of the beam reaching his head, a furry paw knocked him to the carpet. In a flash, the cat pounced on him. He kicked himself free, rolled to a crawling position, and scurried toward safety behind the pedestal.

But the cat was more skillful than Willy. The first crunching sound he heard was the cat’s teeth sinking into his lower back, fracturing his spine, and holding him in a firm grip. He squeaked at the top of his lungs.

The cat’s hot, foul breath swept over Willy, and he almost passed out from the intense pain. He couldn’t believe what was happening to him. His legs no longer responded to commands; they wouldn’t move.

Then, as quickly as the coin’s beam appeared, it vanished.

Willy tried resisting the cat’s grip, but with ease, it carried him—his legs dangling—through the open door, up the stairs, to the third-floor hallway. With each step the cat took, pain rocketed to his brain, and he screamed. But his small size made his cries sound like the high-pitched squeaks of a mouse.

Pushing its way past the bedroom door, the cat brought Willy to the man sitting, reading a book in front of a roaring fire. The cat dropped him at the side of Wainwright’s chair and meowed. He tried to crawl arm over arm, but the cat saw him when Willy moved. The next crunch ended his misery; the cat’s teeth penetrated his skull.

The cat meowed and rubbed against Wainwright’s leg again.

“Well, Tabby. Caught another, have you? You deserve a treat.”

Tabby sat, licking its paw and meowing.

“What’s the matter? Something stuck in your paw? Let’s have a look-see.”

Tabby jumped onto Wainwright’s lap and chewed at her paw. “You’ve something stuck between your toes.” He pinched the tools between his index fingernail and thumbnail and extracted them. “There, you should feel better.”

Tabby leaped down, licked her paw, and washed her face. Satisfied that she was clean, she searched for the goody treat. When she found it, she batted with her paws, pouncing on it like prey.

Meanwhile, Wainwright took the fireplace shovel and brush, scooped up the lifeless body of William “Willy” Perkins, and tossed it in the fire. Then he sat down. With one last pounce, Tabby sank her teeth into the treat, carried it by Wainwright’s chair, and ate it.

Wainwright reached down and scratched Tabby’s back while enjoying her tasty tidbit. When she finished, she washed her face and walked out the door, resuming her nightly patrol.

Wainwright recorded a note in his journal.

“November 13, 1958, 3:38 AM. Tabby caught another intruder, the sixth one attempting to steal the Amazonian coin. Customary disposal. Higgins will tidy up.”

He returned the journal to the side table, took his lit pipe, and drew a mouthful of smoke. Tapping his cheek, Wainwright blew two smoke rings toward the mantelpiece. For a few moments, they curled, expanded, and finally dissipated. Then he reached for his copy of The Shrinking Man, found his place marker, and continued reading.