The Antique as Old as the Sea

While writing screenplays, I unearthed some short stories as well. These short stories are going to be cross-posted here and on my website where I would recommend reading them since the formatting is nicer.

The Antique as Old As the Sea © 2025 by Keane Moraes is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

It was a crisp, hot May afternoon in El Granada, California. The wind whistled while the sun blazed on with an uncomfortable heat. The “Royal Antique and Crafts Collections” shop had just opened its doors for the day to its customers. The grand namesign above the shop stood unlit at the quiet corner strip mall. It was a quaint little store selling cheap knockoffs of vintage items and poor imitations of great works.

A couple walked into the store that moment, sounded off by the little bell above the door. The husband was a heavy-set man in his mid-thirties. Slovenly dressed and with a poor gait. The wife, however, prim in her scarlet peplum. As if freshly pruned from a rosebush. Vixen eyes with a tightly done mascara. They strode in and immediately started browsing the paintings section. The man almost immediately had his hands on his hips fixated at a specific painting. A small artwork of an old sail ship caught in a storm. Impressionist. Heavy brush strokes with a dark pastel palette. A cheap Aivazovsky copy. A sailboat being rocked by the waves. Almost listing. But bravely hanging on. Some of the crew had fallen overboard and were swimming back. Ever so desperately clinging on to any debris they found. A peculiar sight but very touching. Almost moving. The wife cast a cavalier glance at each item and moved onto the next as if browsing cheeses at the grocery store.

“Ahhh, an old classic” a voice groaned in the background. The husband turned to face it. It was the shopkeeper. James as his name tag read. He lumbered over to the man’s left. Quite an odd sight. Old, greying, wisping hair on a face with protruding eyes and a crooked nose. A mole on his left cheek. No more than 50 but bent out of shape. He walked with a hunch and had a cane with him in his left hand. Altogether, almost as if one of Tolkien’s goblins donned a man’s clothes.

“Its quite a prize, I’d say” the shopkeeper went on. “Well as you see, I’m the shopkeeper here, good sir. How can I help you today ? Mr …. ”.

“Eunice. Eunice R Tibbins”, the man cut in with a whiff of pride in it. “And this is my wife, Janine. We’re looking for art decor for a new house that we’ve bought just up the road. ”

“Ahh, well, Mr Tibbins….., you’ve come to the right place. We’ve got the finest collection of handmade crafts in California”

“I’m sure”, said Eunice. Mildly wincing while doing so. The old goat smelled of prunes and damp wood.

“Well, you’ve, you’ve, got a fine eye, Mr Tibbins”. “That painting would do wonders for a living or a bedroom”. “Indeed, hmm, a fine eye”.

“How much for this one ?”

“Well, let’s see, this one wou…..”

“Darling, let’s have a look around the store first”, barked the wife, Janine. “I want to check everything before coming to a decision”.

“But dear, this one will do”.

Janine threw a jaded look back and resumed perusing. None of the cheeses looked appetizing.

“Would you like to buy this one, Mr Tibbins?”

“Ahh….wellll…I’ll have it, sure, what the hell?”. He shot a glance at his wife who didn’t reciprocate. She kept on perusing.

The shopkeeper hobbled back behind the giant oak desk and scanned the painting tag. “49.99 dollars, good sir!”. “But we have a special spring time discount - 15% off on each time. That would make it “42.5. I’ll let it go for 42. Would that work for you, Mr Tibbins?”

“Ummm…..tssk….sure, lets do it”.

The shopkeeper wrapped the painting in some paper and packed it into a box. The Tibbins couple left shortly after that. They drove back to their house in the suburbs. A droll 2-storey hickory Georgian. Patio on a freshly mowed lawn. White picket fence. Kitchen island table. Beige wallpaper. All the trappings of a mundane, indifferent middle class living.

Eunice parked and went straight upstairs with the painting. Janine strolled into the living room and turned on the TV and started fiddling with the remote. He put a nail into the wall beside the bed and hung up the painting. A sly smile etched on his face as he saw it hanging there. If only she realized how much I love this, he thought. Life transpired as usual for the couple that day.

However that night as he rolled into bed and tried falling asleep, Eunice worked up quite a sweat. He lay awake for almost an hour or so. Eventually, he dozed off. But, Eunice started having nightmares. He dreamed about dwarves stomping and trampling him. Of mice gnawing away at his feet. Of drowning in sand while vultures hung overhead. He tossed and turned. Cold sweat and icy spasms jolted him awake in the middle of the night. Why am I having nightmares? he thought to himself. “I’m usually such a sound sleeper”. Confused, he tried going back to sleep.

The next morning, he woke up tired. Sluggishly getting out of bed, he made his way downstairs and into the kitchen. Empty. The clock read 10:20 am. He saw his wife lounging in the patio chair in her night gown, looking out onto the driveway, smoking a cigarette.

“Why isn’t breakfast ready, honey?”, he asked as he held the door.

No reply. Her forehead merely furrowed and she continued smoking. Eyes fixated on the driveway.

He went back inside and headed up to go back to sleep. As he entered the master bedroom, he saw something strange. He squinted and looked at the painting hanging on his wall. It moved. The ship. It moved. It was rocking back and forth. Yawing and twisting. The waves were crashing against it and throwing up spray. The little people were swimming below. But the painting was moving. Everything about it was in motion.

He rushed to the bathroom. “This is all part of the nightmare. This is a dream. No. NOO.”. He splashed cold water on his face and pinched his elbow. “Come on, stupid, wake up. WAKE UPP!!” he said, slapping his face repeatidly. Ambling back into the living room, he peeked at the painting again. Still as alive as the sea. Still moving. His jaw dropped and his eyes widened. “What’s going on?”, he thought to himself. The ship kept rocking back and forth. He rushed downstairs. “Janine!! Janine!!! HONEEYYY! You’ve gotta see this. Come up right NOWW!”

Janine was onto her second cigarette for the morning. Indifferently, she looked at her husband as he burst out the door, panting.

“You’ve gotta see the painting! IT’S MOVING!” Eunice emoted.

“Don’t be silly now, Eunice”, Janine groaned.

“Just come up for a second, dear. Come on. Right now. You’ve gotta see this.”

“What?” she said exasperatedly. “You’ve been obsessed with that thing ever since you got it.”

“Just come up for a minute! It’ll blow your mind.”

She put out the cigarette and reluctantly followed her husband. Eunice and Janine made their way up to the master bedroom.“See, look the painting is moving.” Eunice exclaimed pointing to the painting. “No, its not”, Janine signed. He looked again and the painting was dead still. The same one he had purchased from the store. That painting was dead still. “Wait what? It was moving a second ago. Wait no! I could swear. That….that ship was moving.” Janine just rolled her eyes and brushed past her husband to go downstairs. “No wait.” He looked closer. Nothing. It was fixed in place. Eunice frowned expecting the supernatural.

By noon, he got into his car to head to work. Eunice did the numbers for the Reynard-Schulz-Tiberghien Corporation and worked in a team of 50. “They wouldn’t have missed me. I’ll just work after clockout to make up the hours. Gotta find food now”, he thought. He still hadn’t had his breakfast. Their office was in downtown San Francisco. The Dark Tower as it was colloquially called by the residents.

That night, Eunice got back at ten. The lights were off. Janine’s probably asleep, he thought. He made sure not to make too much noise entering the house. Quietly he tip-toed into bed. Almost immediately, he fell asleep.

That night, the nightmares were especially bad. Eunice saw himself being buried alive. Gasping for air as his limbs were tied down. Worms eating his innards. He tossed and turned violently that night. Sweat dripping down his back. Virtually quivering with the fear and anguish. “Not the sea. NOT THE SEA!” he woke up shouting. He tried to gather himself. Eunice looked around and was relieved to find himself back in his bedroom. His pillow was soaked in sweat.

“I need a drink”, he sighed. Eunice made his way down to the kitchen and went straight for the liquour cabinet. Perhaps the only part of the kitchen he knew his way around. Pouring himself a Scotch he sat back on the couch. Life had been happening to him lately. He thought of his work. “Mr. Pangborn is such a meathead. How could anyone work under someone like that? He’s gotta be juiced in. There’s no way someone idiotic like that would have made it to Head Submanager of Executive Financing and Records Division C” He thought of his marriage. And then swiftly tried to think of something else. “Rob and the guys are going for drinks this weekend. I’ll join them. God knows I need it”. He felt like that ship. Rocked by the waves constantly. Hanging on. Making some progress. Only to be hit again. “They say art imitates life huh ? Well maybe sometimes life imitates art”. He chuckled at that thought.

The clock above the mantle piece struck. 3AM. With aches in his back and fatigue in his sinews, Eunice ambled up the stairs and into the bedroom. Using his phone’s torch to see the way cause he didn’t want to wake Janine up by turning the lights on. He slid the door open and while walking to the bed, the flashlight pointed to the painting. “My god!” he exclaimed. Slack-jawed and stunned. The painting. It was moving again. More violently the boat tossed the turned. The waves were higher than ever. The ship seemed like it was going overboard with every wave crashing into it but someone it stayed afloat. He could hear the screams of the people in water even. “I’m losing my mind. Oh my god! OH MY GOD!! What’s happening to me ??”. He tip toes towards the painting. All of a sudden, he got hit with a spray of water. Water! He touched his face and it was wet. Eunice then touched his fingers to his tongue. Salt. He now stood wide-eyed at that painting. Louder and louder the muffled screams got. The waves crashing. The ship creaking. The painting was visibly wet. The frame damp. The acidic brine of the sea singed his nose. “I’ve gotta get proof.” Eunice opened the camera on his phone and pointed it at the painting. Nothing. The painting is dead still. He had a video recording of his still painting on his bedroom wall. Not an ounce of movement. He touched the carved wooden frame that was damp a minute ago and it was drier than the Atacama.

Dumbfounded, Eunice tried again. He really didn’t want to wake Janine up. He knew her outburts. “God, I can’t sleep here. I’m losing my damn mind”. He went to the guest bedroom and there tried to fall asleep but could barely even close his eyes. Just stared up at the cobweb-ridden chandelier. “I need to figure out what’s what with that painting tomorrow.”

Morning rolled around and Eunice called in a sick day at work. He had to get to the bottom of this painting fiasco.

“Honey, we’re going to the antique store. I want to return the painting, maybe get another one”

“Wasn’t that the love of your life a couple days ago”, replied Janine monotonically.

“It’s not what I thought I wanted. You need to come with me”

“Why?”

“Please, dear. It won’t take too long.”

“Fineee”, she sighed. “Let me throw something on.” as she walked upstairs to get dressed.

“Make it quick, please dear”

An hour and a half later, Janine came down those steps. This time in beige floral sheath. Eunice made no protests. He was anxious to get on with. “Where’s the painting ?” she asked as he started up the car. “It’s wrapped up and in the trunk”. The shop was a 30 minute drive away. A quiet drive. Eunice’s left leg was agitated. Nat King Cole was on the radio.

When the got to the shop, Eunice didn’t even wait for his wife to step out. He immediately turned the car off and went to grab the painting out of the trunk. Carefully unwrapping the paper, he looked at it. It was definitely moving.

“Hey, John, Jason, ….whatever. This painting is weird” he declared as he barged into the store.

“Hello there sir, good to see you again” said the shopkeeper. He was sitting behind his desk and rose when he saw Eunice enter.

“Look at it!! It’s moving. ITS MOVING FOR CHRIST’S SAKE. You mongrel, what kind of cheap trick is this ?”

“Sorry sir, but this painting is exactly the same as when I sold it to you. I dont see any movement” said the shopkeeper. This time with a sly grin across his moldy face. It looked like a tree bark spliting in half.

“What?”. He looked again. The painting was definitely moving. Clear as day. He could see the waves as clearly as he saw that old goat perched beside him.

“Honey? Come here a second. Take a look at this. Is this painting moving ? Like do you see the waves move with the ship? Do you hear anything from it?” Eunice called.

Janine stopped mindlessly perusing and walked upto Eunice’s side. “Nothing. Just the same damn painting”

“What ? Seriously ? No movement ?”

“No” she replied in a disgruntled tone.

“Ok. Tell me this. Who made this ? When was it made ? I need a name and contact details” he said to the shopkeeper.

“Sir, we don’t have those records at all. These paintings come from all over the place with no trace of origins”.

“Fine. I don’t want to throw this painting but I’m certainly not happy with it” barked Eunice. His plump face was almost all red. He almost burst a blood vessel.

“No worries sir, since you’re not happy with your purchase, I can replace it…for you. I’m getting a new shipment tomorrow” croaked the goblin figure. His yellow nails and protuding eyes irked Eunice. Every added second around this man twisted some vein in his body. “We..we can replace it with a new painting coming in tomorrow. No additional fee.”

“Fine. I’ll do that. OK. Yes. I’m coming back tomorrow. First thing in the morning. I’ll be here.”

The shopkeeper watched them leave the store and get into their car. Eunice drove straight home. The whole while he was thinking about this painting. Nothing could get it out of his head. The moment he got home, he took the painting and marched straight into the basement. Wrapping it in bubble wrap there, multiple times over, he covered it with a blanket and laid it in a corner. “That ought to keep it under for the time being”, he thought.

Eunice spent the rest of the day idling away still thinking about this painting. That night, he couldn’t sleep either. Too many nerves. After endlessly tossing and turning in bed, he eventually got up and made his way downstairs. Just to turn on the TV and consume the latest slop on A&E. Nervously tapping his feet, he sipped at his scotch. Nothing got that painting out of his head. “It’ll all be resolved tomorrow” he assured himself. 5AM rolled around and he briefly dozed off.

### V

Eunice then woke up at quarter past 7, looked at the clock, and hurried to get his clothes on so he could drive to the store. It opened at 8. He ran down into the basement to grab the painting. Carefully he unwrapped it at arm’s length. The painting was in full flow. The ship was rocking. The smell of the sea was intense. The blood-curdling screams of the drowning mariners was louder and louder. He was beyond ‘how’ at this stage. It was haunting him.

“I’m heading out, Janine”, Eunice shouted as he walked out the door with the painting under his arm. “I’ll be back in an hour.”. He got into the car and drove to the store. The bright neon sign for the "Royal Antiques" was oddly lit up in the morning. “The old fool must’ve forgotten to turn it off”. He got off and knocked on the door. It was about 7:50 and he didn’t want to intrude. “Hey, Mr. Shopkeeper, its Eunice from yesterday. I'm here with that painting I need to replace.” No answer. He knocked harder again and waited. “Oh darn it”. He barged into the store.

“What the hell is this ?” The store floor had water puddles all over. It was a mess. Dingy and ransacked. The lights were flickering. The walls were greyed and moldy. Most of the antiques on the shelves were gone. The store had the same intense ocean brine smell as the painting. He couldn’t see the shopkeeper anywhere. “What is going on in the world ?” he yelled.

Suddenly he heard a loud grating sound from the backroom. Over on his left, behind the shopkeeper’s desk, there was a door creaking and cracking, behind which he heard some loud grating sounds. Like someone sawing a tree. He walked to it and pressed his ear to the door. The grating sound was very loud. The door was shaking violently. “This might be the worst decision ever. I should just walk away from this shit” he thought. Yet he couldn’t satiate his curiosity. He yanked the door open and couldn’t believe what he stepped into.

A log cabin with a storm raging outside. He stepped in and it felt like a blanket of damp, cold, stale air was dropped on him. The windows were bolted down and there was a mother of a storm raging outside. The glass was getting pelted with rain. On his left, he saw a hooded figure with a saw cutting off a log of wood. To his right, there was a pile of shabbily-made frames. This was alll too bizarre to process for Mr. Eunice R Tibbins, accountant at the Dark Tower.

“Come in, come in” croaked the hooded figure.

“Who are you ? What’s going on here ?”

“Why, don’t you remember!” said the figure as it turned around. It was the shopkeeper.

“What’s going on, right now? I just came in to replace this painting. What is all this ?”

“Oh don’t you worry about it. It’ll all be handled soon.” said the shopkeeper in a sardonic tone as he rose from his seat. “Why don’t you sit down a second ? Let me get my personals and we can go into the store to discuss it”. “Here take a seat”. And suddenly there was a chair present behind my Eunice. He never saw it there before. He got a glance at the shopkeeper’s face under the hood. A real nasty, wrinkled, twisted face.

He sat down and looked outside. The storm was a brutal one. The rain was coming down heavy. He could hear the loud patter of the rain on the roof and smell the monsoon air. He looked back at the chair and the shopkeeper was nowhere to be seen. His forehead puckered as he looked frantically around the room. Suddenly, someone threw a hood over his face and started choking him with their arm. He groaned and fought and wrestled but to no avail. In a matter of moments, Eunice went unconscious.

When he came to, there was still had the bag over his head. His arms were tied behind his back. But his feet weren’t. He tried to stand up the ground itself seemed to move under him and he fell back down. He could feel the ground was wet and there was rain falling. The hood was then taken off his face. There in front of him, was the viley shopkeeper. The goblin mutant.

“What the hell are you doing you idiot?” yelled Eunice.

“Look around, you tubby fool” remarked the shopkeeper with a snarky grin.

Eunice looked around and he couldn’t believe it. He was on the deck of the ship from the painting. The hoisted sails, the wooden deck that was bolted down. He barely managed to keep his balance as the boat was keeling but pulled back. The deck rocked back and forth violently. The shopkeeper grabbed him by the collar and with almost superhuman strength brought him to the bulwark. Eunice couldn’t believe what he saw next. The entire horizon was a fish-eye of the inside of the antique shop. His mouth was wide open. “Oh my god. This is a nightmare of course. What the hell? This has to be ….” “Shut up, you clown” shouted the shopkeeper.

The shopkeeper, still grabbing Eunice by the collar, bent over to whisper in his ear. “Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.” he whispered and then threw Eunice overboard.

A loud splash as the 250-or-so pound man landed belly first into the water. Eunice’s hands were still bound so he could barely stay afloat. The salt water in the sea burned his eyes as he tried desperately to kick to stay afloat. Around him, were the other poor fools who were duped. All trying to stay afloat as well. He thought of yelling for help but there was only the grey sky and storm for as far as the eye could see.

And in the horizon, the shopkeeper welcomed another customer.