The Spoiler
There’s a reason why you shouldn’t tell people how a movie ends
Terese wanted to be sympathetic toward her husband, Otis, but she agreed with her husband’s friend, Devon.
“If Devon doesn’t want to hear how a movie ends, all he has to do is not read my Facebook posts,” Otis said. “Easy peasy. It’s not my fault he thinks movies are ruined by knowing the ending.” Otis took a bite of his Snickers bar and talked while he chewed. “Am I right or am I right? This is 2022. Information wants to be free. Even if he doesn’t find out how a movie ends from me, he’s going to hear it from somewhere else.”
The shop, The Oldest Things, smelled of lavender and ocean. Zigzagging display tables and haphazard lighting made Terese feel like she was navigating a maze.
Otis picked up an antique magnifying glass, examined it, and placed it back on the table. He peered through a brass stereoscope. “Cool! Vintage New York in 3D! You have to see this, Ter.” Otis held the stereoscope to Terese’s eyes.
Chocolate fingerprints smeared the magnifying glass and stereoscope. Terese herded him to another part of the store lest the shopkeeper saw Otis, his Snickers, and the stained antiques together.
“You know what bugs me the most?” Otis said as they passed antiquarian books, porcelain dolls, pocket watches, old currency, and metal toys. “Devon messaged you to complain about me. He wasn’t even man enough to tell me to my face.”
That’s because you don’t listen when someone asks you not to spoil a book or movie, dear husband. That’s because you’ve forgotten the arguments we had about spoilers. You’ve forgotten how I used to plead to no avail: “Please don’t tell me how the book ends,” and “I haven’t seen that film, so shh.” Now, I conceal my books in wrapping paper. I make sure that any movie I watch is one you haven’t seen. When you ask me, “What are you reading?” I lie.
“So you’re reading the new Stephen King novel, The Gray Paw,” Otis blurted as he ran his fingers over a row of leather-bound books. “You’re going to love the battle between the clans at the end. You won’t be surprised that old man Richie isn’t dead.”
How did he find out what I’m reading? Terese wanted to cry. She wanted to shove a sock in her husband’s mouth.
Otis stopped in front of an Ouija board. “I haven’t seen one of these in ages. My brother and I used to play with it all the time.” He chuckled. “I used to play with an Ouija board when I was in high school, too, at parties, guiding the spirits to tell girls they should make out with me.” He tugged Terese’s arm, directing her hand to the heart-shaped planchette. “Let’s play.”
“This isn’t your parents’ living room,” Terese hissed. “It’s an antique shop. We’re wearing out our welcome.”
“Come on, live a little. A light touch, Ter. Let the board do the talking.”
Terese sighed and rested her fingers on one side of the planchette. I wish to have the spoiler for Stephen King’s novel erased from my memory. She knew Ouija boards didn’t answer wishes, but what was the harm in asking?
Otis put his fingers on the other side.
The planchette glided across the two semicircles of letters.
O-T-I-S
The planchette paused for a few seconds.
H-E-A-R-T
It paused again. A shadow passed over the board as if a cloud had momentarily blocked the sun.
A-T-T-A-C-K
T-O-D-A-Y
Otis jerked his hand away and scowled. “Not funny, Ter."
“Me? I thought you did that.”
Otis swiveled his head from side to side so quickly his glasses slipped down his nose. A silence like the moment before a thunderclap filled the shop. Otis narrowed his eyes. "Why would I do that? I certainly didn't do that. And it wasn't the Ouija board, so it could only have been you."
It was the board. Terese wasn't ready to say that aloud, but she was sure.
“I—” Otis started to say. He clutched his chest, gasped, and collapsed to the floor.
Terese looked at the limp, lifeless body in the plaid shirt and khaki pants that had been her husband, then back at the Ouija board. Not all spoilers ruin the ending.
If you enjoyed The Spoiler, I think you’ll like my story, Flying on Ambien.
".. erased the spoiler .." . . . Exactly.
An admirable story-line, well tailored.
You painted a truly unlikeable character. Repulsive enough that his demise became a punchline. Well done.