I did my best to put the heavy trunk down on the floor slowly, grunting at the exertion.
"What's in here?" I asked my friend Harry.
"That's a load of stuff from my grandmother's house. I didn't get a chance to go through it before we moved."
The two of us had recently rented a large apartment together and were just finishing the unpacking process.
"She was a bit of a strange, old woman," Harry muttered as he broke down a cardboard box.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Well, after her husband died she hardly ever left her house. Some of her neighbours said they even heard her talking to herself in her husband's voice, pretending he was still alive."
I raised an eyebrow.
"That a little creepy," I commented.
"Yeah, not only that, but she lived forever, too. She was well over a hundred and twenty when she finally passed away."
After we had ordered some pizza for dinner we decided to look through the steamer trunk containing his ascendant's possessions.
"How come you have this stuff, not your mother?" I asked.
"Mom couldn't be bothered. She knew I kinda liked antiques so she just fobbed it off on me."
I nodded as we cracked open the trunk and began sorting through its contents. It seemed that the majority of the items it contained had belonged to her husband: a medal from his military service, a few photos, a watch, and a locket. I was eagerly looking at the fob watch when Harry picked up the locket. Opening it he found a picture of a stern looking man with a severe moustache.
"This must be him then..." Harry murmured as he absentmindedly slipped the locket over his head to carry on with his scrounging.
I suddenly started back and gasped.
"Harry!" I snapped. "Your face!"
I had not seen the change occur, but where Harry had been kneeling now sat the man who's photo had been in the locket.
"What about it?" Harry asked, his voice coming out in a deeper register. He looked concerned and stood up, quickly darting to the bathroom mirror.
"What the hell?" he exclaimed. He was even dressed in the century-old uniform that the man had been wearing in the picture.
"The locket," I gibbered. "I think it was the locket."
Harry whisked the locked off over his head and, just like that, he was himself again.
"The locket turned me into her dead husband?" Harry stammered, looking at the object in question.
"Maybe she wasn't as mad as people thought."
"Hang on," Harry said. "I have an idea."