The Ring Comes Alive

The service began. Reverend Larkin climbed to a pulpit beside the coffin and cleared his throat with a theatrical rattle. He launched into a florid eulogy, proclaiming that Uncle Jonas was a "prince to those who hardly knew him, and a humble pauper to those who knew him best," and would be "sorely missed." It was obvious Larkin belonged to the former group. Wells tried to focus on the words, but his mind drifted.

The sight of the coffin made his eyes burn and the lump in his throat return. He averted his gaze, scanning the small crowd to distract himself. The attendees were a mix of the openly weeping and the patently bored. One woman’s sobs grew so hysterical that her husband had to lead her from the room. Aunt Elara sniffed discreetly, while silent tears traced paths down his father’s cheeks. Wells blinked fiercely against the moisture gathering in his own eyes.

Suddenly, a wave of grief, profound and hollow, washed over him, blooming in his gut and spreading through his limbs. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will the feeling away. He sniffed, a little louder than he'd intended, and felt a hand on his shoulder. Glancing up, he saw his mother offering a gentle, knowing smile. The emotional tide receded.

He tried again to listen to the reverend, but his attention wandered. Larkin simply hadn’t known Uncle Jonas. Unconsciously, Wells’s hand slipped into his pocket, his fingers finding the ring. He felt the dull, chipped edges of the stone and the sharp, clean line of the crack as he turned it over and over.

When Larkin finished, the congregation rose. Two men Wells didn’t recognize stepped forward and sealed the casket, hiding Jonas Barlow’s face from view forever. They hoisted it onto their shoulders and carried it solemnly to the waiting hearse. The mourners followed, returning to their cars.

The procession crawled the four blocks from the funeral home to Harrow Haven Cemetery. A brief stop at a squat, off-white chapel for a final viewing was followed by a change of clothes in the car; a hoodie and t-shirt replaced his suit shirt and tie. Fifteen minutes after the service had ended, Wells was walking through the main entrance of the high school. After signing the tardy sheet in the main office and enduring some gentle teasing from the secretary, he headed for his math class.

"Hey Wells," a voice whispered from behind him as he copied problems from the whiteboard. "Why're you late?"

He glanced back to see his friend, Juliana Ross, pretending to be absorbed in her calculator. She looked up, sweeping a cascade of honey-blonde hair from her face. Her brown eyes twinkled, and her mouth, permanently framed by faint laugh lines, was curved in a smile.

"I was at my uncle's funeral," Wells said, turning back to the board.

"Oh," Juliana said, her smile vanishing. "Sorry."

"Mr. Barlow, Miss Ross," Mrs. Steed called sharply from her desk. "No talking."

They both mumbled apologies and returned to their work, communicating in hushed whispers for the rest of the period. The bell rang, signaling the start of lunch. Swept up in the current of students flowing toward the cafeteria, Wells grabbed a slice of pizza, tater tots, and a carton of chocolate milk.

He found his usual table and sat beside Alexa and Nikolai. Across from them, Aidan and Vance were locked in a heated debate, while Juliana rolled her eyes.

"What are they fighting about now?" Wells asked around a bite of pizza.

"No earthly idea," Nikolai said wryly. "Though it began when Aidan complained about the pointlessness of his math class."

"Ah," Wells said, understanding immediately. "I bet Vance loved that."

"He did!" Vance exclaimed, pausing his tirade. He was still the tallest of their group, his lean, sinewy frame and square-jawed face unchanged over the years. He slammed a fist on the table for emphasis before turning back to Aidan.

Alexa cut through the argument. "So, Wells, how was it?"

"As good as a funeral can be, I guess," he said. He reached into his pocket and produced the ring, setting it on the table. "I got this, though. I showed the pastor Uncle Jonas’s note. I swear it used to be in better shape than this. I don't know what happened to it."

The argument ceased as everyone leaned in. Nikolai picked it up, holding it close to his eye. "It's a shame it's ruined," he said. "I remember it being so nice."

"You and me both," Wells said bitterly, reaching to put it away.

"Hold on," Alexa stopped him. "Put it on. I want to see how it looks."

Wells obliged, sliding the ring onto his right ring finger. It fit perfectly, as if it had been made for him. He laid his hand flat on the table for them to see before trying to remove it.

It was stuck.

"Weird," he muttered, pulling harder. "It won't move."

"Let me try," Alexa offered. She gripped the ring and heaved, yanking his hand halfway across the table. When it didn't budge, she blushed. "Oops, sorry."

"You need a man for this job," Aidan scoffed, taking over. To his own chagrin, he couldn't get it off either.

"Like he said, you need a man," Vance taunted, shoving Aidan aside. "And you're clearly not one." But no matter how hard Vance pulled, the ring remained fixed.

"Neither are you," Aidan shot back.

"I'll just get it off at home," Wells said, withdrawing his hand. "You guys are about to pull my finger off." He glanced down at the ring. To his surprise, the fracture in the stone was gone. The gem was still dull, but it was no longer cracked. Strange, he thought, deciding not to say anything.

Throughout the afternoon, Wells noticed other subtle changes. The stone began to catch the light again, a faint inner glow returning. Then, the myriad scratches on the band started to vanish, the metal slowly regaining its luster. With each passing hour, a faint, tingling pulse emanated from the base of his finger. By the final bell, the ring looked as pristine as he remembered it.

He pushed the strangeness from his mind as he met his friends in the school courtyard. They started their walk home, their casual chatter filling the air as they turned from North Road onto Westwood Avenue. The September afternoon was cool, and while some trees clung stubbornly to their summer green, others were already blushing with autumn fire.

"I hate how boring this walk is," Aidan complained during a lull.

"Then let's cut through the woods," Wells suggested, gesturing across the street to a small forest that offered a shortcut to their neighborhood. The others agreed, and they darted across the road into the trees. The distant rumble of traffic faded as they pushed through a thicket into a small clearing. The dense canopy overhead blocked most of the weak afternoon sun, and Wells felt a sudden chill, pulling up his hood.

"Whoa, what happened to it?" Vance asked, pointing as they stepped over a fallen log. "It looked like junk at lunch. Now it looks brand new."

"Honestly, I have no idea," Wells said. The others gathered around as he sat on the log, fiddling with the ring. "Still won't come off, though." He gave it another hard tug to no effect.

As his fingers closed around the ring, a tingling sensation bloomed deep in his gut. It spread instantly, a cool, exhilarating heat rushing through his veins. It was the most intense feeling he had ever experienced. A sudden, powerful gust of wind ripped through the windless clearing. The ring’s stone flared, and all six of them were engulfed in a blinding flash of sapphire-blue light.

Then, as quickly as it began, it was over. The light in the ring pulsed for another moment before dying, the intense sensation seeming to retreat back into it. The six friends stared at one another, their faces pale with shock. The silence was absolute.

"What… what just happened?" Aidan finally asked, his voice trembling.

"I… I don't know," Wells managed. "All I did was touch the ring and—"

"Do you hear that?" Nikolai interrupted.

They all fell silent, listening. There was the faint gurgle of a nearby creek and the chirping of birds high in the canopy.

"I don't hear anything," Alexa said.

"Exactly," Nikolai whispered, looking truly terrified for the first time Wells could remember. "Where's the traffic?"

A collective sense of dread passed between them as they exchanged another look. Something was deeply wrong.

A rustling sound came from the dense woods nearby. Instantly, Wells and Aidan were on their feet, reflexively moving to stand in front of the others. The rustling grew louder.

A man pushed through a thick bush and stepped into the clearing. He was tall, with shoulder-length, steel-gray hair and a short, squared beard. He was dressed strangely in a tunic and leggings under a dark, robe-like garment. There was something unsettlingly familiar about him; Wells saw the same confused recognition dawning on the faces of Aidan, Vance, and Nikolai.

The man’s eyes found the group of teenagers. They widened with recognition, then horror.

"Oh no," he said, his voice carrying an odd, melodic accent. "I remember this."

A memory clicked into place for Wells. "Mister C?" he said in disbelief.