The Coin and the Cracked Tile

The afternoon sun beat down on the dusty parking lot of the Fairview Flea Market, turning the air into a thick, gritty soup. I trailed behind my friend Maya, past tables of chipped porcelain and stacks of old comic books, the smell of popcorn and diesel exhaust clinging to everything. We were killing time before the annual bird show at the old Exhibition Hall, a cavernous brick building on the edge of town. We’d paid our entry fees at the gate, and Maya, ever restless, had declared, ‘Let’s grab a burger at that diner across the street and come back when it’s cooler. These birds aren’t going anywhere.’

I agreed, grateful for a chance to sit. We crossed the street to Ruby’s Diner, a red-and-chrome relic that had somehow survived the decades. We slid into a cracked vinyl booth, ordered milkshakes and fries, and while the fan hummed overhead, I poured my heart out about Lucas. We’d had a fight, an idiotic one about him forgetting my birthday, and I’d said some things I couldn’t take back. ‘I just don’t know why I do this,’ I said, stirring my shake. ‘I push everyone away.’

Maya, ever the pragmatist, listened and gave me advice that felt solid: ‘Just talk to him. He’ll forgive you. You’re not all that terrible.’ She checked her phone. ‘It’s almost five. The bird show’s probably started. Let’s head back.’

I rose from the booth and felt a strange, sudden jolt in my right knee, like a spark of static electricity that shot up my leg and straight into my skull. I gasped and grabbed the table, nearly knocking over my glass. ‘Whoa,’ I said, shaking my leg. ‘I think I sprained something.’ Maya looked concerned. ‘Did you twist it? Maybe you sat too long.’ I tried to flex it, and the pain was there, dull but persistent, not like a sprain but deeper, like a memory of pain. I limped slightly as we walked back.

We reached the Exhibition Hall, a massive, echoing space with peeling white paint and a high, arched ceiling. Inside, rows of cages held parakeets, canaries, and even a few falcons, their cries a sharp cacophony. The floor was old concrete, cracked and stained with decades of water and bird droppings. We walked along the aisles, looking at the birds, but my knee throbbed with each step. Maya noticed my limp. ‘Maybe you should go sit down,’ she said, pointing to a set of metal folding chairs near the entrance. I did, resting my leg, but the pain didn’t subside. It seemed to be getting worse, radiating down to my ankle and up to my hip.

As I sat there, I noticed a small, circular coin embedded in the concrete floor near my chair. It was old, green with corrosion, and the image on it was barely discernible, but something about it drew me. I bent down to look closer, and my knee thumped against the floor, sending a jolt up my spine. I saw then that the coin was not alone; there were dozens of them, scattered around the base of my chair, each in a different spot, as if someone had dropped them and they had sunk into the still-wet concrete decades ago. The floor around them was darker, as if stained with something that had seeped in.

A sudden dread washed over me, cold and heavy. I remembered reading about this hall’s history, how it was built on the site of an old asylum, long since demolished. Patients had been treated here, some with experimental procedures that were questionable at best. And there were rumors, dismissed by most, that some of them never left. I shook my head, trying to laugh it off, but my knee throbbed harder, and the pain seemed to have a rhythm now, like a heartbeat.

Maya appeared, holding a program. ‘They’re about to do a falconry display outside,’ she said. ‘You coming?’ I tried to stand, but my knee buckled, and I collapsed back into the chair. Maya’s face went pale. ‘Hey, are you okay? You look terrible.’ I felt dizzy, and the sounds of the birds seemed to warp, becoming harsh and distorted. I gripped the chair arm, and my hand brushed against the coin. A searing cold shot through my fingers, and I yanked my hand away.

‘There’s something wrong with this place,’ I whispered. Maya looked at me, confused. But as she leaned over me, I saw her eyes flicker to the floor, and her expression changed. She was staring at something behind me. I turned, and there, standing in the middle of the aisle, was a figure, a woman in a long, gray dress, her face pale and gaunt, her eyes hollow. She stood motionless, staring at me. No one else seemed to notice her; the crowd moved around her as if she were not there.

I tried to speak, but my throat tightened. The woman raised a hand, pointing at me, and I felt a terrible pressure in my knee, like something was trying to force its way out. I looked down, and through my jeans, I saw the outline of a shape, a small, round disc, bulging against my skin. It was the size of a coin. I screamed, and Maya grabbed my shoulders. ‘What’s happening? Let’s get you out of here!’

She tried to lift me, but I couldn’t move. The woman walked toward me, her bare feet making no sound on the concrete. As she drew closer, I saw that her mouth was open in a silent scream, and from her open mouth, a swarm of tiny, dark insects poured out, flying toward me. I shut my eyes, and when I opened them, the vision was gone. The hall was empty, save for Maya and me. The birds were silent, all of them perched in their cages, watching me with beady, unblinking eyes.

Maya helped me to my feet, and the pain in my knee was gone, as if it had never been. We walked out of the hall in a daze, into the fading light of the evening. I never went back to that exhibition hall. But sometimes, when I’m sitting still, I feel a phantom jolt in my knee, and I see the faint outline of a coin on my skin, just for a moment, before it fades. And I know, deep down, that something in that old hall is still waiting, and that I’ve brought a piece of it home with me.