Wellington’s Place Apartments

[WP] You walk the same way to work every day, and you’re sure that building wasn’t there before.

Jim’s amulet was an enigma. He had worn it his whole life, and it had sparked a conversation with a coworker when it fell loose as he was tying his shoe. “It could be worth a lot of money,” his coworker suggested. He could never part with it, of course, but that didn’t stop him from being curious. The amulet had been in his family for generations. How long exactly—he wasn’t quite sure.

Like a horse to water, his curiosity led him to an online search once he was home. It was hard to find specific information no matter how he described the thing. The black sapphire in its center was promising though. It didn’t seem like they were used often, and his search eventually led him to occult corners of the web. Ready to call it quits, he finally came across a historical cataloging of trinkets believed to have various protection benefits, along with the trinket’s origin. His amulet was in the list and his brief feeling of success was quickly replaced with a growing anxiety. It was listed as an evil-ward, and its origins are voodoo.

Voodoo, he thought with a growing since of dread. Had his family been involved in some way? Why would his family keep passing down something related to voodoo? Maybe they just didn’t know. After all, they didn’t have the internet. Surely, that’s it. Yes. They just weren’t aware of its origins. He had taken it off and stored it in a box beside his computer.

The next morning, he’s walking his everyday route to work. His head is still reeling from the night before. With a suitcase in one hand, he’s looking down at the phone held in the other. He periodically leans or turns away from passersby, but the wiki on voodoo has him transfixed. A lot of the information refers to various protection rites, seeming like voodoo was more often used for doing good than it was for harm.

A horn blares as he’s about to step off the sidewalk. He looks up too find he’s at a corner that he doesn’t recognize. Had he gone to far? He looks back and then to the nearby street sign. No. His left turn isn’t for another couple of blocks. He looks over to the building in this corner lot. Where did that come from? He thinks back, trying to figure out what was supposed to be there. A parking lot. This is supposed to be a parking lot. He stops a passerby then gestures to the building. “Excuse me. Do you know what this is?”
“Of course, I do,” says the disgruntled man. “It’s the Wellington’s Place Apartments.”

“Has it been here long?”

“What, are you new or something? The place is a city landmark. Been here for decades.”

“Landmark? Why would an apartment building be a landmark?”

“They’ve got tours, see for yourself. That Wellington turned out to be a real nut job, killed a bunch of people, hid them in the foundation, the walls, that sort of thing…and that was just during construction. He kept killing residents too. Eventually, people caught on, but he hanged himself in there before they were able to take him away. The city cleaned it up, but no one lives there anymore. Eventually, they claimed it as a landmark and now do tours…which is what you’ll have to do if you want to know anything else. I’m running late for work.”

The man walks away, and Jim stares slack jawed as he absently reaches for an empty space on his chest.