She was a collector of old things, spending her days at curiosity shops, antique barns and second-hand stores. Something of a legend, the townsfolk had nicknamed her Second Hand Annie and it was said that if Annie was spotted at your establishment, you would have a successful selling day.
But it had been weeks since anyone had seen Annie. After several concerned inquiries, the sheriff decided to check on her.
The house stood quietly on an acre of overgrown farmland. Its wrap-around porch stacked to the eaves with pollen-dusted, rusty treasures.
When Annie didn’t answer the door, he let himself in, barely, a pile of books and magazines blocked the entrance. Once inside, he was amazed and horrified. Each nook and cranny was filled from floor to ceiling with Annie’s collection. And there was a familiar, pungent odor hanging in the air. The sheriff knew it well. Poor Annie had passed away.
According to her wishes an auction was held with the proceeds used to build a library. Seems she had a good eye for the value of “junk”.
People come from miles around to see the magnificent library that Annie built. The legacy of a woman who never learned to read.
~kat -25 October 2015
This story is an entry for the Sunday Photo Fiction Challenge. Read more stories or add your own story HERE.