The Gravity-Defying Ottoman

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Welcome to A Bedtime Story. I'm Matthew Mitchell, and tonight's story is titled The Gravity-Defying Ottoman, Part 2 of this week's series: The Inventory of Impossible Things.

The sign Julian had painted in the driveway was simple. It said: Unique Household Items. Very Cheap. No Questions Asked. He figured the last part would either attract the right kind of people or keep the police away. Within twenty minutes, the first customer arrived.

Mr. Henderson lived three houses down and was the kind of man who spent his retirement monitoring the length of his neighbors' grass with a ruler. He marched up the driveway, his face a permanent mask of disapproval. He stopped in front of a heavy, leather-bound ottoman that Julian had dragged out of the garage.

"How much for the footstool?" Mr. Henderson demanded, poking the leather with a stiff finger.

Julian looked at Maya. The ottoman was one of the items they hadn't tested yet. It looked normal, except for the fact that it seemed to weigh about as much as a mountain when they tried to move it. They had eventually discovered that if you hummed a specific C-major scale, the ottoman became as light as a feather.

"Twenty dollars," Julian said. "But you have to promise not to hum while you use it."

Mr. Henderson scoffed. "I don't hum. Humming is for people with too much free time. I'll take it. But you have to carry it to my porch. My back isn't what it used to be."

Julian and Maya grunted as they hauled the strangely dense furniture down the sidewalk. They left Mr. Henderson on his porch, where he immediately sat down in his rocking chair and propped his feet up on the ottoman. As they walked away, Julian felt a twinge of guilt, but the twenty-dollar bill in his pocket felt much more substantial.

The sale continued throughout the morning. They sold a toaster that only toasted bread on one side but guaranteed that the side it toasted would always be the perfect golden brown. They sold a set of keys that could open any door in the world, provided the door was currently unlocked. It was a brisk business, and Julian was starting to think that being an impossible junk dealer was his true calling.

Around noon, a low rumbling sound started coming from the direction of Mr. Henderson's house. Julian and Maya ran to the street just in time to see something remarkable. Mr. Henderson was still sitting in his rocking chair, but he was no longer on his porch. He was about fifteen feet in the air, drifting slowly toward the power lines. His feet were still firmly planted on the leather ottoman, which was rising into the sky like a very slow, very confused hot air balloon.

"Put me down!" Mr. Henderson yelled, his face turning a shade of purple that matched his sweater. "I didn't pay twenty dollars to become a satellite!"

"He must have started humming," Maya said, her hand over her eyes to shield them from the sun. "He's a closet hummer, Julian. I knew it."

"We have to get him down before the news gets here," Julian said. He scrambled back into the garage and began digging through a crate labeled Emergency Anchors. He found a heavy iron hook attached to a shimmering silver rope. The label read: The Hook of Gravity. Use only when the sky starts looking too inviting.

Julian grabbed a bicycle from the driveway and pedaled furiously toward Mr. Henderson's yard. Maya followed, carrying a ladder they both knew wouldn't be tall enough. By the time they reached the yard, Mr. Henderson was level with the chimneys of the two-story houses.

"Listen to me, Mr. Henderson!" Julian shouted. "You have to stop humming! Think about something miserable! Think about your property taxes!"

"I am thinking about my property taxes!" the old man screamed back. "And it's not working! The footstool is offended!"

Julian realized the hook wouldn't reach that high if he just threw it. He looked at the silver rope. It seemed to be vibrating. He remembered his Uncle Arthur's notes about intent. He closed his eyes and imagined the rope being very, very long. When he threw the hook, it soared upward, defying the wind, and snagged the corner of the leather ottoman.

The moment the hook connected, the silver rope pulled taut. Julian was nearly yanked off his feet. It felt like he was holding onto a leash attached to a very large, very stubborn dog that wanted to go to space.

"Maya, help!" Julian gasped.

The two of them grabbed the rope and began to pull. Slowly, inch by inch, the gravity-defying ottoman began to descend. Mr. Henderson gripped the arms of his rocking chair, his eyes shut tight. When the ottoman finally touched the grass, Julian quickly threw a heavy tarp over it to muffle the hum that Mr. Henderson was still unconsciously making through his gritted teeth.

Mr. Henderson scrambled off the chair and ran into his house without saying a word. He didn't even ask for a refund.

"That's it," Maya said, breathing hard. "The garage sale is over. We are going to kill someone, Julian. Or worse, we're going to get sued by the laws of physics."

"One more sale," Julian pleaded, looking at the garage. "There's a woman looking at the mirrors. If she buys the one that tells her the truth about her haircut, we can afford dinner."

But as he spoke, the air in the driveway began to shimmer. It wasn't the heat. It was as if the very fabric of the neighborhood was being pulled toward the garage. The items they had sold were starting to react to each other. The toaster was sending out signals to the keys, and the Time Jar back in the garage was beginning to glow with a blinding, white light.