Page 6 of One Hundred Humbugs

The door swung open with a groan, revealing a dim interior cluttered with shapes Ruby couldn’t quite make out. She fumbled for a light switch, her fingers brushing against what seemed to be stacks of paper. She found the switch and flicked it on.

Light flooded the room, and Ruby’s jaw dropped. Every surface, from floor to ceiling, was covered in ... stuff. Boxes upon boxes stacked precariously high, creating narrow pathways through the chaos. Old magazines, antique furniture, gadgets she couldn’t even begin to identify—it was like stepping into the world’s most claustrophobic antique shop.

“Oh, Uncle Peter,” she muttered, eyeing a tower of hatboxes that looked ready to topple at any moment, “what in the world have you been collecting all these years?”

Ruby picked her way through the clutter, managing to clear a small space on what she assumed was once a couch. Sinking down onto the dusty cushions, she pulled out her phone and dialed her mother’s number.

“Mom? Yeah, I’m here. It’s ... well, it’s something else.”

Her mother’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Oh, honey. I was afraid of that. Peter always was a bit of a pack rat. You should call a real estate agent right away. And maybe someone with a dumpster.”

Ruby’s eyes scanned the room as her mother spoke. Each pile of junk looked less like trash and more like snippets of Uncle Peter’s life. Memories. Stories. Adventures.There was a reason he had been estranged from the family. He was strange.

“I don’t know, Mom,” Ruby said. “I mean, yes, it’s a mess, but ... this was Uncle Peter’s life. It deserves a little respect, doesn’t it?”

Her mother sighed. “Well, it’s your inheritance. Just don’t let sentiment cloud your judgment. You can’t live in a museum of old junk.”

After saying goodbye, Ruby stood up, determined to at least get a full tour of her new ... home? Museum? Obstacle course? As she made her way to the kitchen, she spotted something that made her do a double-take.

There, on a cluttered counter, sat an actual, honest-to-god landline phone. And beneath it, a thick book that Ruby recognized from the depths of her childhood memories.

“Is that ... a phone book?” she marveled, picking up the relic with a mixture of amusement and awe. “I didn’t think these even existed anymore.”

Chuckling to herself, Ruby began to flip through the yellowed pages. Her eyes scanned the listings, looking for real estate agents. There were no options but Doc in the area.

Ruby’s eyebrows shot up as she read Doc’s ad: “Doc Parker: Your One-Stop Shop for What Ails Ya (And Your House)!

Medicine dispensed with a smile

Real estate sold with a wink

Free lollipop with every transaction (house or prescription)

Special discount if you need both at once!”

Ruby snorted, shaking her head. “Right, because whatthis town needs is a man wearing even more hats. I think I’ll let the good doctor stick to saving lives and enjoying his afternoon beer.”

She continued flipping through the pages, muttering to herself, “Come on, there’s got to be a real professional around here somewhere.”

Her eyes landed on an ad that stood out from the rest. It was larger than the others, with a bold headline: “Silver Springs Realty—We Turn Houses into Homes and Hoarders’ Dens into Gold Mines!”

Her finger traced down to the contact information: Gunderson, Marge—Silver Springs Realty, serving Silver Springs and surrounding areas.

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