The Case of the Cursed Gold and the Unreasonably Tall Man

Delray Beach had seen its fair share of oddities—an alligator who played jazz, a billionaire who tried to turn his mansion into a spaceship, and a woman who legally changed her name to “Lady Diamond of the Eternal Bling.” But nothing compared to the Case of the Cursed Gold.

It all started when gold buyers from Delray Beach received a peculiar shipment: a set of gold bars wrapped in newspaper from 1923. The newspaper itself had an ominous headline—“WHOEVER HOLDS THIS GOLD SHALL NEVER FIND PARKING”—which, for Floridians, was a fate worse than death.

Naturally, the premium estate buyers of Delray took the warning as a challenge.

Enter Maxwell “Max” Pumpernickel, an eccentric estate buyer with a monocle, a fondness for capes, and a deep distrust of escalators. “Cursed gold?” he scoffed. “That’s just marketing! Like haunted houses or ‘gluten-free’ water.”

Determined to prove the curse was nonsense, Max decided to auction the gold at an exclusive diamond buyers event. But as soon as he arrived, trouble started.

First, his car was booted for illegal parking… on his own property.

Then, the moment he stepped into the auction hall, the lights flickered, a chandelier unhooked itself (despite there being no chandeliers), and someone’s pet iguana started whispering ominous Latin phrases.

And then, an unreasonably tall man appeared.

Nobody had seen him enter. He was just suddenly there, adjusting his cufflinks, wearing a tuxedo that seemed slightly too fancy for reality. He had the kind of face that made you forget it immediately, as if he had been carefully crafted to avoid all distinct features.

Max, never one to shy away from absurdity, walked up to him. “Who are you, and why are you standing directly in my personal space?”

“I,” the man said with an unsettlingly perfect smile, “am a collector.”

Max arched an eyebrow. “A gold buyer?”

The man’s smile widened. “I prefer… historical acquisitions.”

And just like that, every light in the room flickered again, the walls creaked, and somewhere outside, a car alarm went off for no reason.

Max, sensing things had taken a turn for the weird, did what any reasonable estate buyer would do—he grabbed a gold bar and threw it at the tall man.

The gold bar passed through him.

Silence.

Then, the tall man sighed. “You should not have done that.”

Before Max could respond, the lights cut out completely, a gust of inexplicable wind swept through the room, and when the lights returned, the man was gone. The cursed gold bars? Also gone.

All that remained was a single business card on the floor. It had no name, no phone number—just one sentence:

"Consider the parking curse lifted."

Max picked up the card, blinked twice, and calmly walked out. He never spoke of the event again. But from that day forward, whenever he drove through Delray Beach, he always found a parking spot.