[ WP ] You find an old chessboard , and accidentally discover that you can control people 's fate by writing their names under the pieces and playing .

Ronald liked old things. He liked the way they smelled, he liked the way they looked. And he liked how they released dust as he handled them, like dirt that clouds the air when an archaeologist discovers a fossil. 
 
 Mick's Antiques occupied the corner of Cherry Road and Oak Avenue - downtown. A bit out of the way, but that had n't stopped Ron from making it a regular stop on his walk home from school. Ron did n't have very much money, or much space at home, so he was not a frequent customer. He just liked to look, mostly. Even so, Mick always warmly welcomed him with a `` Hallo!'' whenever Ron came through. 
 
 Mick taught Ron a lot about old things. He shared Ron's passion for them, and somehow always had new ( old ) things coming into the store. 
 
 Mick said that old things are like books - you have to read closely to get the whole story. You might look for a note, a signature, scratches, fingerprints, and other kinds of wear. It was like every antique was a tiny piece to the enormous puzzle of the past. 
 
 One day, like any other, Ron pushed open the heavy front door to Mick's Antiques. 
 
 *ding ding ding... * The bell rung above the door. 
 
 `` Hallo!'' Mick hollered. `` Ron! Do I have a surprise for you!'' 
 
 Mick scurried around the counter to the front and took Ron by the shoulders. He guided him through the maze of shelves to the back room - a room with which Ron was familiar. This room is where Mick kept his new and interesting artifacts. From where, Ron still did not know. 
 
 The room was small, lined with shelves full to the brim of knick-knacks and doo-dads. In the center sat a table beneath a single, hanging light bulb, and on the table lay a wooden chessboard. 
 
 `` Come, come!'' Mick said. `` Take a closer look.'' He nudged Ron towards the table and they both took a seat. Mick had his plethora of tools laid out - magnifying glasses of all sizes, rulers, tape, soft-bristled brushes, X-Actor knives, and more stored in the drawers beneath the table. 
 
 The handiwork on the board and pieces was exquisite. Each piece was hand-carved; Mick had taught him how to distinguish fine, handmade woodwork from the factory-made. The board was pleasing to look at, and Ron noticed that the alternating squares of mahogany and birch were actually separate squared put together. 
 
 Ron then noticed the faint lettering on the pieces. In fact, there were numerous scattered scribbles all across the set; names written in different thicknesses, colors, and handwriting. Some names were even carved into the pieces. Names he recognized - names of presidents, world leaders, athletes - and names he did n't recognize. 
 
 `` Unusual, ai n't it?'' Mick said. Mick had been watching Ron study the board. 
 
 `` Yea,'' Ron responded. `` This is one nice chess board. Never seen one this red before. And the names... Why write so many names?'' 
 
 Mick frowned, and shrugged. `` Who knows, boy? That's the mystery.'' He chuckled. `` Here, lookey at the side.'' 
 
 Mick turned the board clockwise so Ron could read what was written on the side: 
 
 **Life is a game. ** 
 
 This lettering was not handwritten. It was artfully carved into the side of the board, clearly an intended detail. 
 
 `` Where did you get it? How old is it?'' 
 
 Mick leaned down and fussed with a drawer, retrieving a piece of paper. `` The wood appears to be several centuries old. Kept in relatively good shape, I would say, besides the scribbles.'' Mick ignored Ron's first question, as usual. 
 
 `` But I see names written that I recognize from the past 50 years. Why vandalize such an old chess set with random names?'' Ron asked. 
 
 Mick smiled his secret smile, the one he reserved for when he was hiding something from Ron. `` Like I said, boy. That's the mystery.'' 
 
 They sat in silence for a moment, Mick still smiling, and Ron staring at the chess set. 
 
 `` Would you like to play?'' asked Mick. 
 
 Ron could n't see the harm in it, and he did n't need to be home for a couple more hours. `` Sure.'' 
 
 Mick's eyes lit up. `` Good! But first...'' He handed Ron the paper he had retrieved from the desk. 
 
 `` Pick a name.''
