Miko looked up from her copy/paste work desk, a rickety wooden plank topped with her Macbook and a phone that scarcely rang, eyes scanning the rows of fellow corporate slaves that occupied the other desks in the office. She’d barely spoken to any of these people save for a polite exchange or two at the coffee machine. Sometimes, she could go the entire day without uttering a word to anyone. The office had a stale smell, carpets thinning and worn with the shuffles of less-than-enthused employees. She sighed, the clock on her Macbook staring back at her facetiously. It stubbornly refused to progress, refused to gift her even another minute. Some days, she’d challenge herself not to watch those numbers trickle by, to avert her eyes and allow time to pass naturally. But today she watched like a hawk, praying that the digital clock would read “16:59” and she could begin packing away.

Vacantly answering some emails with fingers that reluctantly probed the keyboard, Miko decided that once she’d cleared her inbox, she’d take lunch. The 45 minute break was sometimes the only thing that kept her going. The idea of leaving her desk for a while and staring at the back wall of the Staff Room was a respite she begged for daily. Her packed lunch, perfectly wrapped and stored in the exact same spot in the fridge, awaited her. Miko clicked send on her final email and cleared her throat. She rose from her seat, smoothing down the material of her tailored dress. Heels thudding against the threadbare carpet of the office, she made her way over to the staff fridge and hunched over the door. That yellow-hued, cool refrigerator light illuminated her face as she reached within and wrapped her hand around her lunch. Everyone knew it was hers. It was sat in her spot. Yet, still, she slapped a Post It with her name on to the foil wrapper. Just to be sure.

It was a serene, clear day in Nowhere. Miko had chosen to enjoy her lunch al fresco, taking slow steps along the pavement as she chomped down on her sandwich made of last nights leftovers. Her eyes steadily took in the streets of Nowhere, sandwich in one hand, handbag in the other. A pearl of mayonnaise beaded in the corner of her mouth as she spotted the infamous Antique Shop that she’d overheard some colleagues discussing in the printer room earlier today. They’d been complaining about the fact it occupied a “prime high street spot” and how “Nowhere would benefit from a Starbucks’s or something” instead of shelves filled with dusty trinkets and discarded possessions that were once loved and cast aside. Miko’s steps halted, her body turning toward the Antique Shop. It was the kind of bricks and mortar that harboured more than just the secrets within. It had a strange energy. One that Miko found herself curious to see with her own eyes. Wrapping the last of her sandwich, Miko crossed the road and made her way toward the shop. 

The window displays were cluttered with a vintage Singer sewing machine, an armchair with cracked leather worn by many asses and a trunk spilling over with assorted hats and scarves… Amongst other anonymous pre-loved items, Miko spotted a framed artwork depicting a religious scene. She squinted through the fingerprint-smudged glass and furrowed her brow. It seemed the painting was retelling the story of a soul damned, greeted by Satan’s servants in the fiery pits of hell. Miko wondered what sort of person would choose to hang this haunted picture in their home and shook her head. She glanced at her phone, brushing her thumb across the screen to awaken the time. Her clock informed her she had a meagre 25 minutes left. Only 25 minutes until she had to return to the shackles of her desk to answer more emails and stare blankly at a screen. So, she seized the opportunity to take a look inside. The door hinges groaned as Miko pushed her way in, the bell hung above the door rang out shrilly. She grimaced, eyes darting round to see if she’d awoke a sleeping beast that protected the heirlooms and mothballs of the Antique Shop. No such luck. Miko began to peruse the various shelves, taking slow and curious steps. Something about the place made her feel uneasy… Perhaps it was the damp. The smell of musky old clothes. Either way, she found herself thinking about the fact that so many wanted a Starbucks in lieu of this cultural paradise. she smiled to herself. This lunch break would certainly make the remainder of her working day move quickly.