A quiet town of no significance to anyone who doesn't live there, "Nowhere" is a place that has come to appreciate the lack of excitement in these trying times.

In fact, some have taken advantage of the opportunity to move in seemingly to escape the madness and chaos of modern living. It's almost like a vision of "the way things used to be"; clean streets, the locals are respectful but not unfriendly, the kids play outside and the teens draw the line at benign vandalism around Halloween, most of the time.

And yet...

There is a place like this in every town such as this one- A place that some just instinctively dislike; a specific location that some people just can't help but avoid, surrounded by rumors because nobody seems to know the history of it/just where it came from.

Intriguingly's is one such place.

By all appearances, it's just an antique shop. Nobody knows where the goods come from- they never see trucks or other deliveries, even the mail service doesn't seem to go there!

The owner/operator doesn't ease any confusion or tension; "Lewis Orpheus-Kornelius Imp"; "Mr. Imp", as he introduces himself. pale as the grave, eyes yellow and bloodshot, long bony fingers, hooked nose, slightly frizzy short blonde hair and an ever present toothy grin. He always wears the same attire; a well worn top hat, and a positively 19th century suit, complete with an overcoat that was more stitches than actual cloth at this point. He would have blended right in with a traveling side-show. Nobody really knows who he is, where he came from, or even where he lives. In fact, nobody has even seen him outside of his shop!

Local teens often browse the shop, in the same spirit of games like "Who will step closest to the haunted house"; there's a rumor that people who stay in the shop too long just... "Disappear".

And yet, people do sincerely patronize the establishment; not often enough that Intriguingly's has lost it's mystery, but most don't talk about the place.

One day, Nowhere was going about it's day like any other, including a few browsers of the antique shop, and some truant youths pretending to browse, and Mr. Imp pointing to a sign on the wall, reciting his rules for them as if it were the first time, in his creepy, breathy voice that somehow projects to the entire front of the store, "-And remember, young ones, these simple rules to abide: Hoods down, Sunglasses off. No open Backpacks, You break it, you buy it, Indoor voices, Walking Feet, and-" He pointed a gnarly digit to a large, framed red sign on a wall- "Do Not Open The Back-Room Door..." His gesture shifted to a short hall, where there was a heavy door just passed the restroom. No locks, or bolts, not even a sign, and even the arrangement of shelves and merchandise seems as if even the antiques give the door a healthy amount of space.

And it was the only time Mr. Imp stopped smiling. It snapped back, of course, as he finished, taking off his hat and giving a bow, "Follow the rules, and we can all be friends. Welcome to Intriguingly's, and have a nice day!"

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.

No, this wasn't just a coincidence.

Allie decided she had very deliberately shown up at the creepy place with the creepy name and the creepy owner. Because it's there and freely available for perusing in that quaint way one entered a nursing home full of old people. And because Amanda had used that grin, the one that said she'd wanted proof Allie had actually been there before she designed another tattoo free of charge. The clockwork budgerigar she wanted since she was twelve. Her fluorescent pink sneakers chafed at the worn pavement underneath. Toecap tapping impatiently, because Allie was nothing if not leaking energy in places. Face glued to the display of feathered caps, a book opened on yellow pages with what she guessed was saying Ad hominem or some other generic Latin phrase in faded black ink. Allie flashed a toothie grin at her vague reflection in the window. An excavation of shit you couldn't believe people used to own and buy. That was the fun kind of old, honestly.

“Mandy, babe, just take a guess at who I found at the weird place!” The picture loaded in of Allie's smug face, brown bangs uncombed equally brown eyes that typical mischievous glint. A piece sign right next to one of those medical school skeleton things. “Still a spineless shit.” Which, ironically, genuinely missing a vertebrae. That made her grin even wider.

After several seconds her phone buzzed in a jolly jingle, Allie looked at it. “Not funny, Allie.” Then after a beat. “Alex wasn’t that boney.”

“That wasn’t the point, but… fair. He had greasy bratwurst fingers and a pot belly.” Allie replied with the blunt side of a very heavy sledgehammer. “Okay that was mean, but you can’t deny the spine looks familiar.” And that, at least, got Amanda to reply with a cry-laughing emoji and several rolling ones. Along with a pointed; “You’re terrible.”

“That’s my middle name! Don’t wear it out, hun.” She sniggered, all impish glee. “Anyway, I'm going to brave the gauntlet now. Break a leg?”

“You’re actually going in? I was joking!”

“And I’m not. C’mon, you wanted to see the inside anyway. I’ll send pics.”

And with that, Allie stepped into that infamous place that stank of old wood and dusty old tomes. Phone tucked into her pocket, board tucked under her arm. The bell chimed, it sounded like the waking of the dead and the grin didn’t seem to falter.

Dante had somehow turned Nowhere into content.

It wasn’t even hard. The town did most of the work. Cute shops, clean streets, seasonal decorations, and just enough charm that if he framed it right, people online loved it. Dante just knew how to sell it. Good lighting, decent angle, a caption that made everything sound more interesting than it actually was, and suddenly people cared about a town they’d never heard of.

Which was how he ended up outside Intriguingly’s. People kept bringing it up. Followers, locals, even a couple teens who had laughed when he asked about it, like they already knew he wouldn’t go inside. That alone was enough to make him do it.

So here he was. From the outside, the place looked like a normal antique shop. Old sign, dusty windows, way too much stuff crammed into the display. It should’ve looked charming.

It didn’t.

“Okay,” Dante muttered, checking himself in his phone. “If this ends badly, just know this was for content.” He hit record. “So apparently this is the weirdest shop in Nowhere,” he said, slipping into influencer mode. “Which is impressive, because this town treats a bake sale like a major event. It’s called Intriguingly’s, which already sounds like a bad decision, and I’ve had multiple people tell me not to go in, so obviously now I have to.”

He stopped recording, uploaded it to Insta, then adjusted his bag, and stepped inside. The bell above the door rang. Inside was worse. Dim, crowded, too many shelves packed into narrow aisles. Everything looked like antiques. Mirrors, jewelry, silverware, perfume bottles, dolls, of course there were dolls. It smelled like dust and old wood. There were people inside browsing.

Then the voice started. Dante didn’t need anyone to tell him that was Mr. Imp. He stayed quiet, listening as the rules got listed off. Then he said not to open the back door. And by pointing it out, Dante’s eyes went to it automatically.

It looked normal. Just an ordinary door down a short hallway. No lock. No warning sign. Nothing dramatic. But now it had become the most important thing in the room.

After the little speech ended. People went back to pretending everything was fine.

Dante stepped further in. “Qué lindo,” he muttered. “Super normal.” He moved toward one of the displays, keeping his expression easy. Some of the stuff was actually nice. Rings laid out on velvet. Old perfume bottles. Fancy silverware. Of course the creepy place had good taste. But the entire time, his eyes drifted back to the door they were told not to open. That was the part he didn’t like. Not the rule. The fact that everyone else was clearly trying not to care about it.

Dante pulled out his phone again. He opened the camera, keeping his voice low this time. “So. Quick update,” he murmured. “The vibes in here are awful, everyone’s pretending not to care about one specific door, and I’m starting to think the locals may have undersold how weird this place is.” He glanced toward the hallway again, then back to his phone. “If I stop posting after this, assume I made a bad decision.”

He ended the clip. Didn’t upload it. For a second, he just stood there, phone in hand, staring toward that damn door. Still telling himself he wasn’t going anywhere near it.

Standing outside the shop in the middle of Nowhere, Dr. Brayden Pointe recalled the conversation that played out earlier in the day.

“I tell you, you have to check out Intriguingly’s,” the old man began.

Carefully examining the Black Lab standing patiently on the floor of examination room two, Brayden had listened to the grizzled ex-Marine who had brought the dog in for its annual check-up and the most recent booster of rabies, Bordetella, and some other vaccines.

“There’s no place like it. It’s got some of the strangest things you’ve ever seen. Memorabilia from horror movies, things that look like they could be straight out of a coroner’s office. If you like weird and bizarre, that is the place to go.”

Brayden had chuckled and tucked the conversation away. He hadn’t planned on going to the antique shop, but when he found himself passing by after a long day at work, curiosity got the better of him, and he pulled his Subaru Outback over to the curb. Staring at it for a minute, Brayden studied the shop with its tall glass windows and the intricately designed lettering declaring the name of the shop: INTRIGUINGLY’S.

He bit his lip as he stared at the place. He had been up and down this road dozens of times, driven past twice a day on his way to and from the clinic. Why hadn’t he noticed it before?

Getting out of the SUV, Brayden stepped from the roadway onto the sidewalk and made his way to the shop. Even from outside the store, he now understood what the old man had said. Behind the glass was an old-fashioned Singer sewing machine like the one his grandmother had owned, an armchair, tattered and torn, sitting beside a trunk older than time. The framed painting of what looked like some more horrific version of Dante’s Inferno had caught his eye, but it was the skeletal display of a creature that must have been a dog that held his attention. With teeth longer than any he had ever seen and a shape that seemed unnaturally long, the doctor’s curiosity was piqued, and he walked toward the door and pulled it open.

Instantly, the young veterinarian was overwhelmed by the mixture of scents that attacked his nose. Dust and perfume filled the air, and the soft, eerie sound of organ music played in the background. Brayden almost left the shop, but wanting a better look at the bony specimen from the window, he took a step in, ready to sneeze.

Wanting to make a quick entrance and a speedier departure, Brayden walked toward the front counter, looking for someone who could help. Intriguingly’s was not well staffed, and the number of customers walking about could be counted on two hands.

When he almost sneezed again and felt his chest tighten, he was ready to leave the shop, but his eyes caught a display out near the back, and the doctor was hooked. More skeletal creatures lined the shelves and ornate cages hung from the ceiling with invisible strings, but it was the instruments and tools a veterinarian like himself might use, all from a bygone era, that caused him to stay.

A mirror appeared to faintly glow around it's edges, just in as Allie stepped into view.

A music box played its melancholy melody for Miko.

From the desk, Mr. Imp had been conspicuously keeping a close watch on Brayden, who seemed mesmerized by old medical implements, until he slowly turned his head to the hall, and his attention to Dante. His face was unnervingly frozen in an expression (or perhaps an approximation) of 'pleasantness', but his eyes narrowed as he spoke in a tone that couldn't quite be pinned down.

"Do you need the restroom key, sir?"

His attention snapped to the opposite corner of the shop, at the sound of a bang, and a crash!

"-Oh, oh dear! Are you alright? Oh, now you know why there was a sign to 'ask for assistance'; we've learned something, today..." He shuffled over to help some of the youths, wringing his hands the whole way and forgetting all about Dante.

Meanwhile, Dante heard something- a feint noise, muffled, but definitely a voice!

"Do you need the restroom key, sir?"

The voice wasn’t loud, but Brayden turned to the sound, thinking the question was directed at him. Catching sight of the voice’s owner, the veterinarian’s jaw dropped. Dressed in a top hat and a suit that Charles Dickens, or some 19th-century nobleman, might wear, the man had ashen skin and yellow, bloodshot eyes. Thinking this person was some antique store ghost, or maybe a mascot or some strange live performance, Brayden watched, waiting to see what would happen next.

With a hooked nose and bony fingers, the ghost of a man was focused on a younger man who could not have been more different. Well-dressed and confident, the younger person was the type Brayden often saw walking around the city, taking selfies in strange places and making sure every food they ate was recorded and posted online. For a second, he laughed, thinking about the social media influencer who had come into his clinic and wanted to post a TikTok video of Brayden and him saving a cat… reminding people that every cat has nine lives… something like that.

Before the younger man could reply to the ghost, a crash exploded from across the dark and dusty store, and the strange man began to shuffle off, muttering under his breath.

“Oh, oh dear! Are you alright? Oh, now you know why there was a sign to ‘ask for assistance’; we’ve learned something today…”

Interrupted by the events that had just unfolded, Brayden looked away from the man and noticed the others in the store. There was a girl, late teens, early twenties, with a skateboard rolling at her feet, a smile on her face. She was walking by the tall, ornate stand-up mirror off to the side, and when Brayden saw it begin to glow, he couldn’t help but think that this, like the man, was just one more antique store gimmick. Off to the right and standing by another shelf stood another shopper: a pretty woman with black hair and big, bright eyes. She had looked at the strange man too, but now her focus was back on the old music box resting in her hands.

Turning back to the tall shelf in front of him, Brayden began picking carefully through the implements one by one. Antique scalpels, bone saws, clamps, these were the things of old veterinary kits, outdated and worn but still very useful, dangerous in the wrong hands. Looking at the shelf above, there were stranger and more bizarre objects: glass jars with preserved specimens, organs, small animals things that didn’t quite match any known anatomy he had studied.

Curious about almost every item on the shelves, Brayden looked up for the strange character and called out,

“Excuse me. Can someone help?”

Seeing the man focused on the cleanup on the other side of the store, Brayden began walking toward him, a dozen or more questions already in his head.

Intriguingly’s had something of a thick air within. As Miko moved carefully and quietly through the creaking, aching and groaning store of oddities, she found herself focusing on her breath. The scent of stale air laced with dust filled her nostrils and her inquisitive eyes slid over the cluttered shelves. It was as if this place were owned by a chronic hoarder that had lived several lifetimes, accumulating what seemed like, at first glance, worthless junk. Miko daren’t touch what sprawled drunkenly across the shop shelves. Fraying books, chipped trinkets, faded upholstery on weathered wood… This place harboured the memories of many. They were weaved into every inch of the place. Miko thought to herself that someone could surely spend hours upon hours exploring each of these wares.

"Do you need the restroom key, sir?"

A voice that sounded like gravel crunching beneath heavy tyres. Miko glanced both ways, searching for the creature that had spoken. Between the slivers of gaps between shelf upon shelf, Miko spotted who she could only assume was responsible for that rasping, chilling sound. A bowler hat licked with a dusting that was undoubtedly majority flaked skin. Skin that shamed the cracked, worn leather of the rickety armchairs in the window. Eyes that peered out from sunken sockets, hooded and beady if not for their widened gaze shooting across the shop floor. Miko moved quickly to conceal herself behind an overfilled bookshelf, obscuring herself from the man’s view. Surely he was in costume? A gimmick to match Intriguingly’s haunting atmosphere? That man dressed as if Halloween were all year round. She busied herself reading the book titles that were still legible on the bookshelf she was shielding herself with.

Suddenly, she felt the sensation of someone’s eyes on her. Miko tensed. She spotted a tall man earnestly examining some instruments that were pulled from a seemingly bottomless leather bag. It was an old-fashioned doctor’s bag at a quick glance. The openings framed by a tarnished gold metal piping, cavernous as a mouth. The man’s expression was that of piqued intrigue, his fingers running along the once-sharp edge of a bone saw and gripping rusted scalpels. Miko thought to herself that, if they were anywhere else but Intriguingly’s, she would think this were a strange scene indeed. A man fascinated by dangerous tools? Eyeing them as if allured like a moth to flame? She averted her gaze, focusing instead on a music box that sat dumped in a wooden crate packed with other miscellaneous antiques.

Her Mother had owned a music box just like this one. A vintage Disneyland memorabilia, covered in stains and a copper clasp that stuck stubbornly when open and closed. She had loved when her Mother had plucked it from her dressing table, crouching at the knees to be face-to-face with little Miko. That old music box, despite its decrepit appearance, still burst into song with every opening of its lid. The song had slowed with age and the mechanisms within clunked over the notes with the lack of an elegance it once possessed. Her Mother had smiled fondly with every play of that tune, humming along and enjoying the hypnosis it induced in her little daughter. Miko, now much older and less susceptible to seduction by antique music boxes without the hum of her wonderful late Mother, palmed Intriguingly’s music box curiously. She thumbed the worn wood, biting down pensively on her bottom lip, debating snapping that lid open. She wondered if this old thing could still hold a tune…

Miko’s phone buzzed in her pocket. A call from her manager at the office. Her eyes widened. How had her lunch break evaporated so quickly? She slid her thumb across the screen, answering the call and pressing her phone to her ear. Her voice was hushed, lowered to avoid the attention of the other customers of Intriguingly’s.

“Miko - Everything alright? You took your lunch break 32 minutes ago.”

Did they really notice when she left? When she was due to return? Miko was sure they barely noticed her at all.

“Oh, sorry. So sorry. Phil, I-“ Miko’s voice wavered, hesitating at what her mind had already decided she’d do. “I’m not feeling too well, actually. I’m in a restroom down the road right now… I hadn’t realised the time. I should’ve called…”

Miko was never late. She never called out. She clocked in and clocked out at that soulless office job religiously day after day, showing up even when others made the excuse of public transport issues or snow on the roads…

“That’s fine, Miko” Phil conceded. Miko released the breath she’d been holding. “Take the rest of the day. If you can’t make it in tomorrow, send me an email.”

Miko nodded. Then, realising Phil couldn’t see her nodding, she mumbled in agreement and said her goodbyes. She slid her phone back into her pocket and felt a rush of excitement. She’d skipped out on work! To spend more time in a creepy antique store down the street! This was unlike her. But there was something about this place that kept her bound by curiosity. She wasn’t ready to be shackled back at her desk, answering emails and staring at a phone that never rang.

Dante looked up when Mr. Imp spoke to him. For a second, he just blinked at him, a little thrown off by the fact that the guy had apparently noticed exactly where he was looking. Then his eyes looked toward the hall, then back again. “The restroom?” he repeated. “No. I’m good.” He put the lighter back down and gave a small shrug, trying to play it off. “Just looking.”

Then the crash from across the shop pulled his attention away.

Dante turned at the sound. Something had hit the floor hard enough to make him flinch, and apparently Mr. Imp’s attention had gone with it, because the man was already fussing over whatever happened and not looking at him anymore. “Okay,” he muttered under his breath. “Weird.”

His eyes drifted back toward the hall. That’s when he heard it. It was faint. Easy enough that he almost missed it under everything else going on in the shop… but it was definitely a voice. He couldn’t make out what it was saying, if it was even saying anything at all, but it was there. Coming from the direction of the hall.

Dante frowned. For a second he just stood there listening, phone still in one hand, as the rest of the shop was moving along doing whatever it was doing. And under all of it, that voice. His gripped his phone tighter “Nope,” he murmured to himself. “We’re not doing this…”

Then he glanced toward the front of the shop, back toward the hallway, and immediately got annoyed because curiosity was already winning.

“No seas tonto,” he muttered. Still, curiosity won out. He slowly stepped in that direction. Enough to hear better. That was all. Maybe he imagined it, and there would be nothing. Dante hesitated, then called out, not too loud, like he already regretted it, “Uh… hello? Is someone back there?”

Allie was in her element. Places like these crawled with stories she could tell in that exaggerated tone where Amanda and her other friends needed to stare incredulous and in awe at the same time. Tiny oil paintings of swirls and shapes that probably depicted humans like Edvard Munch’s The Scream. Very disproportionate, and yet very funny. The smirk crept wider, head tilted into something curious when her eyes fell on the other visitors. A young woman, somewhere around her age, maybe not. Looked bookish, the type her kind used to irritate for sport in high school because back then she didn’t know better. The skater gal’s smirk became an apologetic smile while she browsed the rest of the shop.

The other people, some influencer who’d been recording when he stepped in made Allie’s nose scrunch. Not that she had much ground to stand on. She overshared pretty much anything, but to strangers? Yeah, not exactly worth her time if she was being honest. The other man, tall, broad shouldered. Honestly a variety of people around.

Allie huffed, her attention caught by the sudden clang of something clattering down. Maybe falling, she couldn’t quite say. The shrill voice of the owner ringing out with what she figured must either be annoyance or a default tone. Allie sidled along stacks of second hand books and some old Victorian-style oil lamp when she noticed the stand-up mirror. Decorated with an ornate wooden frame. Those classic swirls and cured oak. It glowed at the edges of the mirror. Allie paused, blinked to make sure she wasn’t dreaming and it did it again as if responding.

“That, ah…” She scratched her cheek, eyes trying to catch any attention. A vague gesture towards the mirror’s third glow, like a pulse that made her imagine she could travel through into a different realm. “Anyone else seeing this?” She asked nobody in particular, doubt laced in her usually chirpy voice. Her sneakers squeaked when she took a half step back, mouth open. Perplexed.

Dante hesitated, then called out, not too loud, like he already regretted it, “Uh… hello? Is someone back there?”

A feint, child-like voice answered, "...Hello?... Mister?... I'm sorry I opened your door... I'm so cold, please, can I go home?"

Meanwhile, Mr. Imp was patiently ushering the teenagers out, one of whom stopped to make eyes at Allie. He tried to look cool, but he clearly didn't know what "cool" looked like. The fact he had to hold his pants up with one hand didn't help; the belt, though buckled, was cut clean through in one spot, so it could no longer perform it's function. He said to her, "How you doin'?-"

Mr. Imp pushed him along, "Now now, it's time to move along, before the local authorities catch you here! Move along, thank you, come again..."

He frowned at the door once it was shut behind the youths, as well as the car with the dogs in it, barking at him. He resumed his mask of a smile when he glanced at Allie, "My apologies, miss; were you finding everything?"

His pants were about halfway to giving up on sitting just right, that was the opposite of cool. That was the literal opposite of being even remotely cool. This acne-riddled teenager was playing the suave cool dude while clutching his fucking camo shorts, and it was the funniest thing in the room. “Hey yourself.” It was instinct. She wasn’t the least bit charmed. Just going through the motions when someone made even the worst attempt at flirting. Allie’s face went red, cheeks puffed, because having to hold in a devastatingly embarrassing laugh was taking all the effort she could muster. “Your belt has given up.” Her tone was the equivalent when mentioning someone’s flies were down.

… She just hoped he got ushered out more quickly.

Brown eyes flicked away when that laugh traitorously slipped out like air from a balloon held to make a squeaky sound, but Allie was sure the boy hadn’t heard. Small mercies, really. The poor kid was probably dealing with a hard life already. The bell jingled again, then a second time when the door clicked shut and the skater gal was now dealing with the Halloween Victorian gentleman of this establishment. Something about Mr. Imp’s inflection made her want to behave. Just a tiny bit.

“Teenagers, huh?” She allowed the tiniest smirk.

“Ah, yes…” She gestured vaguely at the mirror again. “Just browsing, honestly. I-” The edges pulsed once more, drawing her attention from the salesman. Allie almost convinced herself it was a trick of the light hitting the reflective surface.

… Almost.

“Those are built-in LED-strips, right?” Her tone wavered, expression uncertain yet curious. And everyone knew what was said about curiosity and cats.

Brayden had started to make his way toward the strange proprietor of the shop when, again, he noticed the mirror emit the dim, luminescent glow he had seen earlier. It caught his attention from the corner of his eye, but this time the light seemed to linger a moment, then two, longer than before. He stopped to study it, but seeing the young woman watching it too, he didn’t stare any longer, not wanting her to think his focus was on her.

Although his curiosity was piqued, Brayden turned back to Imp. He saw the man still trying to usher out the teens, and when the owner of the shop opened the door to shoo them out, Brayden heard the sound of dogs barking and immediately knew it was his two best friends, Scooby and Doo, making the noise, begging for his return. Giving up his turn to speak to the impish man, Brayden headed outside and walked over to his SUV.

“Scooby, Doo, quiet, boys,” he pleaded, but the two dogs seemed anxious and relentless, and when he opened the door to calm them down, the two black Labs scampered out of the car and waited eagerly at his feet. Tongues lolling from their mouths, Brayden scratched each of the dogs at the base of their ears and then leaned into the car and grabbed each of their leads.

It was a quick stroll down the road as the veterinarian let the dogs sniff at each lamp post and raise their back legs at fences. With their red leashes hanging loosely between his fist and their collars, Brayden let the dogs stretch their legs before they had to head back to the car. Reaching the intersection one block down, Brayden gave a gentle tug on each lead and quietly muttered, “Stop,” then, “Turn.”

Well-behaved and quick, the dogs turned and headed back. As they approached Intriguingly’s Emporium, Scooby pulled toward the shop and Doo toward the car. Still interested in speaking to the owner and learning more about the skeletal remains in the shop, Brayden followed his dog and pulled the other with them.

Looking at the shop windows and the entrance to the store, there were no bylaw regulations posted, no fines threatened, or warnings against dogs. So, opening the door, Brayden walked inside and called out, “Do you mind if I bring my dogs inside?”

Not hearing yes and definitely not hearing no, Brayden stepped inside the shop and looked for the strange man. In his garish outfit, Imp was easy to spot, but now he had retreated to the back of the emporium and was chatting with the girl by the mirror. After turning back to look at the front window display, Brayden spotted the skeletal creature that caught his attention, the one that had lured him into the store.

Looking back toward Imp, who was clearly busy with the girl, the doctor breathed in deeply, then sighed. Stepping into the window display, Brayden reached out to pull at the display when he felt a sudden tug at his arms.

Scooby was already growling and pulling away. Doo was whimpering more quietly but tugging just as hard. As if they sensed some danger, some power, or the need to protect, both dogs pulled hard together, and the young doctor was tossed off his feet. Tripping over a box, then landing on his face, Brayden lost his grip on the leashes, and the dogs were now free in the store.

Always the protector and braver of the two, Scooby stayed by his side, but Doo had run off into the store. Worried about his one dog running free, Brayden grabbed the leash of his protector, then brushed off his hands and rose to his feet.

“Doo,” he called out in his loudest whisper. “Come here, boy.”

When the younger dog stayed hidden somewhere else in the store, Brayden began his search, which was over in a second or two.

Lying only ten, maybe fifteen paces away, his smaller black Lab had taken refuge at the feet of another girl in the shop, this one with black hair, mid-twenties or so, a large cross on her chest.

Miko had returned her phone to her handbag, adjusting the strap on her shoulder somewhat anxiously. Her eyes flicked round the strange antique store, wondering what exactly about this place was drawing her in. There seemed to be a heaviness in the air, something that triggered an unsettling yet magnetic stir in her gut. Just as the young woman’s gaze slid back to the cluttered shelves, another commotion behind her commanded her attention. A black Labrador, eyes bright and alert, was bounding towards her. Its tail wagged erratically lowered between its hind legs, excitable yet anticipative of something. Miko instantly lowered to a crouch and extended a hand for the Lab to scent. It’s cool, wet nose snuffed against her fingertips, huffs of warm breath against her palm. A small smile plucked at the corners of her lips, the irresistible charm of an animal softening her exterior. The young dog, still so puppy-like in its demeanour, nuzzled its way between her knees. That soft, jet black head bumped against her hands, demanding pets and attention Miko was all too willing to give.

“Hello, little one…” she crooned, tone soft yet animated, using both hands to ruffle the spot between its ears.

She wondered if the strange store owner would be accepting of dogs amongst his precious collections. Miko’s head snapped side to side, searching for the owner.

“Doo,” came a loud whisper. “Come here, boy.”

Doo had different plans. He’d settled nicely between Miko’s legs and seemed content receiving the enthused pats along the length of his back, tail still wagging happily. She glanced up to find the man who’d been analysing the vintage surgical tools a moment ago, another black labrador at his heel. She smiled weakly, hands still busily giving the young dog love. Well, at least she knew who this adorable animal belonged to…

“I’m not sure who’s protecting who, here…” Miko said hesitantly, laughing meekly, her usual disdain for talking to strangers melting away with every nuzzle from Doo.

She lowered her face to speak directly to the young Labrador.

“Can you feel what I’m feeling, little one?” she cooed. “It’s a strange place here, huh?”

Doo seemed to be either oblivious or uncaring about the creepy atmosphere. His claws clacked against the floorboards as he shuffled excitably from paw to paw, the weight of him against her somewhat anchoring. Miko looked up, searching for that signature garish outfit that the owner was wearing. She spotted him at the other side of the store, talking to a young woman by a large mirror. Satisfied they were safe for now, permitted to continue enjoying the unexpected affections of a young dog, Miko looked up at Doo’s owner.

“He’s so friendly!” she said. “I bet you struggle to get anywhere fast with him saying hi to everyone he sees?”

As she huffed a small laugh, something clattering behind her made Miko jolt. Doo startled in sync with her, the two of them craning their necks to peer behind them. One of the dusty books had fallen from the shelf overhead, landing on the worn floorboards face-down. Before she had the chance to return it to its rightful place, there was another thud as the second book tumbled from the shelf to the ground. This one landed with both leather covers parted, the spine almost audibly groaning, pages splayed like limbs. Miko’s brow furrowed. There was no one else in this corner of the store other than Miko, Doo, the other dog and their owner. No one lurking the other side of the shelves. Nothing. Then, like dominoes, the other books on the shelf began tumbling down. The sound of hardbacks colliding with the ground and paper pages crunching erupted around Miko and Doo. She got to her feet just as Doo began to huff nervously, hooking her fingers through the collar of the young Labrador, stepping over the paper carcasses that surrounded them. Seemingly out of harms way, Miko turned back to where she’d just been crouched. At least 15 books had toppled unexpectedly from their homes. It looked as if someone had rattled the brittle wooden shelves and sent them tumbling to the ground. But Miko knew that wasn’t the case. Nothing nor no one had caused this. They’d made their bid for freedom all on their own.

Glancing at the dogs owner nervously, she wondered if perhaps he’d seen something she hadn’t. Then, worried Doo might get the blame, she began carefully returning the books to their rightful place. Slotting them back in, cover to cover, that unsettling feeling had returned to her gut. This shop had an otherworldly feel about it. She wondered whether this would be the last of the strange happenings.

“Well that was… Freaky?” she said curiously to no one in particular. Doo let out a little whine from his owners heel.

Her voice had trailed off as she slotted the final book back into a gap. Miko half expected the owner to appear, those beady eyes and beaky face looking upon her all accusatory. She turned to face the man who clutched at his dogs leads, an equally confused expression knitted into his features.

“You saw that, right?” Miko whispered.

Dante froze. He definitely heard a voice down there. And a kid, no less. Or someone trying to sound like a kid…

Dante glanced toward the front of the shop. Mr. Imp was busy ushering the teenagers out. Nobody else seemed to be reacting to the voice. Either they hadn’t heard it, or he was losing his mind.

“Dios mío,” he murmured, mostly to himself. “This is how people die.”

He hesitated another second. Then, because curiosity got the better of him, Dante took a slow step closer.

“Hello?” he called, quieter this time, like he didn’t want Mr. Imp hearing him any more than he already had to. “…Who’s in there?”

He stopped again, glancing once toward the front of the shop before looking back toward the door.

“I’m not opening it,” he added quickly. “Just…” He exhaled. “Are you okay?”

Suddenly, Doo's ears perked up, looking towards... The hall!

Faster than anyone could react, the well intentioned Good-est of Boys charged in that direction, swooping between Dante's legs! From there, he stood, putting himself between the stranger and the door, barking and hopping in place, pawing, scratching at the door-

Causing the latch to turn, and the door to swing open...

There was only darkness beyond, but Doo lost his nerve, pressing his ears down and whimpering, scooting away as a pair of glowing red eyes appeared in the dark!

A voice spoke out, a mix of a child's voice, and something more gravelly. It said, in a sinister tone, "Thanks, Mister..."

At that moment, Mr. Imp appeared the end of the hall, eyes wide, and fearful! He shouted, "What have you DONE!?"

Before he could get a step down the hall (likely to close the door), the light's went out, and the entire shop was cast into an unnatural darkness, unbroken even by the light shining through the front windows!

It lasted for about three seconds, and then things got worse-

With a roar like that of a storm, the lights began flickering, unpredictably, giving a strobing effect while things crashed all around; some merely tipping from shelves, others flying across the room, and more still spinning as if picked up by a cyclone!

When the lights flickered, uncountable... Shadows, were swarming from the door, and a smoky swarm with those eyes, was looming towards Dante and Doo, a mocking laugh echoing until it suddenly cried out, and dispersed!

It was frightened off by Mr. Imp, holding something in his hand, a light shining from it- whatever it was, it allowed the shop owner to put himself between the thing and it's would-be victims!

Once it was gone, the lights came back on... Beyond the forbidden door, a now trashed and empty storeroom, with a single light shining in from a small, high window. Inside the shop, a similar state of chaos, shelves ruined and items strewn about.

Mr. Imp turned, looking down at Dante and Doo, a surly expression on his face as he shuffled through the wreckage. He calmly, quietly shut the front door, locked it, and turned his surly expression to the rest of them as he turned the sign to 'CLOSED'...

"Well, now... We've quite the mess on our hands, don't we?..."

Before he could stand from where he had fallen, Brayden watched the room explode into unexpected chaos. Scooby and Doo had bolted free, their red leashes dragging behind them as they moved further into the store. Without reason or force, books were suddenly  dislodged from their resting places and strewn wildly about the room. Getting up onto his knees, he saw the girl with the large cross begin to pick up the fifteen or so books that had been scattered on the floor.
 
Even though he called his black Lab back, the dog froze, and the hackles on his back stood straight up. Barking and pawing, Doo hustled toward the young man by the door. Positioning himself between the man and the door, the dog showed a courage he had lacked only minutes before. But when the door pushed open, the bravery was replaced by his typical anxiety and fear, and the dog began to nervously paw at the ground.
 

“Come on, Doo,” Brayden pleaded. “Let’s go.”

 
But rather than find his way back to his owner, the young dog began to whimper and whine, retreating slowly, his eyes fixed on the figure emerging through the door. Looking to the source of the pup’s distress, Brayden saw the bright red eyes and the almost ghoulish expression on its face. Rising more quickly, the veterinarian stood and moved toward his dog when the room was thrust into a darkness blacker than night.
 
Close behind him, Scooby stood rigid, growling at something Brayden couldn't yet see. The lights flickered and flashed while a strange, seemingly endless sound filled the room. From the doorway, shadows began to emerge. Slithering and wriggling, they spilled through the now cavernous opening, crawling over one another until a loud, hideous laugh erupted from the darkness and filled the air.
 
Thankful for the blinking light that briefly pierced the darkness, Brayden dropped into a crouch. With each flash, he caught glimpses of objects hurtling through the air, ricocheting toward every corner of the vast room and every dark, shadowed space between.
 
Suddenly, Imp, the store owner, strode forth and positioned himself between the monster behind the door and every visitor still in the room. The creature looked up at the light shining in the shopkeeper’s hand, and its face twisted into something more gruesome. Staring at the object held high in Imp’s hand, the creature seemed to become afraid, and before another word could be said, it turned and vanished back behind the door, or somewhere into the darkness, into the space between the intermittent flashes of light.
 
Once it was gone, the door slammed shut, and the dim lights of the shop came back on, seemingly brighter than before.
 
Standing tall, the veterinarian looked about the room. Unsure what he had just witnessed, he let out a breath and whispered louder than he expected.
 

“What was that?”

 
Mr. Imp turned, looking down at Dante and Doo, the placid expression on his face turning more stern. The older gent walked straight toward the door and twisted the sign.
 

"Well, now... We've quite the mess on our hands, don't we?..." the shopkeeper began.

 
Moving toward Scooby and then Doo, Brayden grabbed the loose leashes that hung from each dog. Holding them tight and close to his body, the vet looked around the room and then back to Imp.
 

“What was that?” he asked again.

 
Both dogs had calmed, but the room was still in a state. Books had exploded from the shelves, and the implements he had been looking at earlier were scattered across the floor. Everywhere he looked, the dark but orderly store had been transformed into a chaotic mess of overturned displays, broken trinkets, and debris.

Brayden held the leashes a little tighter and scanned the room as the immediate danger seemed to fade. His breathing was still quick, but his attention shifted away from the door and toward the people still standing among the wreckage.

Brayden frowned, taking in the scene with a doctor's eye. No one looked injured. Shocked, yes. Confused for sure. But everyone seemed healthy and alive and then his gaze returned to Imp.

“What was that?” he asked again for a third time, "And why did you close the door?"

Dante didn’t have time to react, when a dog bolted just bolted past him. “Hey!” He shouted as it went straight for the door, and barked it pawed at it. It was all fun and games until the latch clicked.

Dante’s stomach dropped. “No…”

The door swung open. It was just dark…

He froze.

Then the dog backed up, ears down, whining…

And those eyes…

“…oh, hell no.”

The voice came again. Wrong this time.

“Thanks, Mister…”

“Yeah, no… absolutely not.”

The lights went out.

Dante flinched, one hand coming up like that was going to help, heart pounding in his chest.

Then everything hit at once. Lights flickering. Stuff crashing. Glass breaking somewhere. Something slammed into a wall hard enough to make him jump.

“Mierda!” He grabbed the dog, pulling him back, not even thinking about it.

Then just as fast, it stopped.

Lights came back.

Silence.

Dante stayed there for a second, still half-crouched, one hand gripping the dog, breathing uneven.

“…okay,” he said, a little breathless. “No. That’s…” He let out a short, nervous laugh.“That’s not normal.” He pushed himself up, still keeping a hand on the dog, and looked toward Mr. Imp as the door locked and the sign flipped. “…yeah,” Dante said, running a hand through his hair. “I’m gonna need you to explain whatever the hell that was.”