A new patron approaches. A man can be seen hastily straightening towers of old books and knick-knacks. Junk, really. The true treasure of the Curio is the daily feature; a specially selected item or story fit for an audience of one. The man looks like a lunatic waving his hands around. He was tossing dust here and there and the metals all seemed to be developing a patina, tailoring every aspect of the experience for the next customer. They all want something different. Similar sometimes but each patron has unique tastes. And the feature finds the individual most suited to it. As does the Curio.

In any encounter, the Curio and its Curator appear as if they'd always been there. Tucked away in some forgotten alley. A hidden gem. It was a world wide phenomenon, present on six continents. And though the store front and contents would change, the Curator was always the same. A spindly man with too long limbs. He had a very slight hunch to his back necessitating a crooked neck bending up to look new patrons in the eyes. His eyes were the color of rust and dried blood, flecks of dark red mixed into grave dirt. His skin was nearly translucent but you couldn't see veins through the pallid complexion. But you could see bones in the right light with some patches of discolored grey skin blotted his features. His hair was black and slicked back.

A pair of bronze circle spectacles hung from a washed out gold chain around his neck, complimenting the worn brown and tan suit he always wore. He tied the whole look together with an enormous copper and onyx ring on his right index finger. It was embossed with vines and the gem setting looked like thorns trapping the onyx.

*ding-ding*

The old door chime signaled the patron entry. The Curator smiled to himself, a vicious curl of the lips revealing striking white teeth. He turned to the new customer and shifted the smile from pleasure to business.

"Welcome! Welcome! Is there anything I can help you find today?" The Curator's mouth felt strange belting out in the features language. French, if he remembered correctly. The patron, a young man in his 20's, looked around the shop. While he prided himself on the decor and set up, the Curator couldn't take credit for the contents. The Curio itself provided the bobbles and bits that attracted its prey. It operated much like an anglerfish, flashing shiny bait before snapping its jaws closed.

"I just noticed this place. I love antiquing. I don't know how I ever missed your shop!" the excited young man replied. He was distracted by a display case of pocket watches. The Curator sniffed the air in anticipation. Settling himself down, he glided across the floor silent as a held breath.

"Do you have any particular interests, young man?" The curator said right behind the patron.

"Je suis choquée!" The young man said and grabbed his chest in surprise.

"Apologies." The Curator grinned, perhaps a little too wide.

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The young man laughed. "No problem, I just didn't hear you come up behind me." They stood silently until it became awkward. "These watches are amazing. They look so old but like they are new at the same time. Does that make any sense?"

The Curator just nodded. The young man continued looking around the shop, expressing his amazement at the size and selection. The Curator just watched, following the patrons movements like a predator waiting for the time to strike with his infernal customer service grin plastered to his face.

After a few minutes of perusal and questioning the young man finally noticed the feature. A truly magnificent Mantle clock. Adorned in gold all over, topped with a woman in a stola that only covered one breast, clutching laurels to her chest in one hand and wielding a spear pointed toward the base of the clock where the devil could be seen etched into the base. The young man stared in awe at it.

"You have immaculate taste." The Curator told the patron. The young man flinched but didn't take his gaze from the time piece.

"I've never seen anything like it. The craftsmanship is so amazing!" He reached forward to trace his finger along the spear but stopped.

"Go on, touch it." The Curator prompted. The patron obliged. He walked around it, looking with his hands at all the details. Inspecting all of the details down to brushing fleetingly over the statues chest. The Curator smiled. The Patron blushed.

"Thank you for letting me handle it, but I can't afford such an amazing piece."

"Perhaps not, but I can't let you leave without something to remember it by. Perhaps a picture?" The Curator offered, extending his hand to take the young man's phone. The trap was set, and the bait was perfect. As always. The patron handed over his life line with a smile on his face.

Not that it mattered. Not really. The moment they had entered the Curio they were no longer in France. And while the Curator could have snapped the jaws shut the moment he heard the clanging of the door chime, but there's little fun in that. He wasn't so desperate that he couldn't play with his food.

So he did. He took the picture. He handed the phone back. The patron turned to look at the clock again.

It was time.

The curator pulled at his necktie and opened the buttons on his shirt. His back was hunched with a bent neck over a gaping maw of teeth and void. The false head lolled back and fell on the ground. The patron turned to face the noise and saw the spiky fissure of teeth and spines before him and screamed. He tried to run but was caught fast in by the too long arms and hands of the Curator. A rushing noise began, like wind during a tornado.

The young man strained against the grip. His shoulders suddenly popped out of socket. The Curator approached and the teeth dug into the soft, malleable flesh. He was being torn in half, ripped apart by preternatural strength and rending spikes The patron's screams were swallowed by the void, as was the color of his skin and hair, his blood, his soul. His time. A dusty bit of bones collapsed on the floor when the Curator released the body.

Sated, the lights of the Curio brightened. The Curator reattached his head, his cheeks had a little pink hue to them. He smiled the too white too wide smile. It had been a long time since their last meal. He forgot to eat sometimes, he so enjoyed his work. And now that he didn't need to feed again, he could return to his passion: collecting stories and art and people for the Curio. Every patron was both definitions; a valued customer and donor to the Curio. The young Frenchman's story wasn't over, he and the Mantlepiece had unfinished business. As did the Curator, who set about readying the store for the next story.