“You sonofabitch! You wrecked my life!” The door slammed into the wall hard enough to knock the bell chime off, as a young man stormed to the counter. His friend picked up the bell, abortively tried to hook it back on, failed, and followed him. The shopkeeper stood up, scowling, and pointed to the sign behind him.

“No refunds!”

“My family’s dead!” Several customers’ heads turned as he slammed an ornate box on the counter. “My family’s dead and you think I want a refund?” His fist raised as his voice reached a scream. His friend caught his arm.

“Matt, stop!”

“No! I want-”

“Matt, it wasn’t this shop.” The man staggered, cut off mid-sentence and tried to pull his hand free.

“But-”

“Where’s the antiques? You said it was a younger guy behind the counter.” The man, presumably Matt, looked round, finally taking in the stacks of grubby white boxes and grimy paint cans that filled the shelves.

“But it has to be here,” he said, sounding lost. “We’ve tried everywhere else.”

“And you couldn’t find the right shop,” the shopkeeper said, unimpressed. “So you came storming into mine.”

“We’re really terribly sorry,” the friend said. "It's been a rough time." The shopkeeper just grunted, straightening his stool and sitting down as he opened his newspaper with a snap of pages.

Matt simply folded, sinking down, his back against the counter. His head was buried in his hands, muffling his voice.

“So what am I going to do?” he said through crossed arms. “I can’t get them back, and it’s still out there. I can hear it.” The shopkeeper ignored him, reaching over the ornate box to take a white cardboard box from another customer, ringing it up and passing her her change. He had to stretch to do it, but Matt was oblivious. “The scratching every night as it gets closer.”

“Not my problem.” The shopkeeper glowered, pulling his stool across nearer to the counter and sitting down.

“But maybe, maybe it came from the same place as your-”

“No chance,” the shopkeeper said scornfully, picking up the ornate box and pitching it into the rubbish bin by the counter. “You bought a wish. We only sell miracles here.” Satisfied his counter was clear again, he reached down for his newspaper.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

“It’d take a miracle to-” Matt's mind caught up with his words, and he stopped short, looking up at his friend.

“You think it will work?” the other man said with sudden hope.

“We have to try. Come on!” He scrambled to his feet. “There must be something.”

“You want an undo,” the shopkeeper advised, turning the newspaper page.

“Yes. If I’d known, I’d never have bought it.” The pair started searching the stacks with more enthusiasm than sense.

“Money? Won't help. They've got a Karma over here?" His friend asked.

“That won't bring back the dead." Matt lifted up another box. “To know then what I know now?" They were making a collassal racket, and the other customer in the store was beginning to look nervous. The shopkeeper glowered.

“Oi!" The shopkeeper called, and they both jumped almost guiltily. "Something to undo the harm?” Before they could make more of a mess of the shop, the shopkeeper dumped a large tin double-handed onto the counter. The words ‘make it not have happened’ were written on the side. The pair looked at it, and Matt's jaw dropped.

“I'd do anything," he murmured, silently wetting dry lips.

“Then pay for it," the shopkeeper said, exasperated.

“How much?”

“Two hundred and seventy-one thousand, nine hundred and fifty-eight pounds and seven pence.” The man stared.

“But that’s all I’ve got left from...” he trailed off. The shopkeeper shrugged a laconic shoulder.

“You tried getting something for nothing. How’d that work out for you?”

“There’s no chance of a discount?” Matt ventured. The unimpressed stare turned from him to the store’s policy board ‘No Discounts, No Refunds, No Exchanges’ and back to him. He was honest enough to cringe.

“They’ve got a ‘make it better’ over here for a tenner,” his friend called out helpfully from further in the stacks. Matt sighed.

“And this will get my family back?” The answer was another laconic shrug.

“Take it or leave it,” the shopkeeper said. The customer lowered his head, snatched his card out of his wallet and held it out. The shopkeeper glowered.

“Cash only.”

“Shit. The ATM doesn’t go that high.”

“Not my problem.”

“Ok, wait.” Matt braced himself, stripped the Rolex off his wrist and dropped it on the counter. “It’s real.”

There was no response, just a steady glance from the watch back to him. His car keys followed, then another set, then the house keys. The shopkeeper finally spoke.

“You’re short four sixty-three.” The man dug into his pockets, dropping change on the counter.

“Four. Sixty-two, sixty - oh come on dammit - sixty-three.” The shopkeeper took his time counting it back painfully slowly before, with a final glower, he opened the till and dropped the keys and the change in. The tin was pushed across the counter and snatched up with almost indecent haste.

“Come on, let's see if it worked.” He listened for a second, shook his head as if he couldn’t hear something he had grown too used to, and ran out with his friend hot on his heels. The fallen door-chime scraped on the ground as the door closed behind them.

The shopkeeper looked after them for a long irritated moment. Then he looked down and stamped once, hard. Something crunched underfoot.