“This can't be the place, right? It's practically falling over…" Bill Wolfe, a freshly minted college dropout in the midst of what was unquestionably the worst month of his life looked up at his supposed destination--a dilapidated two-story building that leaned precariously to the left--and then immediately looked back down at his phone's GPS. "The Cosmic Exchange. Huh... Maybe it's better on the inside?" He chuckled derisively and dusted off his jeans.
The building's crumbling exterior was painted to resemble the vastness of outer space. Once vibrant and inviting, if a little on the odd side, it was at least a decade past needing a touch-up. Faded planets and constellations adorned the weather-beaten facade, revealing the termite-eaten wooden slats that formed the skeleton of the building.
With a shake of his head, Bill reminded himself that what he really needed to do was save money. Although it was undeniable that this peculiar resale shop should've been condemned years ago, according to a few online reviews he'd read the night before, this was going to be his best shot at finding an inexpensive couch. So long as he could put up with the eccentric owner.
Should probably look for a table while I'm at it.
He didn't need anything special, just a few odds and ends that would endure his two month stay in town. After that, the bums were welcome to it for all he cared.
Locating some comfortable furniture would be great, but he was going to settle for whatever he could find. "Not like I'll be having any company over..." He grimaced, fighting down a wave of emotion that threatened to drive him back to hiding out in the gloomy confines of his tiny apartment. Bill took a deep breath and gently closed the door of his trusty old Jeep and eyed the rickety structure warily, fearful that with the way his luck was going a gust of wind might actually send the whole thing toppling onto his head.
Determined to stay on budget, he brushed off the uncomfortably realistic concern and approached the shadowed entryway, determined to find something that fit his needs. Anything beats sitting on the floor.
Just as he reached the doorway, a cloud of cigarette smoke materialized, accompanied by a round of hacking coughs. An old lady emerged from the shadows, her pale skin weathered and shriveled like an ancient piece of vellum. Varicose veins spiderwebbed down her legs in various shades of greens and blues, eerily reminiscent of elongated GPS maps. She could've been 65 or 120. Oftentimes Bill found it really hard to tell with old ladies.
“My eyes are up here sonny,” she said roughly, her raspy voice carrying a hint of a Texan accent. Unappreciative of the scrutiny, the old crone exhaled another plume of smoke in Bill's direction, her eyes sharp and piercing as she fixed him with a contemplative stare.
"Looking for something in particular, young man? Or just admiring the view?" the old lady asked, each word punctuated by a rapid click of her lighter. Bill mustered an apologetic smile, doing his best to be friendly despite the sudden desire to vomit.
"No ma'am! Just browsing, ma'am," he replied in a rush, his tone thick with unease. The lady's piercing eyes bore into him, seemingly dissecting his soul with each glance.
"Nah, don't believe that for a second. My guess is you're here for another reason," she retorted while exhaling another lungful of cloying smoke. "What's your story sonny? Who are you? Why're you here?"
Bill felt his temper rising, the pain of the last few weeks having left him with an exceptionally short fuse. He hesitated for a moment, then decided to share a partial truth, heavily implying that the rest was off-limits.
"No ma'am, no special reasons. Just taking a semester off from school," he replied, his voice tinged with regret. "Got some personal stuff going on. Thought I'd spend a couple of months here in San Antonio. You know, get away from my responsibilities for a while."
"Well, took your sweet time gettin' here," Her accent grew heavy, her eyes suddenly glazed over as if she was half asleep. Her words were unnerving, suddenly spoken with a sense of familiarity as if she had been expecting him all along. Bill furrowed his brow, feeling a twinge of confusion. He had never seen this woman in his life. Of that, there was no doubt in his mind.
"Uh, ok. Well, sorry if I kept you waiting? I assure you I meant no disrespect," he replied, averting his eyes, attempting to be polite despite his growing discomfort. "I'm honestly just here looking for a cheap couch and possibly a table."
The old woman narrowed her eyes, studying him with an intensity that sent a chill down his spine. “Couch and table, huh? Well, you've come to the right place. But remember, everything here has a price. Some are paid in cold hard cash, others in blood."
Bill blinked, unsure of how to interpret her words. Assuming she was merely a lonely old lady who was quite possibly showing signs of dementia, he decided to dismiss her elusive warnings as the ramblings of an aged and weary mind. Maybe Alzheimer's...
"I'll, uhh, keep that in mind?" he replied. Unsure what else to say, he offered a polite smile to cover his pity. She's obviously not in her right mind… "I'm just passing through town ma'am, only plan to be here for a couple of months at the most. Just trying not to break the bank. According to a few reviews I read this morning, this is my best bet to find something in my price range." Should've known better than to trust those worthless reviews… Eccentric?! This lady is bat shit crazy!
The old lady leaned closer, her eyes narrowing. "Money ain't the only currency in this world, young man. There are far more valuable things at stake. But suit yourself. I've no doubt you'll learn soon enough… And you better not be thinking of trying to rob a poor old lady of her treasures,” she warned, wagging a finger in his direction. "I’ve got my eyes on you, and I'm not as defenseless as my appearance might imply."
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Bill chuckled nervously. His unease was approaching an all-time high, but he brushed it off as paranoia. Eager to escape, he nodded politely and gently extricated himself from the conversation, entirely unsure what to expect from the contents of the peculiar store. If that crazy old lady's products matched the condition of her establishment, chances were, he was going to be leaving empty-handed.
As he stepped through the creaking door, the old lady sparked up another cigarette, the lingering smoke trailing after him like a foul-smelling specter. Her eyes remained fixed on his back until he disappeared from sight. “Such is fate…” she whispered and took another deep drag.
***
"Crazy owner, unsanitary conditions... Man, what a dump," Bill grumbled, his words laced with disdain as he surveyed the neglected surroundings, eyes slowly adjusting to the dim, musty interior. The air was heavy with the pungent scent of menthol cigarette smoke, causing him to wrinkle his nose in discomfort. As he surveyed the scene before him a sense of revulsion settled in his gut.
The interior was disorganized and chaotic, the layout reflecting the chaos within Bill's own mind. He felt a growing resentment towards the world, repeatedly questioning the purpose of his existence. What was the point of searching for meaning when everything he touched seemed destined to fall to pieces?
Row upon row of uneven shelves were cluttered with an assortment of outdated and useless items, each one seemingly older than the last. Dust-covered trinkets, cracked porcelain figurines, oversized mechanical oddities and faded paintings adorned every inch of the worn wooden surfaces. Cobwebs stretched across the ceiling like a thick veil of fog, swaying gently with every movement of air.
Bill hesitated, looking around with disgust, reluctant to touch anything. He pulled his shirt up to cover his nose and mouth, hoping to shield himself from the heavy layer of dust that had settled on every surface. It was disgusting. The shop seemed frozen in time, a veritable warehouse of worthless junk from the past.
The back of his neck started to itch. “No wonder the owner stays outside… This is fucking gross.”
As Bill cautiously navigated his lanky frame through the narrow aisles, footsteps being drowned out by the creaking floorboards, he couldn't help but wonder how a place like this could even manage to stay in business. In fact, the only reason he hadn't already walked out came down to being severely limited on resources. Most of the items on display were filthy, but they had price tags barely exceeding a few dollars. Splurging on cleaning chemicals hadn't been in the initial plan, but so long as he could get a couch for cheap enough it was still financially doable.
As he walked around a pointless wall built in the middle of the room for no apparent reason, Bill finally saw what he came to find. Furniture. And a lot of it. Now we're getting somewhere. There were a wide variety of tables and chairs of all sizes lined up along the left wall. Long wooden benches unfit for anything outside of a church were placed opposite, haphazardly stacked against the right side. The entire middle section was nothing but couches. At least twenty of them. Each with ornate wooden armrests and upholstery that often-depicted flowers in one shape or another. The only problem was most of them looked to be a hundred or more years old! Not only were they layered in filth, they had to weigh hundreds of pounds each. There was no way he could get even the smallest of the lot up to his second story apartment.
Just as he decided to leave, Bill's gaze settled on an old wooden wardrobe tucked away in a dimly lit corner. Its once polished surface was now marred by scratches and caked with grime. When he saw that the price tag was a whopping five dollars, Bill's curiosity piqued. For some reason he couldn't explain, he felt drawn to it, as if he had encountered this wardrobe in a childhood dream or long-forgotten memory.
Approaching the wardrobe with caution, he resisted the temptation to run his fingers along its surface. The thought of dust caking under his nails sent a shiver down his spine. Brushing aside his misgivings, Bill gripped the ornate handle with a shirt-wrapped hand and pulled the door open. The rusty hinges squealed in response.
Inside, behind a scattering of moth-eaten coats and worn lace dresses, his eyes fell upon a ridiculously ornate mirror. Unlike everything else in this shit hole of a store, it didn't have a price tag. It was mounted to the wardrobe's back wall, filling up nearly the entire surface. The mirror's frame was fashioned out of a gleaming wood so dark it appeared to be black. Exceptionally detailed carvings of strange animals adorned the outer edge, each one easily distinguishable from the next but unlike any he had ever seen depicted.
Unfortunately, the most important part, the reflective surface, was tarnished beyond repair. A long crack split the mirror diagonally, attesting not only to mistreatment but also the passage of many, many years. Although damaged, there was an unmistakable allure to it, as if it held secrets that transcended its physical form. Just how many people had looked into this mirror over the ages? How many were still alive to this day?
Bill's reflection stared back at him, his image distorted by the crack and several hazy imperfections. Unkempt, greasy black hair stuck out at all angles, framing a gaunt face that, thanks to his mixed Native American and European heritages, was far too long and angular to be considered good-looking. At least by modern day rugged manly standards.
High cheekbones jutted out over a nose that was rather large and hawkish. Bill's lips, although currently chapped and dry, were still a bit too full for those of a man. His friends back home liked to joke that his features were reminiscent of a Harpy; those mystical bird women regarded as the 'hounds of mighty Zeus'. I probably smell like one too… My clothes are a bit ripe… I really need a shower…
"Why bother? Not like I've got anyone waiting at home… It's not like Sara is comi… No. No, That's enough. She wouldn't want me feeling like this…" he muttered under his breath, his voice heavy with bitterness.
The more he stared into the depths of the mirror, the more he couldn't shake the feeling that something about his reflection seemed off, as if it wasn't merely a reflected image but a glimpse into an alternate, older version of himself. His own face, etched with weariness and uncertainty, seemed to flicker for a moment, revealing a worrisome darkness lurking just beneath the surface.
As he leaned in closer his breath fogged the glass, making the distortions stand out even further. Bill noticed a circular black smudge on the mirror’s surface, situated so that it was placed at the center of his neck, right above his Adams apple. He rubbed at his throat, but the stubborn stain refused to budge. Without thinking, Bill reached out to touch the mirror.
In that instant, a thunderous boom filled the air. The mirror exploded outwards as if in slow motion. Each tiny fragment reflected a miniscule image of Bill's vacant expression transforming into a scrunched-up mask of terror. Heartbeat pounding in his temples, Bill tried to duck down and shield his head, but his body refused to respond to his urgings.
The flow of time returned to normal as a jolt of searing fire ripped through his neck. He felt a dull crunch as the bones in his throat crumpled under an immense amount of pressure. Bill tried to scream, but the pitiful sound that parted his lips was more like what he'd expect from pulling a boot out of deep mud.
An avalanche of scarlet foam geysered out of his mouth.