Fervindale’s Shop of Cosmets, Trinks, and Tricks

The shopkeep was smiling. Only Dirk saw it; Caedan and Roger ran faster than him. It was a wide, toothy smile, twisting the shopkeep’s face, seen through the jagged teeth of the store front’s broken window. When Dirk turned forward to run, he thought he felt something stab into his back, but it was just a piercing crackle of laughter.

~

Two days ago, the shopkeep had offered them a different smile through the store window as they approached the door through the wind-riven street. Shops lined the road as nothing more than doors in walls, and apartments loomed surrounding them. Outside, the three of them were alone. A small sign tucked away on the window’s corner read Limited Return Policy.

At the door, Caedan turned and swept a look at the two of them. "Dirk, you're distraction," he ordered, his typically sharp voice quiet. "Ask him about his merch, keep him occupied. Roger, you're with me. Keep an eye out for the kind of security he has."

"Bo-oring," Roger muttered, but only in Dirk's earshot. He looked odd without his glasses; he never wore them on a job.

Caedan’s imperious gaze bored down on them, and Dirk couldn’t help a feeling of petulance. The last job they’d done, he’d berated the two of them for hours afterward for forgetting to smash the cameras before leaving. Dirk wasn’t sure why Caedan was so concerned; his family would cover any suspicion that fell on him. It was Dirk and Roger that would take the fall when their families learned what they’d been up to outside of school.

Dirk averted his eyes in case Caedan saw his misgivings. After another moment, he heard Caedan mutter, “Keep your head” as he turned to the door and scraped it open.

Only Dirk didn’t have to bend to fit through; Caedan nearly had to double down, scorched straw hair brushing the top of the doorway. The store was dim and cluttered, with little walking space between the chest-high shelves, though there was a direct footpath to the desk where the storekeep stood.

“Welcome, welcome,” his voice slithered through the shop. “Welladay.”

Caedan nodded curtly in his direction. Dirk took the cue, stepping forward with a placating smile. “Hello, sir. I’ve never been here before. Could you show me around, please?”

In his peripheral vision, Dirk saw the other two spread out to case the shop. Up close, the shopkeep’s eyes looked dirty yellow, with irises slit like a cat’s.

“Of course, sir.” The shopkeep blinked, and Dirk shuddered, unsure of what he’d seen. “Follow me.”

It was unclear what the shopkeep thought of these disdainfully glaring high school-age kids skulking about the place, but he seemed unperturbed, so Dirk shrugged and followed. They passed through shelves upon shelves of odd items. Given the name on the store front, Dirk was expecting antiques and saw several, but among the gnarled wood chairs, faded armoires, and a large silvered-over mirror, he saw a number of other, stranger items. A painting of a smiling woman squeezing some black-spurting thing in her fist hung on the wall; a blood-red jewel the size of a pomegranate hung on an amulet called “Vita Morta;” a garish purple jewelry box held an assortment of tarnished yet dignified rings; and a treasure box sat pushed all the way to the end of a shelf. It was small enough to fit in Dirk’s hand and its lid was open a crack. Every object had not only a small name plaque but a pocket-sized packet of paper, printed in font too small for Dirk to read at this distance. They looked like tiny instruction booklets. He approached the box, curious at its lack of nametag and booklet.

“You’ll want to take care what you touch, sir,” the shopkeep’s growl leaped at him as he reached for the box. Dirk jumped away and the shopkeep smiled down at the shelf. “No use touching that one anyway, sir. Hinges rusted. The thing won’t open or close.”

“O-oh, okay. Sorry.” Dirk blinked down at it. “H-how much is it? I can’t see a price tag.”

The shopkeep raised a gnarled eyebrow. “If you’re willing to take it with the busted hinges, I can offer you a good deal on it,” he purred.

The box was almost charming, shaped like a miniature treasure chest with a simple latch. Dirk found himself reaching for his wallet before remembering he’d left it at school. “Um, maybe some other time,” he muttered sheepishly, patting his worn jean pockets.

“Of course, sir.” The shopkeeps’ eyes bored into him, but Dirk felt scrutiny rather than pressure. He heard Roger and Caedan muttering on the other side of the store about cameras. “If you desire, I can hold it for you, so no one else can take it while you’re gone.”

Dirk hesitated. What was he here for again?

“No, thank you,” he answered distantly before his eyes focused on Caedan’s subtle glare. “No thanks,” he said again, a little louder. “But let me look around a little more.”

He returned his gaze to the shopkeep in time to see his eyes flash. “Yes of course, sir,” he responded, and they continued the tour, Dirk uneasily wringing his hands.

A few minutes later, Dirk heard Caedan call his name and looked up to see them exiting the shop, Roger already out on the street. “There’s nothing good here,” Caedan said, his eyes cold and purposeful. “Let’s get out and get some lunch.”

Dirk moved to leave. Behind him, the shopkeep’s voice crawled into his ears. “You have a good day, sir. I’ll see you again... soon, I’m sure.”

A faint cackle followed this statement. Trying not to run, Dirk exited the shop with a shiver down his spine.

~

The shopkeep was smiling… as they stuffed merchandise into their bags, as Dirk quelled the shaking of his hands, as Caedan rasped orders at them… trapped behind the door Roger had barricaded, he was smiling the whole time…

“We shouldn’t have done this.”

Caedan had already emptied the sack and was going through the goods, clearly not paying attention to Dirk’s quavering voice. His knuckles were still bleeding and scabbed from breaking the shop window. He had his face on, the one telling everyone around that he was the one in charge, though it was undercut by the abandoned apartment surrounding them. Dingy walls and garbage-strewn floors were hardly the place for authority. Roger was emptying his own bag, scuffing trash aside with the side of his foot, and scowled at Dirk. “Huh? Why not?”

Dirk dropped his bag to the ground, unwilling to touch the items inside. “That place… it felt wrong. Not like the other ones.” What kind of antique shop would sell such unsettling items? Caedan hadn’t even let them take the little booklets with them.

Caedan looked up from the jewelry box he’d taken out of the bag. “Wrong?” he asked ironically. “Do you plan to return these to the store then, Dirk?”

Roger snorted. “Only if you’re willin’ to pay Caedan and me back for them. I don’t do this for fun, you know.”

Dirk didn’t answer. Was he actually considering it? The idea of those rheumy yellow eyes glaring out at him turned his stomach over. During the run here, he’d been far more jumpy than the other two, glancing down alleyways and dark corners, expecting and dreading the sight of amber slits.

Caedan seemed to take his silence as assent rather than terror. “I didn’t think so.” He frowned over at Roger. “I thought I told you not to bring that mirror! It’s too bulky. No one will pay for it.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

The mirror, propped up in Roger’s lap, was pale and faded with spots of grunge across the bottom. There was no reflection of Roger’s small ratlike face in it when he looked up with another scowl. “I brought it here just fine, didn’t I?” he demanded. “If you don’t want to sell it, I’ll keep it then. I like it.”

Caedan raised an eyebrow, but Roger’s gaze had already returned to the mirror’s empty surface.

“If you say so,” he said eventually, but there was an audible edge in his voice at this insolent defiance. He lifted an amulet out of the bag and draped it around his neck. “If you think we can afford to take personal possessions - what?”

This was directed at Dirk, who was staring in astonishment at Caedan’s hands. Frowning, Caedan looked down. Slowly, he lifted his hand and examined his knuckles. The last bit of blood trailed off from a wound that was no longer there.

There was uncharacteristic confusion in his voice. “That… healed over fast.”

“Your other hand!” Dirk gasped.

He was watching the scabs shrink together, pink skin emerging from the bloody gaps. Soon, even the rosy hue of new skin smoothed over and within seconds the only evidence of a wound was a single rivulet of blood pooling in the skin between Caedan’s thumb and palm.

Caedan looked up at Dirk, for confirmation that he had seen the same thing. Both their faces were pale. Dirk opened his mouth, but found no words to utter.

Caedan’s eyes returned to his healed skin. Then, without a word, he reached a hand into his pocket, heedless of the blood staining his jeans, and pulled out his switch knife. He flipped it open and closed his bony fist around the blade.

“What are you doing?” Dirk gasped.

“Shut up,” Caedan whispered. “I’m t-testing it.”

Surely that hadn’t been a stutter in Caedan’s words. Surely that hadn’t been breathless excitement in his voice.

He hesitated a moment, then tightened his fist and slid his hand up the blade. Blood trickled down the stainless steel. Caedan opened his hand to reveal two long slits, one across his lower palm, one over the fold of his fingers. His face betrayed no wince of pain.

“You madman,” Dirk whispered, but Caedan paid no attention. The wounds were already sliding closed, as smoothly as they’d been opened.

The amulet at his chest glinted. The tag labeling it as “Vita Morta” was still attached. Caedan noticed it the same time Dirk did. With his free hand, he lifted the chain off his neck. Drip, drip, the spurt of blood returned and the slashes on his palm ceased regenerating.

Caedan returned the amulet to his neck. Within seconds, his hand was whole.

A wide smile stretched across his face, a wild glint to his eyes. He threw back his head and laughed, a long hyena’s cackle discovering fresh prey. “I’m fucking invincible, Dirk!” he crowed. With haphazard, impatient movements, he thrust open the lid of the jewelry box and began shoving rings onto his shaking fingers. He muttered something Dirk barely caught; it sounded like, “I’ll show you, I’ll fucking show you, dad.”

Dirk’s breath was coming shallow and ragged. Far from Caedan’s elation, he felt dread curling in his stomach. In his mind’s eye, he saw the glint of gold eyes shining, chilling his blood. His leader was tearing into the remaining contents of his bag, shoving more necklaces over his head, and Dirk saw item after countless item slosh out and scatter on the floor.

A fallen item caught his attention. Tuning out the frantic movements, he crouched down and picked up the small treasure box, creaked open a millimeter. He brought it close to his face and peered in, but he could see nothing inside. Shaking it, he felt something soft and amorphous float against the sides. Curious, he inserted his fingernails into the open lid and attempted to pry it open. It didn’t give an inch, and when he turned it around, he saw no hinges on the back.

“What do you have there?”

Dirk’s heart pounded for a moment before he looked up and realized Caedan had spoken, but with a significantly different voice. It was lower, an athlete’s growl. Was he taller as well?

Eyes trailing to his leader’s hand, he saw blood running down his fingers. The rings had been jammed on with so much force, several had been embedded into the skin, even broken bone. Dirk saw a glint of red-washed white before it covered over with closing flesh. Caedan wasn’t even reacting to what had to be agonizing pain; there was abject greed in his gaze, staring at the box.

“I d-don’t know,” Dirk stammered, remembering Caedan had asked a question. “I can’t open it.”

Caedan smirked and snatched the box from Dirk’s grasp. “What do you think this does?” he grinned. In his beefy hands, Dirk lost all sight of the box. Two mammoth thumbs pressed down in two directions, but the lid didn’t yield. Caedan’s face turned red with the effort.

He released it with a growl. “Probably useless then,” he grunted, and tossed it to the ground. “Roger! What else do you have?”

Dirk scampered after the box and picked it up. There was no damage done to the outside despite the enormous stress applied. There were symbols engraved on the lid, he noticed, and he was trying to figure out what they were when he realized the room had gone eerily silent.

He looked up. (Had Caedan always been so large? His head was scraping the ceiling). Caedan was staring down at Roger, aghast. His lackey hadn’t moved from his hunched pose, or even noticed the commotion around him. In the space of however many minutes it had been, Roger’s skin had paled to a papery white. His grey-lipped jaw hung open, exposing a colorless mouth. The mirror had acquired a pinkish tinge. As Dirk watched, the folds in Roger’s eyelids smoothed to bare skin and he saw a vague smear of black drip into the mirror’s image.

Caedan hunched downward and thrust the mirror away from Roger’s grasp. “What the fuck! Roger, get up!”

The effect was swift and immediate. Roger choked out a gasp and his eyes leaped to Caedan with blazing rage. “I said I’ll keep it! It’s mine!” he shrieked, and shot forward, hands clutching for Caedan’s throat.

Caedan roared and pushed Roger away but he was back on him in an instant, wide eyes rolling, foam dribbling out of his mouth. Caedan clutched him by the throat and lifted him, writhing and snarling, into the air. He raised a booted foot above the mirror and brought it down, but the glass was unmoved; the colors, however, flowed around the blow.

Caedan saw it too and took his boot away from the mirror in an instant. He bowled Roger to the ground and flung the mirror up and onto his body. Roger immediately ceased his struggle and laid there on the ground, limp beneath the mirror’s surface.

Swerving around, Caedan saw Dirk pressed against the far wall, motionless in terror. He howled his name and rushed forward. He had swelled to a monstrous size and his hands had lost their shape; bulbous, swollen flesh roiled and twitched, though Caedan barely seemed to notice. “Get over here!” he roared, and pinned Dirk against the wall. The other shapeless hand grasped a handful of necklaces, pulled them off Caedan’s head, and pushed them over Dirk.

Dirk cried out, lashing at the hand choking him, but Caedan pressed him harder against the wall. His face was practically purple with rage, his neck so engorged it was indistinguishable from his chest. “You’re wearing these first!” he screeched, his voice sounding barely human. “You wear them first, then tell me what they do!”

Metal chains scraped against Dirk’s teeth as Caedan forced them down over his head, then began pulling rings off the shapeless blobs of his hands. Dirk kept pushing against the vice grip, but his strength was waning; he felt dizzy and short of breath. The necklaces were constricting against his neck so tightly, he thought he felt the prickle of them across his body. He rasped out Caedan’s name, but the bulbous terror that gripped him no longer resembled his former leader.

Abruptly, the hold on his neck slackened. Dirk slipped and through distorted vision, saw Caedan reel back, blinking. Dirk heard him mumble something through ringing ears before he stumbled to the ground and fell, his head lolling to the side. Dirk saw one remaining ring attached to something on the creature and the large jewelled amulet.

Blackness - and other, stranger colors - hovered at the edge of Dirk’s vision. With a violent choking gasp, he threw the necklaces off over his head and pulled at the rings on his fingers. He had to stop to hold himself up when dizziness overtook him, and for several minutes he was uncertain which room he was in, which side of the room was pulling at him with the inexorable grasp of gravity or perhaps something stronger, stretching him in all directions like a rubber band twined around all four points of the -

He came to with a start. The light in the room had dimmed, or maybe his eyes had. In one corner, he saw a mirror lying on the ground facedown, a pair of disembodied legs a few feet away. In another corner, he saw a long mound of flesh with two glints of jewelry oozing out like a deflating balloon. Shining lights littered the floor like stars, dizzying him.

He felt every breath rake his lungs. With liquid-limp hands, he plucked a star. Somehow, he left the apartment, crawling up the stairs. It was night outside, though it had been day when they’d entered the apartment. He was stumbling down empty streets, the moon above the only witness. More than once he stopped to retch but he couldn’t stop for long, he was pulled along the road down the sidewalk, down, down like a spiraling path dragging him down to the store, to return what had been stolen, to end this whole nightmare...

His strength gave out a few yards away from the store front and he dropped to the ground like a rag doll. In his fist was the small treasure box.

A minute passed.

The lid groaned open.

Dirk’s finger twitched.

The door to the shop opened and two cat slits looked down at the scene before them.

“Welcome, welcome,” a low voice whispered. “Welladay.”