We were seated on a pair of old pews, my brother and I, and my parents with their already finished bowls of soup. They finished it long ago already, but did not want to interrupt my story of the bizarre night I had.

“So we were shoplifting this entire time?” My brother said more than asked.

“Apparently. Maybe we could go back there sometime, this time as customers. The manager explained that it becomes impossible to find the exit only if the person has no intent to pay for the products. That’s some weird magic.”

“That’s… ridiculous,” he said, frowning. “We didn’t even realize we were stealing. How does it know?”

“Beats me,” I replied.

My father, who had been uncharacteristically silent until now, finally spoke up, his voice carrying that skeptical, measured tone he used when he was trying to sound reasonable. “Magic that can read your intentions? I don’t know, Max. That kind of thing sounds like trouble waiting to happen.”

He set his empty bowl down on the pew beside him with a soft clink, leaning forward slightly as if to emphasize his next words. “I think it’s best you stay clear of that place from now on. Who knows what other tricks it has up its sleeve? For all we know, you might get trapped in there for something even smaller next time.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but my mom cut in before I could say a word. “Your father’s right,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “A store like that doesn’t seem normal—nothing about it does. And if its magic can do what you’re saying, then it’s better not to tempt fate. What if you misstep? Or worse, what if the place doesn’t let you out at all?”

“It’s not like I was planning to shoplift again,” I said, trying not to sound defensive. “We didn’t even know it was happening in the first place.”

“That’s exactly the point,” my dad countered. “You didn’t know. You had no idea what you were walking into, and yet you still got tangled up in it. Next time, you might not be so lucky as to find a manager willing to explain the rules to you.”

“Your father’s right, Max,” Mom added.

“Fine, it’s not like we have any gold or silver to use as money there anyway.”

Maybe someday I’ll go there again if I get any gold, the manager seemed very friendly, and I could always ask Greg and Gary, the undead, about any rules of the shop if there are any special ones. At the end of the day, it’s just a store, what could be the worst that happens, I work another night there?

The conversation fell into an uneasy silence after that. The occasional creak of the old pews under our shifting weight punctuated the stillness, and somewhere in the distance, the faint murmur of others in the church hall echoed softly against the stone walls.

Finally, Dad cleared his throat, breaking the spell. “Well,” he began, his voice steady, practical. “Your mother and I should go speak with the priest. If we’re going to be staying here, we need to figure out where we’ll sleep and what arrangements can be made.”

Dad looked toward my brother and me, his expression firm but not unkind. “In the meantime, why don’t you two drive home and pack up some of our things? Clothes, toiletries, anything you think we’ll need. The mattresses too, tie them up well on the roof.”

My brother perked up slightly at the suggestion, clearly eager to get moving. “Sure,” he said, already standing. “Anything specific you want us to grab?”

“Just the essentials,” Mom said, glancing over her shoulder as she and Dad began to move toward the front of the church.

“Got it,” I replied, rising to my feet.

*****

I managed to cram my entire life into two boxes. The first held my clothes, neatly folded despite my growing frustration. The second was packed with what I had in the garage - herbs, dried flowers, and an assortment of magical odds and ends I’d collected over the past month.

It will be a shame to leave this place, with all of these tools and memories, but what choice did we have? Safety had to come first, and the church was our best shot at that.

I grabbed the second box and pushed the door open with my shoulder, stepping out into the cool almost-evening air.

I only took a few steps before I froze. Standing right in front of me, half-shadowed by the tall oak tree in the yard, was Bryndrel. The dryad was as otherworldly as ever.

“Bryndrel,” I said, startled but not entirely surprised. “Hey, buddy. Glad to see you. We were just about to leave.”

Bryndrel tilted its head, its voice a low, resonant hum that seemed to carry the weight of ancient forests. “Leaving? So soon? This place hums with your presence. It is rooted in you, as much as you are rooted in it.”

I sighed, setting the box down on the ground. “I know. Trust me, I don’t want to go. But it’s not safe anymore. We’re moving to the church for now. It’s the only option. Besides, I’ll come visit from time to time, I need those crystals of yours after all. Speaking of which.”

I pointed out a couple of bags of fertilizer in the corner of the garage, “Those are yours now, take as much as you want, just not all at once. I’ve heard high doses can cause harm to plants.”

Bryndrel’s eyes—or at least the glowing amber where its eyes would be—narrowed in contemplation. The dryad stepped closer, the faint scent of moss and sap clinging to the air around it. “Generous as ever, Max,” it said, its voice a rustle of leaves on a windy day. “But what of the Splicing? Are you certain you will not perform the ritual before you leave this place? The bond would grant you strength, protection… and deeper roots.”

I shook my head, my hands planted firmly on my hips. “Bryndrel, we’ve talked about this. I’m not ready for something like that. The Splicing isn’t just some casual decision as far as I’ve heard from you—it’s forever. As I said, I’m not taking any shortcuts to power.”

Bryndrel crouched down, its bark-like fingers brushing against the ground near the box I’d set down. “Then go with care, Max. The church is a place of many branches, but not all are strong. Seek the sturdy boughs and tread lightly.”

I gave a half-smile at the metaphor, not entirely sure what it meant but appreciating the sentiment. “Thanks, Bryndrel. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Behind me, my brother called out from the car. “Max, you good? We gotta go!”

“Yeah, coming!” I shouted back before turning to Bryndrel one last time. “I’ll be back when I can, alright? Don’t let this place fall apart without me.”

With that, I picked up the box and made my way to the car, trying not to let both the weight of leaving, and the excitement of living with more people hit me too hard. As I slid into the passenger seat, my brother raised an eyebrow at me.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“You and your magical friends,” he said with a smirk.

*****

“Did you really bring the mini-fridge?” Dad asked, his tone laced with surprise as he spotted it in the back of the car.

“We had the space,” Marcus replied with a shrug. “Figured we could sell it.”

We were busy unloading the car, hauling our belongings to the section of the church designated for families—just an open area cleared for mattresses and personal items. My brother had the mini-fridge in his arms, but this wasn’t just any fridge; it was a chrono-fridge. Easily the coolest thing we’d found (read: shoplifted) during our escapades at the supermarket.

According to the packaging—and our own experiments—it didn’t just chill items; it froze them in time completely. We’d tested it with our phones’ stopwatches. No matter how long we left something inside, the timer didn’t tick a single second. It worked like a charm.

“Huh,” Dad said, nodding as he considered the idea. “Good thinking. I bet we could get a decent price for it. It’s not like we really need it.”

He was right. With its tiny size, it wasn’t exactly practical for our needs. What were we going to store in it—two imaginary milk cartons and a couple of eggs? Selling it made far more sense, especially given our current situation. Better to let someone else marvel at this technological wonder.

By the time evening rolled around, we’d finished bringing in the last of the boxes. As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the churchyard in shades of amber and shadow, Dad spotted a soldier stationed nearby and waved him over. He pointed out the fridge, said how he wanted to sell it, the soldier looked skeptical at first, but as Dad explained what it could do, his expression shifted to one of intrigue. He gave a nod, gesturing for us to follow him.

With the chrono-fridge in tow, we followed him into the maze of tents, feeling a spark of hope that our strange little find might actually help us out more than we expected.

We walked on, and a creepy sensation started to creep up my spine, like it had before when I felt the auras of the shadow people. Only this time, it was fainter—but somehow, more insidious. Different. Wrong.

What the hell was going on? Nothing should be here, there was still some daylight left, and we’re surrounded by soldiers. This place was supposed to be safe.

Yet as we kept walking, the feeling grew stronger, like a storm gathering just out of sight. By the time we reached the tent, it was almost unbearable. This was it. Whatever I was sensing—it was here. Right inside that tent. The aura was overwhelming, and it was bloody.

My stomach churned. Could I go in there? Nobody else seemed to feel it. The soldier leading us was already reaching for the flap, calm and unaware.

“Max, you coming?”

The voice snapped me out of my frozen daze. I realized I’d stopped walking, now a couple of meters behind the group.

“Uh… yeah. Coming,” I mumbled. My voice felt distant, like it wasn’t my own.

I should’ve said something. Should’ve warned them. But my mind was racing, my chest tight with panic. The soldier was already stepping inside, his rifle slung casually over his shoulder. It was his job to protect us, right? He could handle whatever was in there. That’s what I told myself, even though deep down, I knew I was just rationalizing my fear.

The tent flap swung open. I watched from where I stood, too scared to move, as the interior of the tent came into view.

There was a person inside.

Another soldier, seated in a folding chair at a makeshift desk, shuffling through a pile of documents. He looked up as the flap opened, his face calm and expressionless—until his gaze landed on me.

And then it stayed there.

Our eyes locked, and I felt it. The aura was pouring off him, thick and suffocating. It wasn’t faint anymore.

His lips curled into the faintest smirk, just enough to send a chill racing down my spine.

That is when the soldier who brought us here interrupted the moment, “Commander Greene, sir, these people here have a time stopping fridge they would like to sell.”

Commander Greene’s smirk faded as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a cool, unreadable expression. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes lingering on me for a moment longer before shifting to my father and Marcus.

“A time-stopping fridge, you say?” His voice was calm, smooth, yet there was an edge to it—something hard to place but deeply unsettling. He gestured for them to step forward, beckoning them closer to the desk.

My father, ever the practical negotiator, cleared his throat and nudged Marcus forward with the fridge. “Yes, sir. It’s small but fully functional. We’ve tested it ourselves. Stops time for anything inside—food, drinks, perishables. Perfect preservation.”

Marcus placed the chrono-fridge on the desk carefully, avoiding the piles of papers scattered across it.

Commander Greene leaned forward, studying the device with a measured intensity, his fingers drumming against the desk as though calculating its worth. He opened the small door and examined the interior before tapping the casing lightly. “Lets test it then. Does it need power?”

“No, sir.”

Commander Greene’s eyebrow arched slightly at the answer. “No power, huh? Convenient.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, a sleek, military-grade device with a hardened case. His movements were deliberate, almost exaggerated, as if he wanted to draw attention to every step. The tension in the air was palpable, though Marcus and Dad seemed oblivious.

I, however, was still rooted to my spot outside the tent. Every instinct I had screamed for me to run, to put as much distance as possible between me and this man radiating an aura that felt like it could crush me if it wanted to.

Commander Greene set the timer on his phone, placed it inside the chrono-fridge and closed the door. “We’ll give it a minute,” he said, leaning back in his chair again. His eyes flicked back to me briefly, as though he could sense my unease. “You. Outside. You’re with them, aren’t you? Come in.”

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. I wanted to say no, to make up some excuse to stay out here, but my father turned around and motioned me over. “Max, come on. Don’t be rude.”

Reluctantly, I stepped forward, my legs feeling like lead as I entered the tent. The air inside was heavy, oppressive in a way that had nothing to do with its physical atmosphere. Commander Greene’s eyes followed me until I stood awkwardly near the back, trying to keep my distance.

The minute passed. Greene opened the fridge and retrieved his phone. He held it up, showing the screen with the timer which showed that only a few seconds passed for it. Then, with a calculated slowness, he reset the timer and placed it on the desk. “Impressive,” he said, though his tone betrayed no real emotion.

“Three thousand euros,” he continued, locking eyes with my father. “That’s what I’m willing to offer. Take it or leave it.”

Dad hesitated for a fraction of a second, his instinct to haggle clearly kicking in. But Greene’s unflinching gaze seemed to make him reconsider. “Deal,” he said, nodding firmly.

The commander reached into a small lockbox beside his desk, retrieving a thick envelope of cash. He counted out the bills with an almost mechanical precision, placing them on the desk. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

Dad took the money and stuffed it into his jacket, thanking the commander with a polite nod. “Appreciate it, sir.”

We stepped out of the tent and into the fading evening light, the crisp air hitting my face like a lifeline. My chest still felt tight, but the weight that had been pressing down on me inside the tent started to ease, like I’d been holding my breath the whole time and finally let it out.

Marcus seemed oblivious to any tension, whistling softly to himself. “Three thousand euros,” he said, grinning. “Not bad for something we didn’t even pay for.”

The walk back felt longer than it should have, every step accompanied by the faint crackle of leaves underfoot and the low murmur of distant voices. I couldn’t help glancing over my shoulder every few seconds, half-expecting to see Commander Greene standing there, smirking in the shadows. But the path remained empty.

Eventually we reach the doors of the church and step inside.

The interior of the church was bustling with quiet activity. Families were setting up their corners with whatever they had, small clusters of people talking in hushed voices. The dim light from the chandeliers above cast a warm, steady glow that seemed to calm my frayed nerves.

Dad sat down beside him, pulling the envelope out of his jacket and counting the cash again, his expression a mix of relief and determination. “This will help,” he said quietly. “It’s not much in the grand scheme of things, but it’ll keep us going for now.”

I sank onto my mattress, letting out a long breath as the tension in my shoulders finally melted away. The familiar hum of voices, the soft rustle of movement. For the first time in hours, I felt safe.

Whatever that was back at the tent—whatever Greene was or wasn’t—it couldn’t touch us here. Not now.

It’s time for some well deserved rest. I closed my eyes, letting the safety of the church wrap around me like a cocoon.