My name is Julian Everett, and, today, I was looking for a certain shop. A shop, and a curse.
The rumors about the shop had started a couple months back. Nobody really knew where they'd started, either. Everyone seemed to know a friend of a friend who had been there, but it was hard to find anyone who'd found it themself — it was one of those kinds of stories. Still, the rumor piqued my interest. The way the story goes, the shop was this old antique store down town, and the man inside would give you whatever it was you needed. Some versions said the shop would only appear if you knew about it, others that you had to get there at a certain hour, and still others that it seemed to appear and disappear on its own. The tale got embellished the more people told it, and it was quickly becoming a bit of an urban legend.
The one detail which always stayed the same, though, was the location. I live in the kind of old world town that's too small to really be called a city, but doesn't quite count as a suburb either. There's a part of the downtown everyone calls "old town," which was built when the city was founded, and, whatever else was true about the guys who built it, they were pretty superstitious. I don't know if this is common in other places, but here, in our old town, there's a gap in the street names between 12th and 14th street. The weird thing is, instead of just skipping over it, there's this big, old stone wall right where you'd expect an intersection to be. And now, according to the rumors, a shop was there. The phantom shop of 13th street...it sounded silly, but that's what people said.
At the moment, I was standing in front of the blank stone wall, and trying to think of what to do next. While the rumors all agreed that the shop was here, none of them really explained how to get into it. Frowning, I turned and looked around for any sign of...something. At this point, for reasons I won't get into, I was determined to find the place if it was real, but I hadn't really processed till now that I didn't know where to start. I glanced behind me at the rows of shops across the street, all closed for the night, as if to find some sort of clue. What exactly was I expecting? An old, creepy looking door? I turned back to the wall, sighing, and saw...
An old, creepy looking door. A shiver of excitement went up my spine. I'd been staring at the wall for 15 minutes already, going over every piece of stone and mortar. I was sure this hadn't been here before, let alone right in front of me. Gingerly, I reached forward and opened it. As the old, dark wood swung past me, I caught a glimpse of a small, dusty metal sign hanging from a nail:
"Number One 13th Street"
This was it. Half holding my breath, I walked inside.
The inside of the shop was just as I'd expected too, almost eerily so. I'd spent the walk down town imagining high, looming shelves full of strange objects, faded purple curtains, and dark wooden floors — a classic stereotype of an old, magical antique shop from a fairy tale or something. To my surprise, all these details were there, down to the color of the drapes. And, in front of me, in the middle of the shop, sat a man at a dark wooden desk.
"Uh. G-good evening, sir," I managed, taking a step forward, "I'd, um. I'd like to buy something."
The man didn't look up. It was hard to place his age — his hair was white, but his skin seemed oddly smooth, almost youthful.
"We are not in the business of 'selling,' here, Mr. Everett," the man said, voice smooth and slightly chiding, "But no matter. What is it you are looking to procure?"
I gulped. There was no turning back now.
"I-I...I was told you sell curses here, sir."
The man looked up and met my eyes with his own. They were dark, almost black, and seemed to flicker in the low light of the room.
"A curse, you say?"
I nodded. Not many of the rumors had mentioned it, but one...one had. And that one I'd heard from someone I trusted. The man spoke again.
"As I said, Mr. Everett, we do not 'sell' things, here. If you are truly serious about making the trade, then you will tell us who, or what, has driven you to want a 'curse,' as you put it. We will make an offer, and you will either accept it, or leave."
I bit my lip.
"What do you mean, trade?" I asked, but the man didn't respond.
We stared at each other in uncomfortable silence for a moment, my mind reeling with the words he'd just said. If I was 'truly serious,' huh? Well, at this point I didn't have much of a choice. I'd had enough. I don't know if I wanted revenge, or just to feel like I was in control of my life for once, but...I'd come here for a reason.
"I want a curse, sir," I said quietly, "I'll do...I'll tell you whatever I need to."
He nodded, a smile twitching at his lips.
"Then tell. Tell us who brought you here. Tell us what they did."
I licked my suddenly dry lips, and answered.