The mall had been built a few years before by an overzealous developer. Far too large, many of it's storefronts on the east wing stood empty. Small businesses would open and then close within weeks.
Few people come here, but there's always some adventurous or bored soul who wanders here. And sometimes, just sometimes, they find more than they expected.
Much more.
The store was called Thirteen O' Clock. It's theme was time. Salvador Dali prints of melting clocks on the walls, and timepieces of all descriptions. Shelves of books and media, both fictional and otherwise, all dealing with time in some way.
The store owner was never seen, just a chipper young teen clerk, seated behind the register on a tall stool, leaning forward reading a book. She seems too young to be employed here, perhaps the daughter of the owner?
She looks up as you enter, and brushes back long pink bangs and flashes a flawless white smile. "Hey there, welcome to Thirteen O' Clock. My name is Paige, and if you need anything, just let me know."
Having said her peace, Paige goes back to her book, but somehow, you feel that china blue eyes are watching every move you make.
So who has come into the store tonight?