She has never seen this shop before, sandwiched between Lou's Deli and the hardware store. Jo Harvelle's been in this town her whole life, and granted she doesn't come down this way often, but she still thinks she'd remember a place advertising "antiques and curiosities" in gold writing across the dust-darkened windows.
A little brass bell jingles above her head when she opens the door. It looks like a junk shop on the inside, piles of musty books in boxes, knick-knacks lining rickity furniture. There is a glass countertop full of pocketwatches with strange circles etched into their lids, like a language she cannot read, but there is no shop-owner.
Jo twists around an old bureau covered in items of various shapes and sizes, winding her way deeper into the shop. The edge of her sleeve catches a dark wooden box, and she catches it just before it tumbles to the floor. The lid pops open to reveal a rabbit's foot lying on plush velvet, and Jo finds herself reaching for it, fascinated.
"Wouldn't touch that, if I was you," someone drawls. A man appears suddenly beside her and snaps the box shut. "I don't think that's up your alley. You seem like the make-your-own-luck sort."
Jo blinks. Now that the rabbit's foot is out of sight, she can't remember why she wanted to pick it up in the first place. The man cocks his head at her, a sharp, unnatural movement. In the quiet, warm air of the shop she can hear a clock ticking. It makes her anxious but she doesn't know why.
"We haven't had a customer in a while," he says. "Am I glad to see you."
"You can't have been here long," Jo points out, despite the layer of dust covering everything. She would've remembered a place like this.
"We've been here forever," the shop-owner disagrees. "You can't even begin to comprehend how long."
Jo begins to argue about that, but something about the way the guy looks at her dries up the words in her mouth. He's not blinking, she realizes after a moment. He's shortish, dressed casually, completely average-looking. But at the same time there's something vaguely terrifying about him, in the way he moves and the way he stares, like he's not quite human.
"Take a look around. When you find what you want, lemme know," he says.
"I'm just browsing," Jo protests.
"You'll find something," the man says, shaking his head with short, choppy jerks. "You guys always do."
Jo shifts away. The guy retreats behind the counter and proceeds to ignore her. He has a collection of objects in front of him (a key, a comb, a polaroid, a pair of glasses, a bus ticket, a deck of cards) and he's putting them in different combinations and frowning to himself.
She wanders around, looking but not touching. A coin engraved with strange symbols gives her pause, then a handgun with a long, long barrel. Each time she stops to look at something, the man behind the counter looks up and stares at her expectantly. But each time she moves away and he goes back to fiddling.
She pushes through a bead curtain and finds herself in a murky back room, dust-motes drifting lazily in the shaft of golden afternoon sunlight coming through the sole unblocked window. The stuff back here is larger: huge chests carved with runes, an old refrigerator wrapped in chains. A big black car is resting beneath a cloth cover like it's waiting for someone. Jo skirts around it and stifles a gasp.
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timeasmymeasure
curiosities at the edge of the world (1/2)
Date: 2010-07-15 09:11 am (UTC)A little brass bell jingles above her head when she opens the door. It looks like a junk shop on the inside, piles of musty books in boxes, knick-knacks lining rickity furniture. There is a glass countertop full of pocketwatches with strange circles etched into their lids, like a language she cannot read, but there is no shop-owner.
Jo twists around an old bureau covered in items of various shapes and sizes, winding her way deeper into the shop. The edge of her sleeve catches a dark wooden box, and she catches it just before it tumbles to the floor. The lid pops open to reveal a rabbit's foot lying on plush velvet, and Jo finds herself reaching for it, fascinated.
"Wouldn't touch that, if I was you," someone drawls. A man appears suddenly beside her and snaps the box shut. "I don't think that's up your alley. You seem like the make-your-own-luck sort."
Jo blinks. Now that the rabbit's foot is out of sight, she can't remember why she wanted to pick it up in the first place. The man cocks his head at her, a sharp, unnatural movement. In the quiet, warm air of the shop she can hear a clock ticking. It makes her anxious but she doesn't know why.
"We haven't had a customer in a while," he says. "Am I glad to see you."
"You can't have been here long," Jo points out, despite the layer of dust covering everything. She would've remembered a place like this.
"We've been here forever," the shop-owner disagrees. "You can't even begin to comprehend how long."
Jo begins to argue about that, but something about the way the guy looks at her dries up the words in her mouth. He's not blinking, she realizes after a moment. He's shortish, dressed casually, completely average-looking. But at the same time there's something vaguely terrifying about him, in the way he moves and the way he stares, like he's not quite human.
"Take a look around. When you find what you want, lemme know," he says.
"I'm just browsing," Jo protests.
"You'll find something," the man says, shaking his head with short, choppy jerks. "You guys always do."
Jo shifts away. The guy retreats behind the counter and proceeds to ignore her. He has a collection of objects in front of him (a key, a comb, a polaroid, a pair of glasses, a bus ticket, a deck of cards) and he's putting them in different combinations and frowning to himself.
She wanders around, looking but not touching. A coin engraved with strange symbols gives her pause, then a handgun with a long, long barrel. Each time she stops to look at something, the man behind the counter looks up and stares at her expectantly. But each time she moves away and he goes back to fiddling.
She pushes through a bead curtain and finds herself in a murky back room, dust-motes drifting lazily in the shaft of golden afternoon sunlight coming through the sole unblocked window. The stuff back here is larger: huge chests carved with runes, an old refrigerator wrapped in chains. A big black car is resting beneath a cloth cover like it's waiting for someone. Jo skirts around it and stifles a gasp.