Part Two

Walking home from school one afternoon, something caught my attention in a new town store’s display window. I didn’t know anything about the “metaphysical”. I guessed that it had something to do with aliens or the paranormal, and I figure I was right in a way. I hadn’t paid much attention to the store prior to now. The newly painted sign loomed over the foyer entrance of this tightly packed, petite, strip store; swaying in the breezy, dismal sky.

The sign read “The Shoppe of The Metaphysical”, in a white, starkly constructed cursive upon its matte black counterpart. Laid on a velvet, swamp green backdrop was a square, black and white box that read Ouija. Surrounding the board game impressionistic box, were a bunch of brightly colored, iridescent crystals, animal bones, and an array of different books pertaining to nature, witchcraft, and dream interpretations. There was a black and white message board tying the decorative display together, just above the Ouija box that read an untasteful, yet intriguing, “Can You Talk To The Dead?”

I know that in a less intensive, normal mindset, I would smirk to myself and continue walking. There was something pulling me to go inside the shop, even just for a moment. The thought of walking away without trying to talk to Bradley again made my stomach twist in agony. So, into the store I went. Initially, I was greeted with a musty, robust scent of floral incent and herb based sages that made my lungs tighten and my other senses heighten. I didn’t know what to expect, or what I was doing. Casually stalking the overflowing, disorganized array of books, I was approached by a silver haired woman wearing a wine colored dress and an assortment of crystal oriented jewelry.

“Can I help you find something?” She just about croaked, clearing her throat in readiness for the conversation.

“Uh, yeah. I wanted to check out the Ouija board, over there,” my eyes darting to the display case at the front of the store and back to this wrinkled, seemingly helpful woman.

Her deep set, dark eyes sharpened, as if to analyze me.

“Oh yeah, sure. Have you ever used one before, dear?”

You could tell she made an effort to soften her voice, and her facial muscles seemed to relax a bit.

“Er… Not really, but I’m sure I could figure it out,” I pause, my anxiety invoking a racing heart and sweaty palms. I didn’t know what I was doing, or saying.

“Oh sure, sure,” she began trailing off, angling her body away from me in apprehension.

It was as if she began a thought process, and was interrupted in a frozen trance. She looked up at the ceiling briefly, and then started walking towards the front of the store as if to fulfill my request. Picking up the board, she immediately drops it as if she had scorched her hand on a bag of hot coal.

“Empty. You know, thieves and what not. I’ll go check and see if we have one in the back,” she proclaimed in a huff, swiftly traveling to the back of the store. I wondered if it were expensive. Thieves?

Examining the store, I observed the hundreds of books, rainbow collections of crystals, displays of card decks, jewelry, plants, and odd ends of animal remains. Different bottles, salts, herbs, and incent burners ornamented the small building in a clutter, and I wondered how anyone could possibly find what they were looking for. There was a general heavy vibe to the building, like the concrete was holding its breathe for a burst of fresh air. Finally, she protruded through the cheaply designed curtains separating the main store from the back, box in hand.

“Alright dear, this is the last one- you must’ve gotten lucky!” She beamed, showing her yellow-gray, stained teeth.

I didn’t consider myself lucky at all, so I just scrunched my noise and tried to energize a smile. It probably looked more like a snarl. She must’ve noticed this, because the grin fell flat from her face.

“Did you need help finding anything else? Perhaps a book to read, so you can learn as you go?”

Her sales pitch seemed to mock me, and I disliked it so harshly, I shrugged my shoulders.

“Alright, suit yourself. You should know, that this is a sacred piece of divination, and its use should not be taken lightly or for amusement,” she warned in a spiteful tone, accenting “amusement” in the foulest of ways.

I redirected my eyes back to her, who was behind the outdated cash register, waiting to cash me out. I didn’t even know the price of the thing. Without thinking, I abruptly sliced the air with my under-thought question.

“So, I can communicate with the dead? Like, anyone who is dead. Right?” I cringed at my immature, informal sounding question, clenching my teeth, guarding my mouth from anymore words from spilling out.

My attention was caught by an all-black cat, with a teal collar lavishing its neck. I learned that her name was “Marcee” from her warn, stainless steel tag. Following my eyes down from her plump, sleek coated body, was a sign on the barrel she was perched on that read, “PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH THE CAT” in a faded, purple marker. Her stern, sunset yellow eyes stalked me, as if giving me a warning sign. I wasn’t going to touch her.

The woman seemed to click her swollen knuckles on the register for an eternity and a half. Finally, she looked up, rearranging her spilled hair back over her shoulder. Her eyes solemn as stone, she reaches across the counter for my hand. Her coarse, flaking skin sent bugs down my spine and into my throat. I remained frozen, my hand in her grip. She closed her eyes, as if to focus. In her meditative state, she is awakened as if by surprise, eyes wide and informative.

“Girl, you mustn’t be naïve,” she warned, reluctantly printing out the receipt and completing the transaction by swiping the cash out of my fingers and allowing my hand free.

“There are dark things upon you,” she whispered, as if the words would be destructive to the air.

Her eyes locked into my soul, taunting it with the fears of the unknown realm I was about to explore. With that, she jumped a bit in her heavy-set body, seemingly full of jitters. She said nothing more, swiftly moving to the back of the store like a mole back into the ground, dress trailing behind her motion.