Tacky

You’ve seen the shop before. At least, you think you have. You can’t remember when it opened or when you first noticed it, but looking at it now, your mind understands what your stomach does not. You have seen the shop before. Of course you have. It has been here for… It doesn’t matter. You have seen this shop in this spot before. This swaying, knotted feeling in your stomach means nothing, and you will prove it. You take a few quick steps forward and push open the door.

The shop is lit softly and quiet music plays in the background. It is soothing, you tell your stomach, which has managed to loop itself into an even tighter knot. It is soothing and refreshing, unlike the large department store you usually purchase clothing at. The shop does, in fact, sell clothing. Women’s to the left, delicate pink dresses hanging on the wall, fluttering as the air conditioning brushes along the hem. Men’s to the left, dark blazers mimicking the dresses on the far wall, but with more jagged motions. They are just dresses and blazers, you tell yourself, ignoring the pounding of your heart as you move towards a rack and begin to examine the clothes. There is nothing to be afraid of.

The absence of a sound catches your ear and you turn faster than you intended to, eyes wider than you intended. There is nothing but a few mannequins in the middle of the store and a glassy-eyed woman behind the cash register, an unwavering smile plastered on her face. Your skin prickles and you nod at her before turning back to the shirt you had been examining before you heard the whispering stop. No, not whispering. The song playing over the speakers simply changed. That was the blankness you heard. It certainly wasn’t whispering, and you certainly wish the pace of your heart would follow the music’s suit and pause.

There is a snicker--no, not a snicker. A snick. You must have dragged the hanger across the metal rack a little sharper than you intended. You tell yourself you’ll be more careful, even as you watch your hand begin to shake more violently.

“Finding everything all right?”

You jump away from the shop clerk, startled by her sudden appearance. Her large blue eyes are dull and glassy, despite her apparent youth. Your mother’s voice echoes in your head, urging you to smile and not to stare, but your body does not listen to you. Your head moves up and down in stuttering jerks as you stammer out a yes. She does not move, just stands there. Smiling. You attempt to smile back as your eyes dart towards the door. Perhaps your body was wise to warn you of this place.

She is still standing there, smiling distantly beyond you as you move hangers back and forth in an attempt to separate yourself from her. Your body’s screams have become too loud; logic cannot override the sense of hysterical fear creeping over you. There is no hiding your unease now, no trying to prove to yourself that this shop is harmless. It is a lost cause. But the woman still stands there, and if those dull eyes possessed the power to bore into something, they would be boring into you. If she stopped staring at you, you would be able to think clearly, but for now, all you can think about is leaving without embarrassing yourself.

Without looking, you grab a box from a shelf. You will buy this item so the woman stops staring at you, and then you will leave. It doesn’t matter what is in the box--you will never enter the shop again. You only wish to leave now and forever. Whatever is in the box will have to do.

You turn to the woman, smile, and say “I’ll be purchasing this. That’s all, thanks.”

Her smile does not falter as an enormous sigh seeps throughout the room, making your entire body shake. “Those,” a voice echoes. A voice that does not come from the woman. “Why does everyone choose those?”

Three things happen almost simultaneously. The woman’s eyes grow even wider, almost seeming clear for a second, as though they are screaming run, as her back arches hideously and a sound like a firecracker goes off. The scream that leaves your lips does not come from what the shop clerk has become now, though. The corpse--as you now realize she was the whole time--falls as a mannequin stands. He--he is a “he,” you know, because it sports one of the blazers that are on the wall--is faceless. The blank, white void looks at you, cocks its head, and the sigh echoes through the room again.

“This whole fabulous room, and you choose those,” he says, gliding over the woman’s body and heading straight for you. You are paralyzed as he shakes his head and reaches out a hand. “You’d think you’d all learn by now how tacky those are.”

The last thing you see as you fall is the box as it hits the ground, a single bright green foam shoe bouncing onto the tile.