A Prized Fly

The small bell tinked in my ear, and I found myself stepping into the familiar dark, dusty entrance of Lady Theresa's Antique Store.

The chime seemed to pull me out of a trance, and I couldn't even remember why I decided to stop by in the first place. I had the sneaking suspicion that I should just leave. My head felt cloudy anyway. I heard the flu was going around. Perhaps I was coming down with it. Though it's funny that I wound up here.

And I definitely didn't need any more shit. I was pretty certain I'd spent at least a year's salary here across all of my visits. What can I say? I'm a sucker for a good deal and an even better find.

I shook off the uneasy feeling and continued my way inside. A golden rectangle interrupted by my shadow painted the dark, worn-down carpeting briefly before halving in size, the door drifting closed with a gentle thud.

The front of the shop was simple. Cluttered but simple. Deep red curtains were draped over the two oversized storefront windows, and a few round wooden tables were collecting trinkets and dust. Knowing these are just meant to target shoppers while they wait to be checked out (a practice I noticed Theresa wasn't the least bit hesitant to use), I headed toward the good stuff without a second glance.

I walked past the check-out counter that guarded the door leading back to the rest of Theresa's inventory, working to remember what I came here for.

Maybe something will just speak to me.

The rest of the shop was laid out before me like a junkyard hedge maze. Shelves, shelves, and more shelves filled the cramped space with so much old, unwanted stuff that you couldn't see anything beyond what was right in front of you. I think there were enough collectibles packed in here to satisfy the needs of at least ten hoarders. Nooks and crannies branched off in every direction but never led more than a few feet away from the main veins of crap. If it was organized at all, I didn't have the slightest idea what the system was.

On top of the chaos, the ambiance was only slightly darker than a dim closet. It made it difficult to thoroughly inspect a potential purchase—another shameless tactic of Theresa's. The only two windows let in a faint red glow from the front, and all the overhead lights were just unnecessarily dim lightbulbs protruding sporadically from the stud-lined ceiling.

However, what my vision lacked, my nose made up for. Everything smelled like a healthy mix of dust, mold, and an old folk's home. Regardless, I simply felt drawn to the place. Sometimes, on my way home from work, I would snap back into reality, realizing that I'd walked straight here, not the flat I lived in.

Today was sort of like that, except all of my day was such a blur. I could hardly remember how it had even started. That made me pause. In between two columns of old oil lamps and costumes, I inspect myself. I saw that I was dressed for work: black, non-stick shoes, jeans, and my Café Monet t-shirt. My hair was in a messy bun, and strands were falling out all over the place. I must have just gotten done with my shift.

And I'm certain I came here for something. My inability to recall my day might also have to do with the insufferable amount of spicy Nag Champa incense Theresa was burning today.

I released a heavy breath, remembering my conversation with my mom yesterday. Wait, that can't be right. It must have been at least a week since we last spoke. She was right; I do need some time off. Walking down a lane dedicated to old dolls, I mindlessly looked them over as I thought about the last year of my life.

My move here to the burbs was provoked by a very horribly failed business venture in the city. Words were said, lawsuits were threatened. And then I found myself here, out of money and property, all repossessed by the bank. Before I had any money, I would come here just to look around, wondering if there was a place in the city like this with all of the things that were taken from me.

After securing a job at Café Monet and working myself silly, I was able to make some purchases for my shithole apartment from here and settle in just a little bit more. But the working never stopped. If I stopped, then I thought, and I wasn't ready to face all of that yet.

I made my way around one of the shelves and dipped into an L-shaped alcove. When I reached the very end, I spotted one of those unsettling cymbal-banging monkeys. Surrounded by old magazines, knick-knacks, and a few cartoon-inspired coffee mugs, it was no larger than a few thick books. It was nestled perfectly under a murky yellow spotlight and somehow more creepy than I'd ever seen them in movies.

Even though the unexpected intrusion of it dropped a brick in my stomach. I felt an urge to pick it up somewhere deep inside of me. To inspect it. As I stepped up to it, my chin nearly touching the shelf it was patiently waiting on, I could almost hear the monkey croon, "Play with me, play with me, sweet, sweet girl."

It was absolutely horrifying, but something about it seemed to call to me.

Turn back, a small voice whispered in my head. No, screamed. But it was clouded and muffled by the haze in my head and this place.

My fingers twitched upward. I felt my head drooped languidly to the side. Its bulging, bloodshot eyes had my own wide and completely transfixed. Everything around us disappeared in a blur. Everything but the monkey. It was like watching a black widow weave her web. Then, render the prey she caught immobile with her venom. Siphoning off its pathetic lifeforce a little at a time. Making sure her food lasts long enough so that she never goes hungry.

Disturbingly transfixed. Unable to look away. Unaware that I even want to.

I felt my jaw slack open like it was no longer a part of my head.

Maybe it was the Champa or the fog cocooning my mind, but time seemed to stand still. I stood there, inspecting that monkey. Actually, inspecting implies thinking. I was entirely entranced. Every last thought and piece of anxiety faded away like smoke in the wind.

From far, far away, I heard something fall, making a high-pitched crash. Elsewhere in the store, probably.

As if someone had walked up and snapped their bony fingers in my ear, my spine straightened, and my mouth—dried out a dusty—snapped closed. I blinked a bit of the blur away, looking around and remembering where I was. What I had been doing.

The feeling of a slow and peaceful suffocation, like death by carbon monoxide, lingered.

Stupid monkey, I thought, and wondered how long it had been here. It'd been a while since my last visit, but I was pretty confident that it was something I would remember seeing.

With one last look at its leering maw, I continued wandering aimlessly around the store.

Or what I thought was aimless. No matter how much I roamed looking for something that piqued my interest, I found myself in the same alcove with the same monkey. Drawn to touch it but equally unnerved. I would scowl at it before leaving and walking to another part of the cramped store.

As I rounded each corner, I got the odd sense that someone had just passed out of sight around the next one, but I never ran into anyone. Or heard them. I haven't even seen Theresa. I assumed she was in the back, sorting through her precious inventory, but it was odd that she'd yet to come to find whoever was in her store, whether she knew it was me or not.

Somewhere in the middle of the snarl, I started inspecting a carefully placed collection of mismatched vases. A few of them had dried-out flowers that Theresa must have forgotten about, something entirely out of character for her. A vision of what they might have looked like fresh flashed across my mind. Soft purples and vibrant yellows. Deep greens and milky baby's breath.

I rubbed a dried leaf between my thumb and four-finger, turning it into powder. As I looked at the ashy green residue left behind on my skin, a shadow passed around a corner just beyond my peripheral vision. My head snapped in the direction, but I didn't see anything.

I urged my legs forward but stopped in my tracks as a vase slipped off the shelf I'd been standing in front of. It crashed loudly by my feet. The pink-stained glass exploded around my black sneakers, and I jumped back reflexively.

Too many things crowded the space between me and whoever was on the other side. Whatever had been following me around the store. My eyes went from wide to narrow within a few pounding heartbeats. I threw myself around the corner to see who was on the other side.

The space, however, was empty. Save for an array of glimmering crystal glasses and tossed away painted plates. Maybe I just bumped it on accident? But I could feel the leftover energy still lingering amongst the dishware.

I stomped up and down each aisle, searching. Searching. Searching. When I finally returned to the spot where I had started, the broken glass was gone.

So Theresa was here somewhere.

I continued to stare at the spot once riddled shards for a few more moments and then continued my journey between the walls of antiques.

With each passing minute I perused, I felt myself grow steadily more uneasy, more paranoid. Sure someone was watching me, but never catching a glimpse of them. Goosebumps would sporadically prickle across my arms and neck, and my gut did a somersault each with every turn around another corner.

Then there was the monkey. I wouldn't look around the store for more than five minutes before I turned a corner that was somehow that same alcove as before. No matter which way I went, all junk-lined roads led to primate.

By the time I reached the end of that L-shaped pocket for the tenth time, I was sticky with sweat. My heart was beating uncomfortably in my chest, and tears were threatening to break free from my aching throat.

"I'm being ridiculous," I finally choked out as I found myself face-to-face with the monkey yet again. "It probably doesn't even work." I snatched it off the beat-up wooden shelf as I said it.

It's not like I'd ever want it in my home anyway. My apartment was shitty, but it wasn't that shitty. And I may have purchased some pretty avant-garde stuff from here in the past, but this was a bit much, even for me.

The fabric of its yellow wool jacket gnawed at my hand, and a bullet of mustiness shot straight into my nostrils. Making contact with it sent a thousand tiny legs skittering down my spine. The shadows around its red eyes almost seemed to breathe as I brought it up to my face with trembling hands, trying to figure out how it worked.

The silence around me cracked in half as the small cymbals came clashing together before I could even locate the mechanism. I felt my soul thrash out of my body and nearly threw the tattered thing down to the floor. My heart thundered in my ears, and a fresh bout of dizziness washed over me.

"Holy... shit," I gasped, setting the monkey back down on the shelf with a loud thud. It screeched at me derisively as it continued banging the cymbals together.

Ting. Ting. Ting.

Crash. Crash. Crash.

In and out, in and out, in and out. Each connection sounding louder than the last.

I win. I win. I win.

It's laugh grew more and more hysterical.

Annoyed that Theresa would allow such a horrid thing into her place, I hurried back toward the door without a second thought. The silvery singing of the monkey's cymbals and its incessant screeching followed me out of the labyrinth with every step. No matter how far I got, it sounded like it was right behind me. Mocking me. Toying with me.

It felt unnatural to leave without making even a small purchase, but my stomach was in my throat. I desperately needed air. It had probably been no more than thirty minutes since I'd first walked through the door, but lifetimes seemed to have passed since.

The front of the store was empty, and there was still no sign of Theresa.

Good, she would only try to stop me, and every single instinct was screaming at me to move. To leave. To escape.

A glass window took up nearly half of the old, wooden front door. As I got closer and closer, I realized it was already dark outside.

There was no way I had gotten here any later than 3:00. How was it already dark? The room started to spin. Closing in on me fast.

HA HA HA.

The silvery sound of its cymbals was like the teasing cackle of a hyena hunting down its prey.

Each step felt further and further away from the damned door. I finally cried out. I wasn't sure if it was from pain, fear, exhaustion, separation, or a mix of it all. I was terrified that I wouldn't make it outside before fainting.

That would mean I would be stuck in here longer with that thing. I drove myself forward, pushing the vertigo away. Sending it back with the sound of the monkey that I was also trying to get out of my head.

The door shrunk, but I knew I was getting closer. Finally, my hand connected with the cool brass handle, and everything came crashing in.

Freedom. I sobbed and laughed at the same time, collapsing against the soft wood.

Almost there. All I needed to do was make myself push it open. Take the few steps needed to get me through to the other side. I could nearly feel the cool night air splashing across my face.

Ready to leave this place behind me for a good long while, I yanked the door open and stepped through that blessed gate.

The small bell tinked in my ears.

I found myself stepping into the dark, dusty entrance of Lady Theresa's Antique Store.

What just happened? My head felt so cloudy that I could hardly remember what happened before the bell centered me back into reality. A thought that grew smaller and smaller until it was nothing. Like water in my hands, it was gone.

My vision started to blur slightly. I squeezed my eyelids closed, rubbing my temple with my fingertips. My body wobbled as I worked to blink a little bit of clarity back into my eyes.

I should go home, I thought to myself. I was clearly in no condition to be out and about, nor was I of sound mind to be making purchases. It's possible that I was starting to come down with something. I felt sick. Maybe it was the flu. I think I heard that was going around.

I couldn't even remember what brought me here. It's funny how you can wind up in places you didn't intend to while on autopilot, but I'm certain I came here for something. Regardless, I have enough shit for my apartment as it is. 

I shook off my hesitations and the dizziness, trying to decide whether to stay or go. It wouldn't hurt just to look.

Maybe something will speak to me.