by Kevin Lucia
As I thought, vague pictures of my life floated to the surface. “I only remember a little. Going to class. Being bored to death. Everyone ignoring me. Getting mostly Cs and Bs in school. Playing some sports, but never getting off the bench, or doing anything important.”
I looked back up at the shopkeeper, heart pounding, feeling lightheaded and short of breath. “Why can’t I remember the name of my high school? Where it was? Why can’t I remember anyone? Friends? Teachers?”
He didn’t answer, (to this day, I’m not sure he had one) and when I turned my thoughts toward college, I found only the same vague impressions of an education. Attending college on a sprawling countryside campus, walking to class, sleeping through most of my lectures, receiving average grades, a bland dorm room, but not the college’s name. Or where it was. Only me majoring in marketing, hoping to make it big in the advertising world.
“What’s the first thing you remember doing, after living in your small apartment, existing hand-to-mouth, writing ad copy for all those small radio stations?”
It came to me quickly, immediately, with crystal-clear clarity. “Sitting in Mass Media’s office,” I said, “interviewing for my job.”
“And do you remember all the traveling?”
To my amazement, I did. Every school I’d visited over the past twenty years. Every gig. Every little bar, every tired bar whore, teachers, principals, student council vice-presidents, I remembered them all.
I nodded slowly. “Why? Why not anything before?”
The shopkeeper didn’t answer that, either. Only gazed at me with those kind green eyes, his expression soft, gentle, and sad. The answer came to me, as if I’d known it all along. “She killed me, didn’t she? She did shoot me in the head. But somehow I’m still here. On the road. Always on the road.”
I glanced down at the Gameboy in my hand. My voice cracked, throat tight and dry. “How is that possible?”
The shopkeeper shrugged. “Sometimes things slip through the cracks. They get lost and go wandering.” He gestured at the store’s cluttered shelves. “Like items on a pawn store shelf. Lost and forgotten. That’s why this store and others like it exist. To collect the lost things which have slipped through the cracks, and to give them new homes, if possible. To give them new purpose.”
“Have I been dead? Dead this whole time? But still sort of alive?”
“Maybe not alive. Existing is a better word. As for being dead, haven’t you always wanted to return to that state? Since your first week on the job? How long ago did you buy that,” he gestured at the .38 sitting in my lap, “really?”
I glanced down at the .38, seeing it anew. “I’ve always had it, I think. It’s always been there. Hasn’t it? Because it was Mom’s.”
A slow nod. “Yes. She passed it and death on to you. She shot and killed you but you traveled on regardless. Always on the road. And the gun’s always been there with you, and you’ve always wanted to go to it. Embrace it. Become one with it.”
“Did she find peace?” I stared at the gun and the Gameboy. “Did she find rest?”
“That’s not for me to say, unfortunately. In the end, we only know our own stories.”
“What about me, then? Will I find rest?”
The man sighed. “You want it, I know. But as I said when you first came in, we all know what we want. So few of us know what we need.”
I looked up at him, tears swimming in my eyes. His face wavered out of focus. “What do I need? Please. What do I need?”
He held out his hand, saying nothing.
I took it.
12.
So there’s not much more to tell. You’re probably expecting some big reveal, right? A twist? Maybe I signed a contract with the shopkeeper and traded my soul for my continued life, or existence, as the guy called it?
Well, I hate to disappoint. No such thing happened. The guy shook my hand, took the gun from me, stood up, walked past me, down the long hall with no end (and believe me, in the time since I’ve explored it, and there is no end) and he disappeared, never to be seen again.
I never did get his name.
I sat on the floor for a long time. Finally, obeying an urge I didn’t understand, I got up. Brushed myself off, ran my hands through my hair, and got ready to open Handy’s Pawn and Thrift for the day.
I’ve been here ever since.
This town isn’t so strange, now. The people here in Clifton Heights are mostly good folks. Sheriff Baker is a good man, and I feel bad about him missing his wife. Gavin Patchett—the English teacher who took me out to dinner a lifetime ago—is a surprising aficionado of pawn shops. A hell of a writer it turns out, too. Shame what happened to him, why he had to leave town last year, but that’s how it goes. I know better than most, as I’ve just told you.
Kevin Ellison, the owner of Arcane Delights, is always stopping by, searching for used books. Father Ward, the Headmaster at All Saints High is a sound fellow, for a priest and all. He comes in often to chat.
Of course, none of them recognize me as the “magazine salesman.” And for good reason. When Sheriff Baker first came in, hunting for fishing lures one day, I was a little surprised he didn’t seem to know me. I took a quick glance into the mirror sitting on the shelf nearest the sales counter while he was searching. Honestly, I really wasn’t surprised to see the face of the mysterious shopkeeper staring back.
Am I me still? Did the shopkeeper switch places with me, somehow? Or does the face simply come with the job? A job I accepted when I shook his hand. Who had the shopkeeper been before he came here?
I still haven’t met the shop’s owner, Mr. Handy. I will someday, I’m sure. We’re all gonna meet Him in the end, I believe. It’ll be on His schedule, however. Not ours.
What do I think He’s like?
I don’t know, honestly. Lots of wonderful things in His store. Some not-so-wonderful, horrible things too, I’m afraid, as you can tell from my story. But what can I say? We need ugliness to know what beauty is, and the light shines brightest when surrounded by darkness. As someone once said: That’s the way of things.
Believe it or not, I’ve never again seen anything strange when handling items in this store. Not since that night. I suppose it’s because I found what I needed, and I don’t need to see anything more. In here, people only see what they need. Some folks need small things, others, big things. I don’t control what they see, or who sees things. I only manage the store. As for the folks I saw when I first came here? Don’t know about them, either. Like the shopkeeper before me said: In the end, we only know our own stories.
And the trapdoor behind the counter? That one I fell through? Gone. I’ve checked several times, thinking maybe the door fit so snugly the edges were hard to see. Far as I can tell, there is no trapdoor anymore, with no sign one ever existed.
But I’m fine not knowing the answers to all these questions. I’ve enjoyed working here. I enjoy the folks who visit—locals and tourists alike—and not only have I sold many interesting things (things I didn’t even know we had) I’ve helped lots of people find what they need, too.
It wasn’t always pretty, though. Sometimes, what folks needed was the last thing they wanted. But every customer—especially the chosen ones—always come away with the things they need.
Which brings me to the point of all this. Sorry for the long-winded sales pitch. Still got some of my salesman mojo, I guess. Of course, you did ask me how I got here, and all. But now that we’ve gotten everything out of the way—take a look around. No rush. We stay open late, as you can guess from my tale. Take all the time you need. And don’t be shy. Ask any questions you want. More importantly, though . . .
Tell me, friend.
What do you need?
PUBLISHING ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The Office—Beauty of Death, Independent Legions Publishing, 2016
Out of Field Theory—Shock Totem 9.5, Halloween Special, 2014
Scavenging—Chiral Mad 2, Written Backwards Publishing, 2015
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The Way of Ah-Tzenul—Createspace, 2015
A Place for Broken and Discarded Things, Previously Unpublished
The Black Pyramid—Shadows Over Main Street, Farolight Publishing, 2016
When We All Meet at the Ofrenda—Gutted: Beautiful Horror Stories, 2016
Almost Home—Horror Library 4, Cutting Block Press, 2013
THE END?
Not quite . . .
Have you read all Kevin Lucia’s Clifton Heights books:
Devourer of Souls
Through a Mirror, Darkly
Things Slip Through
A Night at Old Webb
Kevin Lucia is the Reviews Editor for Cemetery Dance Magazine. His column Revelations is featured on Cemetery Dance Online. His short fiction has appeared in several anthologies, most recently with Neil Gaiman, Clive Barker, and Robert McCammon.
He’s currently finishing his Creative Writing Masters Degree at Binghamton University. He teaches high school English and lives in Castle Creek, New York with his family.
His first short story collection, Things Slip Through was published November 2013, followed by Devourer of Souls in June 2014 and Through a Mirror, Darkly, June 2015. His novella Mystery Road is forthcoming from Cemetery Dance Publications. Visit him at: http://kevinlucia.blogspot.com.
Or dive into more Tales from the Darkest Depths:
Novels:
House of Sighs (with sequel novella) by Aaron Dries
Beyond Night by Eric S. Brown and Steven L. Shrewsbury
The Third Twin: A Dark Psychological Thriller by Darren Speegle
Aletheia: A Supernatural Thriller by J.S. Breukelaar
Beatrice Beecham’s Cryptic Crypt: A Supernatural Adventure/Mystery Novel by Dave Jeffery
Where the Dead Go to Die by Mark Allan Gunnells and Aaron Dries
Sarah Killian: Serial Killer (For Hire!) by Mark Sheldon
The Final Cut by Jasper Bark
Blackwater Val by William Gorman
Pretty Little Dead Girls: A Novel of Murder and Whimsy by Mercedes M. Yardley
Nameless: The Darkness Comes by Mercedes M. Yardley
Novellas:
A Season in Hell by Kenneth W. Cain
Quiet Places: A Novella of Cosmic Folk Horror by Jasper Bark
The Final Reconciliation by Todd Keisling
Run to Ground by Jasper Bark
Devourer of Souls by Kevin Lucia
Apocalyptic Montessa and Nuclear Lulu: A Tale of Atomic Love by Mercedes M. Yardley
Wind Chill by Patrick Rutigliano
Little Dead Red by Mercedes M. Yardley
Sleeper(s) by Paul Kane
Stuck On You by Jasper Bark
Anthologies:
Welcome to The Show, edited by Doug Murano
Lost Highways: Dark Fictions From the Road, edited by D. Alexander Ward
C.H.U.D. Lives! – A Tribute Anthology
Tales from The Lake Vol.4: The Horror Anthology, edited by Ben Eads
Behold! Oddities, Curiosities and Undefinable Wonders, edited by Doug Murano
Twice Upon an Apocalypse: Lovecraftian Fairy Tales, edited by Rachel Kenley and Scott T. Goudsward
Tales from The Lake Vol.3, edited by Monique Snyman
Gutted: Beautiful Horror Stories, edited by Doug Murano and D. Alexander Ward
Tales from The Lake Vol.2, edited by Joe Mynhardt, Emma Audsley, and RJ Cavender
Children of the Grave
The Outsiders
Tales from The Lake Vol.1, edited by Joe Mynhardt
Fear the Reaper, edited by Joe Mynhardt
For the Night is Dark, edited by Ross Warren
Short story collections:
Frozen Shadows and Other Chilling Stories by Gene O’Neill
Varying Distances by Darren Speegle
The Ghost Club: Newly Found Tales of Victorian Terror by William Meikle
Ugly Little Things: Collected Horrors by Todd Keisling
Whispered Echoes by Paul F. Olson
Embers: A Collection of Dark Fiction by Kenneth W. Cain
Visions of the Mutant Rain Forest, by Bruce Boston and Robert Frazier
Tribulations by Richard Thomas
Eidolon Avenue: The First Feast by Jonathan Winn
Flowers in a Dumpster by Mark Allan Gunnells
The Dark at the End of the Tunnel by Taylor Grant
Through a Mirror, Darkly by Kevin Lucia
Things Slip Through by Kevin Lucia
Where You Live by Gary McMahon
Tricks, Mischief and Mayhem by Daniel I. Russell
Samurai and Other Stories by William Meikle
Stuck On You and Other Prime Cuts by Jasper Bark
Poetry collections:
WAR by Alessandro Manzetti and Marge Simon
Brief Encounters with My Third Eye by Bruce Boston
No Mercy: Dark Poems by Alessandro Manzetti
Eden Underground: Poetry of Darkness by Alessandro Manzetti
If you’ve ever thought of becoming an author, we’d also like to recommend these non-fiction titles:
Where Nightmares Come From: The Art of Storytelling in the Horror Genre, edited by Joe Mynhardt and Eugene Johnson
Horror 101: The Way Forward, edited by Joe Mynhardt and Emma Audsley
Horror 201: The Silver Scream Vol.1 and Vol.2, edited by Joe Mynhardt and Emma Audsley
Modern Mythmakers: 35 interviews with Horror and Science Fiction Writers and Filmmakers by Michael McCarty
Writers On Writing: An Author’s Guide Volumes 1,2,3, and 4, edited by Joe Mynhardt. Now also available in a Kindle and paperback omnibus.
Or check out other Crystal Lake Publishing books for more Tales from the Darkest Depths. Or follow us on Patreon for behind the scenes access.
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Or check out other Crystal Lake Publishing books for your Dark Fiction, Horror, Suspense, and Thriller needs.
With unmatched success since 2012, Crystal Lake Publishing has quickly become one of the world’s leading indie publishers of Mystery, Thriller, and Suspense books with a Dark Fiction edge.
Crystal Lake Publishing puts integrity, honor and respect at the forefront of our operations.
We strive for each book and outreach program that’s launched to not only entertain and touch or comment on issues that affect our readers, but also to strengthen and support the Dark Fiction field and its authors.
Not only do we publish authors who are legends in the field and as hardworking as us, but we look for men and women who care about their readers and fellow human beings. We only publish the very best Dark Fiction, and look forward to launching many new careers.
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Crystal Lake Publishing is and will always be a beacon of what passion and dedication, combined with overwhelming teamwork and respect, can accomplish: Unique fiction you can’t find anywhere else.
We do not just publish books, we present you worlds within your world, doors within your mind,
from talented authors who sacrifice so much for a moment of your time.
This is what we believe in. What we stand for. This will be our legacy.
Welcome to Crystal Lake Publishing—Tales from the Darkest Depths
