A man is drawn to an antique shop, where he eyes and old rubber mask. The shopkeeper tells hi it's been cursed by a very powerful hypnotist. He doesn't believe in all of that superstition. But he is definitely drawn to it....
It's a rainy afternoon, and he finds himself begrudgingly walking down the sidewalk, hearing the splashing of his shoes slapping time and time again onto the little pools of water. He's tired, and truth be told, bored out of his mind.
It seems that lately his life had gotten into an eternal loop. Nothing new, nothing to break the monotony
Not only has he broken up with his girlfriend almost a year ago, but his current dating game leaves much to be desired. So enjoying any sex was totally out of question.
With his hands stuck in his pockets, he stares at the locals on either side of the street. He doesn't feel an urge to return home, even though the day is overcast, and it seems to be threatening to pour down at him at any second.
Something seems to be calling to him... beckoning him closer. He deviates from his usual road back home, getting closer and closer to the slums.
The apartments surrounding him begin getting smaller until he's only surrounded by old houses. He begins to wonder if he had ever seen this part of the city before. More puzzling still, even when he tries to find the location on his cell phone, he can't pick up even the slightest bit of signal.
That was it for him: he can't risk his life just because a gut feeling kept pushing him to walk further and further. He decides to turn around and begin his way back, afraid of having to make a fool of himself by asking a policeman to take him home.
But his feet didn't seem to want to obey that command. He felt an internal pull which made him come to a complete halt. He looked to the side, and there, waiting for him to just step inside was a large, odd-looking store. He has never seen anything quite like it before, though it isn't particularly eye-catching either. It's one of those places people only seem to find when they are actually looking for it.
As he approaches the building, he begins to notice even further details. An inventory so diverse it doesn't seem to fit a single store, objects which don't not seem to have any type of connection between them.
He stops in front of the door, feeling a strong, strange pressure on the back of his neck. His heartbeat begins growing faster and faster. It's irrational and yet completely irresistible.
Something calls him from the inside. It was creepy too: through the windows closest to the doors, he can notice odd, ancient dolls. Their dead eyes appear to look into his soul.
That's already scary in and of itself, but there is something peculiar about them. He can feel their glassy black eyes, dark voids, watching him, almost as if they are staring at him no matter which direction they face. On the opposite wall various tarot cards are mounted in strange patterns.
"If I go inside and there's an Elvis poster, I'm gone, I'm not bored enough to find out I'm stuck in a Stephen King novel," he tells himself as he steps through the door.
The interior of the place does not alleviate his feeling of unreality, it is clearly an emporium, and it sells all kinds of oddities. He can see some grenades from the second world war in boxes on the back with a sign which read: "Don't worry! they won't explode! ( I think!)"
He wanders through the shelves, seeing piles and piles of what any normal person would say garbage, worthless junk, but something begins to rise inside him, a voice. Faint and almost imperceptible in the background of his consciousness, where the most primitive part of the human brain operates.
His hands become moist by a layer of sweat, his heart beating hard, like a rolling drum.
Although the place seems like a labyrinth, that voice guides his feet. It seems to be coming from inside his brain, yet from so far away, as if there is another version of himself stuck at the bottom of a cave.
As he searches and follows that voice blindly, the convulsion seems to grow stronger. He doesn't notice the pair of old eyes watching him from behind a pair of ancient glasses.
"What object is he going to take?" The old timer muses to himself "how is this man going to be condemned? Each person who enters the store takes something unique, destined to change their lives, in the most varied and unique ways, and the results are not always negative... but are they truly for the better? These objects are very much so like the fairies of old, who do not share our concepts of right and wrong."
"I wonder... What is calling to him? Perhaps one of the rings in the backroom, or perhaps one of our exquisite coins?" he whispers to himself as he runs his finger down the page of the book he was reading before the new customer walks past him at last.
"Take it, you want it" The young man walking through those long corridors hears the unnatural voice, coming from nowhere and everywhere at the same time.
He finally comes to a halt in front of what appears to be a mask, made of a material which is difficult to decipher. Its entire surface is a wonderfully blue hue that, depending on the direction you look at it, flashes of different colors across its length. He extends his hand slowly, almost trembling, he begins to feel its texture on his fingertips, he can feel something stir inside of him.
"It's cursed, I think you should know." The old man's voice snaps him out of his trance, turning back so he can see who's talking to him.
"Cursed you say?" He laughs at the old man, and deep inside, he laughs at himself too, because he believes those words all too much. "There are no cursed objects, although I understand the reference, I suppose you also change shape every time a new client enters?"
