The Antiques Shop

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The following is, I think, the first attempt I ever made at writing a story.  I believe I was probably about fourteen at the time so please forgive the ridiculously bad grammar and spelling.  This part was supposed to be the precursor to a larger story, but I cannot for the life of me remember what it was.  Maybe I’ll come up with something in the future.  Enjoy…

It is old, smelly, creepy, ugly, boring, creamy, dull and… dusty. That’s where I come in. I have the job of cleaning here. Why an antiques shop? Why not a supermarket or a café or something like that. I’ll tell you why, it’s because the other places don’t think I am qualified enough to work for them. I am only sixteen but two pounds an hour is just silly. That means that because I work ten hours a week and that ends up as twenty pounds a week. Were as all the other jobs pay about five pounds an hour, except for the factory. That place is worse than here, and I mean it. That place it the absolute pits.

The shop owner is called Mr Fustibar, (I call him Mr F.) It is rather a strange name I know but he is actually quite a nice old bloke. Also in the shop there is a girl the same age as me called Madison, (I call her Madi.) She is Mr F’s daughter but they couldn’t look more different. She of course gets all the good jobs like working the till, and preparing snacks for the customers, and she gets to handle the deliveries. Also she is very quiet, she never says anything at all. If I try to talk to her she just makes a hand gesture or shakes or nods her head. On the off chance she mumbles something, but it is so low that I can barely hear her.

There is a room at the very, very back of the store. It has an old oak door and the handle is iron and heavy. A plaque in the middle of it reads, “Keep out! Forbidden!” I have never ever been in there, I can’t even glance through cracks or the keyhole, or even when Mr F and Madi go through it, but they are too quick and it is too dark in there any way for me to see. I don’t really want to go in there, as I am quite superstitious. Obviously Mr F and Madi go in there and when I ask them what is in there they either change the subject or lie and say that it’s just a pile of old boxes gathering dust and nothing for me to worry about.

I don’t get a lot of time to just sit and observe the shop, it’s owners and it’s customers. The only time that I do get to is when I’m on my lunch break or just on my break, but during this time I usually go down town or something like that to get food. But when I do stay in the shop I can observe all I want. Most of the customers are just your usual every day elderly person. But some of the customers are very strange; they wear strange clothes and speak in a strange language, one that I am completely oblivious towards, and they bring along other people. All of these, when they come, go through the door into the room. And I never ever see them leave, but then I see only them come back at least a few weeks or maybe even a month later.

If there is no one else in the shop I just watch Mr F and Madi going about their business. Mr F is a short middle-aged man. His hair is brown and is going bald at the top. He always wears old cords and sweaters. Also he always wears the same shoes. All the time I have been here he has never worn any different shoes. Madi, on the other hand, is always wearing black. Her hair is black, smooth and medium length, her make-up is white with black lips and eyeliner. Her look is completely evil and I have never seen her smile.

I came into the shop this morning and opened up, as per-usual. Then I went to see if I could find Mr F or Madi to see what my job were this morning. I could not find either of them, so I just gathered that they had gone out to get some supplies or something like that. They usually did anyway, so I wasn’t at all worried. But it got to lunchtime and neither of them had returned. During the day, a few of the strange customers came into the shop, and when I told them that Mr F was not available, they started to get very angry, and a few of them stormed out of the shop in a fury. By that evening neither Mr F nor Madi had returned.

When I got back the next morning, still nobody was there. I opened up anyway. There was nothing to confirm this but I figured that they had gone on holiday and had forgotten to tell me. The day continued as it had the previous day. As the sky grew darker in evening, I felt a strange chill run down my back. I heard a creak of floorboards and then the creak of door and then a door behind me slammed shut. Then came footsteps. They were coming from behind me, and were getting closer and closer and closer. I dared not turn around, as I was filled with dread of what I might find. Then the footsteps ceased. Out of nowhere a hand clamped down onto my shoulder. I screamed!!!!!

“You shouldn’t have scared me like that,” I told Madi as she emerged from the kitchen, with two hot drinks. “Sorry,” she replied, but she said it so quietly I could barely hear her. “Where have you been for the past two days,” I just had to ask. “I’ve been at my fathers funeral.” “But I didn’t even know he was dead. How did it happen?” I knew it was a harsh question to ask but it had to come out. She stood up and beckoned for me to follow. We walked up to the door. She took her key and opened it. She stood behind me and I leant in. Then, with a sudden jolt, she pushed me in. It took my eyes a few moments to adjust to the darkness but when they did I could have died in fright. The room was filled with dead bodies. Madi came in behind me, closed the door and locked it. She started to walk around me, shaking her head she said, “I murdered him.” “Why” “Because he never loved me, and he owned everything that I wanted. And now that you know all of this I am afraid I shall have to deal with you to!” I suddenly realised the large old rusty dagger in her hands. She raised it above her head and brought it down forcefully and it was driven deeply into my left shoulder. I screamed with the terrible pain. It was so painful that I passed out.

I woke up. I was lying in a warm cosy hospital bed. I tried to sit up to look around me, but was stopped abruptly by the pain shooting down my left arm. I groaned in pain. A nurse heard and hurried over to me. She had bright ginger hair and had a nose stud. She comforted me and told me that my parents would be at the hospital by the afternoon. “What happened,” I enquired, “One minute I’m getting stabbed in the shoulder and the next I’m in a hospital bed.” By this time, a doctor had come over to my bed. “The police received a call,” he started, “saying that someone was going to be murdered at the old antiques shop. They got there as soon as they possibly could. They searched the shop and at last they came to a door from which came a scream. They rushed inside and found a girl in black pulling a dagger out of your shoulder. They arrested her with attempted murder. Then they rushed you into hospital. And that’s the story that I have heard.” It took me a while to register all of this. After a while I asked, “Who made the phone call?” “A man called, now let me see, it was something like Mr Fistiber, no, Mr Foosibag, no, not that either… oh yes I remember now, Mr Fustibar, yes that’s right, Mr Fustibar.” I didn’t know what to say to that. I just lay back against the pillow and started to think. Mr F was dead. Wasn’t he?!?!?!?!?!?

 

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