We went through the doorway, Mr. Harris holding my hand and pulling. All of the things that my ‘gift’ let me see, seemed to be looking at us as we walked under the hundred hear old door frame. Little white, angry, angry fucking things that I knew weren’t really there. At least I didn’t think they were. I was still terrified of the teeth.

Annabelle’s shop was an old building, built right after the Civil War, which is a big thing in Lawrence, Kansas. It was built with hickory and native lime stone, filled with fossils from a sea that used to cover the mid-west longer ago than I care to remember. I hated it here. All the stuff on the shop shelves that you would expect to find in a magic shop, and the magic shop owner, barefoot and in coveralls, her hair in braids and her smile in spades. Not my sort of place at all. I preferred Flogging Molly to whale sounds, which was playing in the background. Made all those fossils seem like they were crying. Could just be my crazy, crazy head though. And the company.

Mr. Harris made a bee-line for the counter and the lovely Annabelle. I wondered about those two, as much as I wondered about my boss, which I really tried not to do. At the moment though, I was willing to think about anything that would get my mind off the things outside, that I thought were outside, that maybe were really real, but probably weren’t. And to get my mind off a bottle of tequila that I couldn’t have at the moment, but was calling to me like fire, warm and seductive.

I decided it would be in my best interest to listen to the quiet conversation that my boss and the little pixie were having.

Mr. Harris was always polite to Annabelle, and now was no exception. They were exchanging pleasantries, and talking about the shop and the books behind the counter, and Annabelle was laughing that ridiculously musical laugh she had. It wasn’t a perfect laugh, broken like a ten year old at piano lessons, but even more engaging because of it. If I didn’t know better, I would say they were flirting. God, I hoped they weren’t flirting.

To further distract my mind from the things that were now unfortunately at the window, I started to wander around the shop, and I happened to look out the back door, which every old shop in Lawrence seemed to have. This one emptied out into an alley, with the other side being of all things a blacksmith shop. It wasn’t the smithy that distracted me though. It was the school girl.

Right there in the middle of the alley was a pale, blond girl dressed like a catholic school girl from St. John’s up the road. The only problem was she wasn’t a girl. I could tell she wasn’t a girl because I’m me and could tell even if the alley was completely dark, but the signs were these. She had pale gray skin. Her eyes were made out of little red buttons. The sturdy pencil she had in her hand was dripping blood. Fantastic. Another voodoo-zombie doll. It occurred to me, once again, that I could be in my apartment stoned right now if I were anyone else but me, but if I were anyone else but me I probably wouldn’t want to be stoned right now.

“So guys, if you can pull yourselves away from each other for a sec, I really think you should come over here and check out the evil Polly-Anna in the alley.” Mr. Harris frowned at me which usually would have bothered me, and Annabelle frowned at me which usually would have over-joyed me, but at that precise moment the little gray pip-squeak dripping blood turned to look at me too. Fantastic.

Want to start at the beginning?

http://authspot.com/short-stories/broken-bottle-and-a-phone-book/

Previous Chapter at:

http://authspot.com/novels/chapter-thirteen-chunky-yogurt-and-foliage/

The story, with illustrations in web-comic form: 

http://anniehintsala.blogspot.com/