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Heart and Souls 1
4 December 2018 21:44A beginning of a story I can't find a way to continue.
He seemed like an innocuous enough old man, the owner of the antique store, with short greying hair and kind wrinkled face. He wore classic round spectacles preferred by the old. He had eyes that looked like they've seen enough of the world and was now satisfied with what he had. He came into the store every morning and wiped the tables, cleaned out all the dust and dirt before flipping a small wooden sign he had hung on the front windows to "Open". But when I walked in, the bell on the door making a ding that would be heard to the back of the store, and smelled the antique wood of this furnitures and tasted the scent left in the air after every customers, I realised that my guess was right after all.
"Welcome," he said, putting down the documents that he had just been perusing to his desk. When he looked up and saw me, his eyes flinched just for a second, but he went on with business as usual. "How may I help you?"
I asked him about his store, and he showed me what he had. Tables from a hundred years ago, clocks that had been running for decades, couch once sat on by royalties. His eyes shifted toward me every so often as he was explaining, and I knew he was trying to figure me out. I was doing the same to him. We both knew what we were doing, hiding in plain sight. His explanation was just a formality.
"So. I take it business had been good?" I asked, as he was done showing me a two hundred year old wardrobe.
He gave a wry smile. "Not a lot of people are interested in antiques, these days, but I get by with what I have."
"Well," I took a second to think of how to pursue it. "You must have some exemplary customers, to keep this place up. They're more than enough for you, I take it?"
He narrowed his eyes. "You can feel it in the air, huh? I must've done a good job of that then." He sighed and beckoned me to walk back to the counter. "What do you want here, kid? You know the people here are no use to your kind."
I put up a smile. He was willing to put the formality down. "You have a lot of high class souls visiting. Any one of them can sustain you for years, why haven't you taken any of them?"
He walked behind the counter and glared at me for a second, then his eyes wandered down to the trinkets that lined the table. "I've been living in this plane for a while. I know restraint. Humans are a hopeful bunch, kid. If you only take a bite off their soul, they'll fill it back with no time." He gestured at the entire room, the warm, musky feel of the air, the ornate antiques, the beautiful decorations that lined its space. "What you see? It attracts a certain kind, but you know that. Once I've taken my piece, they'd leave, but they always come back, and the place fills them right back up. I'd rather have my return customers than a feast I can only have once in a lifetime. You understand, kid?"
His hands reached, absently, for a gas lamp on the counter. An ornate, decades-old antique. Its body was carved with visions of hell. I wondered if he kept it out of nostalgia or if it was a joke right under his quarries' nose. "I guess your kind don't have that kind of priviledge though, don't you?" He went on.
He seemed like an innocuous enough old man, the owner of the antique store, with short greying hair and kind wrinkled face. He wore classic round spectacles preferred by the old. He had eyes that looked like they've seen enough of the world and was now satisfied with what he had. He came into the store every morning and wiped the tables, cleaned out all the dust and dirt before flipping a small wooden sign he had hung on the front windows to "Open". But when I walked in, the bell on the door making a ding that would be heard to the back of the store, and smelled the antique wood of this furnitures and tasted the scent left in the air after every customers, I realised that my guess was right after all.
"Welcome," he said, putting down the documents that he had just been perusing to his desk. When he looked up and saw me, his eyes flinched just for a second, but he went on with business as usual. "How may I help you?"
I asked him about his store, and he showed me what he had. Tables from a hundred years ago, clocks that had been running for decades, couch once sat on by royalties. His eyes shifted toward me every so often as he was explaining, and I knew he was trying to figure me out. I was doing the same to him. We both knew what we were doing, hiding in plain sight. His explanation was just a formality.
"So. I take it business had been good?" I asked, as he was done showing me a two hundred year old wardrobe.
He gave a wry smile. "Not a lot of people are interested in antiques, these days, but I get by with what I have."
"Well," I took a second to think of how to pursue it. "You must have some exemplary customers, to keep this place up. They're more than enough for you, I take it?"
He narrowed his eyes. "You can feel it in the air, huh? I must've done a good job of that then." He sighed and beckoned me to walk back to the counter. "What do you want here, kid? You know the people here are no use to your kind."
I put up a smile. He was willing to put the formality down. "You have a lot of high class souls visiting. Any one of them can sustain you for years, why haven't you taken any of them?"
He walked behind the counter and glared at me for a second, then his eyes wandered down to the trinkets that lined the table. "I've been living in this plane for a while. I know restraint. Humans are a hopeful bunch, kid. If you only take a bite off their soul, they'll fill it back with no time." He gestured at the entire room, the warm, musky feel of the air, the ornate antiques, the beautiful decorations that lined its space. "What you see? It attracts a certain kind, but you know that. Once I've taken my piece, they'd leave, but they always come back, and the place fills them right back up. I'd rather have my return customers than a feast I can only have once in a lifetime. You understand, kid?"
His hands reached, absently, for a gas lamp on the counter. An ornate, decades-old antique. Its body was carved with visions of hell. I wondered if he kept it out of nostalgia or if it was a joke right under his quarries' nose. "I guess your kind don't have that kind of priviledge though, don't you?" He went on.