03 Oct Precious Memories

Memories are a funny thing. They are crucial in defining who we are and our history, yet they trap us in cycles that can be difficult to escape. I have always had a hard time reconciling how my past defines me. I still cling to the memories and even the objects connected to them. Some people call me a hoarder. I would say I’m just sentimental —sentimental for a time that has passed and for those I shared it with.

I suppose it doesn’t matter now. No matter what I do or where I go, the ones I cared for most are gone, and all I have left are the things that remind me of them.

Just the other day, I bumped into a tall brass crane that my wife had picked up years ago at an antique store. She always liked those kinds of decorations, and dozens of them are still around the house.

I smiled when I thought of her, shopping for antiques. She had always enjoyed going to those kinds of stores. She said she loved to experience the history of things, to speculate on the stories and memories that even the most benign objects might possess.

Many of the items I cling to are things she brought into our house, things she breathed life and her memories into.

I know a lot of these things hold little real value, but to me, it’s all I have left of the life I once had. You truly never appreciate what you have until it’s gone.

I’m sorry, I’m getting nostalgic again. I suppose it’s better if I just tell you the tale, and the reason why I live alone here now, trapped in a mountain of memories,  unable to move on.

* * * * * *

It was five years ago, nearly to the day. My wife Susan and I were going on a holiday for the weekend, something we had not done in what felt like ages. We would be staying in a nice little coastal town, about fifty miles away from where we lived. It was beautiful out there in the summertime and we were both excited to finally be taking some time off. We had been through a lot the previous year, and our hearts and bodies needed the break.

I was finishing up a last-minute delivery that Friday. Susan was disappointed I would not be driving with her to our destination, but she decided to go on and claim our reservation and look around while waiting for me.

I was frustrated that I had been delayed. However, the last-minute delivery that was called in by the owner was not something I could really decline.

So, there I was, stuck making a delivery that was a good half a state away, while my wife was waiting for me.

I groaned as I checked the clock again and realized that even if I made good time, I would not be rejoining Susan until evening, maybe not even until later at night. Worse still, the forecast for the area had gone from clear skies to a rather disturbing-looking storm front that threatened to make my trip even worse.

I made my delivery and dropped off the truck as fast as I could. Then I left and headed straight for Echo Cove in my own car. It was raining cats and dogs, and I could barely see anything through the storm. A bit of rain was not unusual out there, but it seemed particularly bad, and I hoped Susan had been able to check into the hotel and stay out of the downpour.

It was not our first time staying there. We had vacationed at Echo Cove for years at that point. Despite the bad weather, we needed to do it. We had been in a rocky patch in our relationship after last year, and the tragedy we endured together nearly broke us.

I had tried to discourage the idea, but when I heard the desperation in her voice, I knew she was right and that we had to try to return to some semblance of normalcy. But it still felt hard to enjoy ourselves like we had done before. It just felt different, more somber. Though if anything could help, it would be a getaway where we could just be together, away from everything else. A little time, just for us, during which we could remember our love, our memories, and even our grief.

Thinking about her made me feel even more guilty for working late at the start of our vacation. Over the last year I had thrown myself into work. I found I was able to cope with things better the busier I stayed. Well, perhaps not cope, but I found I could not dwell on things when I was distracted.

Unfortunately, being away so often had likely contributed to the rift our marriage was suffering in the last year.

As my mind wandered, I narrowly avoided running over an object in the road. I swerved to avoid it and was lucky I didn’t end up in a ditch. I knew I had to stay focused on what I was doing, or else I was going to get into an accident.

After another half an hour of white-knuckle driving through torrents of rain, I made out the outline of the town by the faint lights beyond. I had gone through some spotty sections of cell reception, and I noticed I had a message from Susan.

I replayed it on the car’s speakers via Bluetooth and heard my wife’s voice:

“Hi, honey. Just calling to make sure you are safe; this weather is insane. I swear it was supposed to be clear this weekend. Anyway, I wanted to let you know I am going to be checking out a new antique store before heading to the hotel. I saw it on the way in. It’s called Precious Memories. It looks super charming. I will let you know if I find anything. I should be back at the hotel by the time you get here. See you soon, and thank you again for doing this. I know it feels too soon, but I think we need this.”

I smiled despite myself, knowing how even in a massive thunderstorm, she would still want to check out an antique store if it was available. I tried to call her back after listening to the message. It rang several times before going to voicemail.

I left a quick message, apologizing for missing her call and letting her know I was okay. I figured since I was running even later than expected due to the weather, that she would be at the hotel by then. I drove straight there. It was a nice little place near the beach called the Tides Inn. We had stayed there a few years back and decided to return this year.

The place looked empty, despite how busy summer was for them. I chose a parking spot close to the main entrance, and rushed through the pouring rain into the office. I realized I still needed to see what our room number was. I had forgotten to ask Susan, and she had not responded when I tried to call her.

Stepping inside, the familiar sight of the lobby greeted me, and I was happy to be back. I remembered the last time we had come. It was a few years ago, but the memory still made me smile, just like the cheesy boat decorations all over.

I rang the bell on the counter and in moments, a pretty young woman, whose nametag said “Chloe” stepped up to greet me.

“Hello, sir, checking in?”

“No, my wife should have already picked up the key. Mrs. Susan Bayer?”

She smiled and typed a bit on her keyboard before a slight frown creased her face.

“I’m sorry, sir. It looks like your check-in time was a few hours ago. I have your key right here. No one else has been by to pick it up.” She handed me the key and gave an apologetic look. I took it, finished checking in, and thanked her.

I was a bit confused. I pulled out my phone and saw I had some reception and called Susan again. It went straight to her voicemail. I was starting to get worried. She should have been there already.

After a few panicked moments of cycling through “what if?” scenarios, I managed to calm down. I had an idea just then, that maybe she was still at that antique store. If anyone could spend hours looking at antiques, it would be her.

I asked back in the hotel for directions to the “Precious Memories” antique store. The woman looked confused.

“I’m sorry, I am not familiar with that shop, though new places pop up all the time. Did your wife say where it was?”

I shook my head, but just then I noticed I had missed a response. It was a text from her number. No explanation, no other words besides an address. “667 Bay Drive.” I tried to send a response, but the single bar of service I had was gone.

I asked Chloe if she knew where Bay Drive was, and she directed me to the location.

“Yeah, it’s close to the entrance to town. About ten minutes North of here. Sounds like it might be near where the old strip mall used to be. A lot of businesses used to use the space, at least before everyone closed shop. I had not heard that another business was open there already. Good luck, and drive safely.”

She smiled and waved goodbye, and I returned the gesture and thanked her again for the help. Then I pulled up my coat and stepped back into the pouring rain.

* * * * * *

It took about ten minutes to get to Bay Drive, and another five to find the specific location. The area was quite removed from a lot of the other businesses. I was not surprised that many people had not heard of it since its opening.

The shop was on a large lot that appeared to have housed several businesses. I nearly left when nothing looked open. But when I checked the other side of the building, I saw it. It looked like someone had taken a small wooden cottage and dropped it into a strip mall on top of some other shuttered store. The contrast between the homey facade of the quaint shop and the shuttered stores nearby was jarring.

I parked in the rundown lot connected to the small store and was encouraged by the fact that its window was the only one with a light on inside.

When I parked and stepped out of my car, I knew I was in the right place. As I moved closer, I saw a swinging wooden sign that indicated I was standing in front of “Precious Memories.” I squinted at the smaller message below the title, which stated: “To every memory a spirit, and to every spirit a purpose.”

I was surprised when it seemed like it was barely raining in the area around my car, and particularly near the store; it looked like I was somehow at the eye of a great storm. The effect was eerie, but I was relieved when I saw my wife’s car in the lot as well. No one was inside, so I figured she must still be in the store.

I rushed to the door and felt an odd sensation, like I was remembering and forgetting something important in just the span of a few seconds. I brushed off the strange feeling and went inside.

The place looked larger on the inside, and I stopped for a moment and rubbed my eyes to ensure I was seeing what I thought I was. It looked like an entire shopping mall had been stuffed into the little building. As incredible as the sight was, I brushed it off and walked in. I started looking around for my wife, or at least someone who had seen her.

It was very quiet, and no other customers appeared to be around. There was no staff, either. No one had been by the front door or the checkout, so I moved further inside, hoping to see someone.

As I walked through the store, the floorboards creaked, and the place’s ambiance made it feel truly ancient. If this had not been an antique store before, it seemed destined to become one; it felt like stepping out of time.

I found myself admiring a variety of items as I walked. The shop had a myriad of sections, all complete with large inventories of antiques of various eras. Each one had an aura about them, like the items were begging to share their stories, their memories. I was impressed with the sheer volume of antiques and understood how my wife, a connoisseur, could lose track of time perusing the shelves.

I pressed on for a few minutes, surprised by the silence and utter lack of anyone. It felt like they were closed, but they couldn’t be. The door was still open, the lights were still on, and Susan was still there, somewhere. I was growing concerned that I had not found anyone yet, so I called out, “Susan? It’s me, where are you?” First, at a normal volume, and then, when I realized no other customers were likely there to offend, I shouted, “Susan, are you here?”

I thought I heard movement from somewhere in the store, but the echoing silence was the most pervasive presence of all.

Then I was startled when a hand touched my shoulder. I whirled around and saw an older man in horn-rimmed glasses looking back at me, a thin, wiry smile plastered across his ancient face.

“Hello, sir, are you looking for something? Or someone?”

I composed myself, embarrassed that I had been startled and responded, “Yes, my wife. She stopped by to look around earlier, but I can’t find her. Her car is still outside. Do you know where she is?” He continued smiling, and I wasn’t sure what to make of his demeanor.

“Oh, yes, I remember her,” he replied. “Things are a bit foggy these days, but I remember every soul who comes to visit us. The name is Bishop, Mark Bishop. Welcome to my little shop. I would be happy to help you find who you are looking for and anything or anyone else. We have it all here, if you know what you’re really looking for.”

He chuckled a bit, as if he thought what he’d just said was funny. By comparison, I felt tense, like it was an inside joke I didn’t understand. He didn’t seem phased by my discomfort and continued.

“Yes, she was just here, looking around, taking in the sights and visiting with the other spirits. We have many precious memories here. Every item has a memory, and every memory has a spirit. You must take some time and find what means something to you.” He clasped his hands together as a Cheshire grin spread over his face. “I insist.”

I was confused by what he meant. I did not know what other “spirits” he could be referring to, but I figured he might be a little too into his job and even have a story or memory for every one of his antiques. I chuckled to myself when I considered that the history lessons might just be a reason to overcharge for everything.

He cocked his head as I glowered at him, unable to hide my impatience or confusion. He started to laugh, “Only kidding! She was looking around for a gift, I believe. But she found something important… or was it someone?”

He chuckled again, and I did not like the way he lingered on the last word.

By this time, I was beyond frustrated and had grown suspicious. I was starting to think this creepy store owner had done something to her. I didn’t want to throw around accusations just yet, but I was growing more disturbed by the moment.

“Okay then. Well, what I need is to find her now. We are running late as it is. I don’t know my way around here. Could you show me where she is? I am sure she will want to buy a thing or two, and then we need to go.”

His smile finally broke, and he looked dejected. “Oh, well, I suppose I can, but I think you should reconsider looking around a bit yourself,” he said, laughing again. “You might find something you never knew you needed…or someone you are trying to forget?”

The disturbing cackle grated against my mind, but I followed the wizened old man through the store, trying to find where Susan was. The whole situation felt off, and I found myself getting ready for some trick or trap that the creepy owner might pull on me while leading me further into the store.

We approached a small hall that broke off into different directions. We moved to a door at the end of the hallway on the right, and he held out a hand, ushering me forward.

“I believe she was in the Victorian section, last I saw. Please, after you.” He held open the door, and I felt nervous but walked into the room despite my paranoia.

I heard a voice call out from behind me. It had almost sounded like Susan gasping, like she had just been surprised by something. I instinctively turned and called out to her.

Bishop smiled again and muttered something below his breath. ”There, I think she found who she was looking for. Maybe you will too? I hope you do. It would be a shame if you ended up like the others. Not for us, but for you.”

Then everything went dark.

I panicked at first, shouting and nearly tripping over my own feet. It was not just the lights going out, but a powerful sense of vertigo and distortion that caused me to lose my balance. I called out to Bishop to see if he had turned out the lights or if it was some trick, but he didn’t answer.

I stumbled over a small rack of antiques while trying to stand up. It was very dark, but I could see the faint outline of things once a bit of night vision kicked in.

Bishop was nowhere to be seen.

Suddenly, a whisper came from the shadows. ”Memories are only as real as you make them. Some people can never let go, and if you can’t, they will drag you down. Can you let go? Can your wife?”

I called out, but no one responded. I had no idea what the hell was going on, but at that point, I was concerned that Susan had been abducted and that I was next. I had to find her and get out of there.

I pulled out my phone and turned on the flashlight. The ray of light seemed oddly dim, and it barely dispersed the stygian darkness. I figured it was better than nothing, and even though I had no reception, it could at least serve as a light source.

I pressed on, trying to find my way back to the door and, hopefully, a way out. I was confused when, after walking in darkness for a minute, I found myself back in the room I had been led to. The door was to my back, and there was a small pedestal in the center of the room that hadn’t been there before.

I walked up to it and saw that it held a folded piece of paper. I unfurled the note and shone my light on it. It was a strange poem titled “The Price of a Precious Memory.” I slowly read the piece with growing unease:

Once upon a memory, your life, it felt so right.
The memory of precious things would cling to you so tight.
But life’s not fair, sometimes it takes, takes things so very dear.
Dear to your heart, it takes away the ones that you keep near.

And with their loss there comes the pain, a tragedy it seems.
Your heart so full of precious things, now sorrow’s all that teems.
But what if fate could lend a hand and make your dreams come true?
The ones you miss that you have lost, the ones that you once knew.

Can all come back, come back to you, to see them once again.
It won’t cost much, a memory, an object now and then.
If memory won’t let you go, if past claims all you feel.
Then stay with us and find a place that brings you something real.

Real memories made manifest are all yours in this deal.
The price you pay, well, that’s unique, made when the pact is sealed.
But please beware the others, their fury is revived.
You might be made a memory, an object that survived.

So hark to precious memories, the sweetest ones held dear.
The things that live inside these halls will soon make them appear.

I didn’t know what to make of the disturbing poem. Bishop had to be the author. It kept referring to memories and what they cost. It made sense given the store’s name, but it was a creepy way to deliver a sales pitch. Never mind the fact that he vanished when delivering it. My mind went back to the assumption that he was trying to kidnap my wife and I, and that this was some bizarre game. Whatever the case, I was stuck playing it for the time being.

I exited the small room and went back down the hall I thought we had come from. When I reached the door, I found it was locked and barred. I had no choice but to move on into the other rooms that were down the hall. I checked my phone again in the vain hope I had a signal to call for help, but there was still no signal.

To my surprise, I received a voicemail message just then, despite the lack of service. It was from Susan, and I could not believe what she was saying: “He is here…Danny…our baby boy is here! It’s a miracle! You need to find us! Hurry!”

I was speechless. My wife was telling me that our son Daniel was here—but that was impossible. Our only child had died a year ago in an accident. He couldn’t be here, could he? I had to find Susan and see what was happening. I was worried for her mental state and feared she might be seeing things. I had to locate her and find some way to get out with her.

I walked along the dim halls of the store. As I did, I swear I heard hushed whispers all around me, but I could not discern their source. I finally reached another door that I presumed led to a backroom or maybe wherever Bishop had run off to. I grabbed a nearby statue to use as a weapon, just in case, and threw the door open.

It creaked open loudly, announcing my presence to whoever, or whatever, lay beyond. Inside, I found what looked like a dining room straight out of the 1940s. The table, the decor, everything was meticulously designed straight out of time. I wondered if this was some sort of showroom, but as I looked around, I could not see any prices on anything. I figured it might still be a work in progress.

Moving closer to the table, I paused for a moment. There was a small placard on the table that read, “One last family breakfast.” It was odd. There was no price tag on the admittedly dated, though nice-looking table. In fact, if it was as old as I thought it might be, it was in great shape. I was not sure, but it looked like the table itself was faintly glowing.

Just then, I heard something. I looked up and around, and after a moment, I focused on the sound. It seemed like a child calling out from somewhere upstairs. I turned around, but nothing was behind me. When I turned back, I gasped out loud when I saw the table suddenly had an entire meal laid out on it.

I immediately smelled it all and saw the food that had not been there moments before. A hearty breakfast for a large family was on serving plates and had appeared from out of nowhere. I reached out instinctively to make sure what I was seeing was real. As I reached for a piece of bacon, I felt a sting on my hand, and it was swatted away by a woman.

She had appeared in the seat at one of the heads of the table, and right next to me was the spectral hand of a young boy.

The woman spoke. ”Now, now, Billy, you have to wait for everyone.” I stepped aside to look at the small boy who had been standing in the same spot I had been. He smiled sheepishly at the woman,

“Okay, Mom, but I’m so hungry, and it looks great.”

The woman beamed at the boy and gestured for him to sit down at the table. In moments, I saw the ghostly procession of the rest of the family materialize in their respective seats, and I had to rub my eyes to make sure I was not dreaming or hallucinating the unbelievable sight.

I watched for a few minutes in shock and disbelief. I was captivated by the sight of the dining family who were there, or maybe not really there, with me.

Though the sight was incredible and I thought I might be going crazy, it did warm my heart to see the spirits of the family together. It made me think of the times when Susan, Danny and I all sat down for Sunday breakfast. I wondered again if what she said could be real and if she had really found him somewhere.

Eventually, the group had finished their meal, and the mother brought out a beautiful cake. She gave everyone a slice, and as everyone thanked her, I started to move away. As amazing as the spectacle was, I still had to find Susan.

I snapped back around as I heard a terrible gasping sound, followed by painful retching. The small boy had vomited on the ground and begun to cry. Before anyone could help him, the others began to vomit as well. The acrid smell was tinged with blood, and all the members of the family, save the mother, were all writhing on the ground and screaming.

She stood, impassively observing the rest of them. She gazed down at the husband, who was trying to pull himself upright. He stared back at her with a desperate, pleading look. She finally spoke to him in a terrifyingly icy tone, “It’s better this way. We can all leave together. We can still have the memory of our family when we were happy, in this one moment. Too much corruption, too many lies. We swore to stay together, our whole family. You ruined it. You were the one who destroyed this family, not me! If we can’t go on together, then none of us will go on. Please understand, my babies. Please understand.”

She looked away and began crying as the other writhed and died.

I almost screamed, and the woman ate the last piece of cake herself. A moment later, she began retching blood, and my legs nearly buckled on account of the horrific sight. I started to flee the awful scene. Then, to my horror, the specter locked eyes with me. She pointed at me and screamed, “You! You are just like him! I pity your wife! It’s better if you die here now. You will only disappoint her! Both of them will be better off without you! Your memory ends here! You will never leave this place alive!”

She grabbed the knife she had cut the cake with and charged. The immediate danger shook me from my terrified daze, and I ran back to the door I had come from and managed to get through and slam it shut. I thought I was safe, but the tip of a knife narrowly missed my head as it stabbed through the door and became lodged in the frame.

I gasped and was about to fall back, but I lowered my body and kept pressure on the door as it was shaken by the horrible spirit’s attempt at reaching me.

Eventually, the struggling died down, and the screams of rage gave way to a new round of gagging and vomiting. There was a short gasp of air followed by silence. I knew then that the dead thing had finally died once more.

The whole scene left me shaken. I didn’t believe in the supernatural, but I had no choice but to acknowledge it then and there. There was no other way to digest what had happened. I had seen some twisted reenactment of a horrible tragedy that had likely occurred decades ago.

But the worst part was that after it was over, the spirit regarded me. I was desperate and horrified about how that thing knew about my wife. I had no idea what twisted game was being played here by these murderous spirits,  or how exactly Bishop was involved, but I needed to find Susan and get out of the madhouse more than ever.

While I was still recovering, I heard my phone buzz and I saw I had another missed message from Susan: ”We were so happy, it was all I wanted, but it was taken away. He was taken away. What if we could be together again? What would you sacrifice?”

My hands shook as my mind reeled with the impossible implications of her message. Had she really found our son? How could he be back? And more importantly, what was she planning to do? I had to find out. I tried sending a response, but nothing happened, and I resolved to keep looking for her.

I tried finding another door to get out of the identical-looking aisles of antiques I had been walking through, but I couldn’t. It was strange, as I knew I was not too far from the entrance. Yet when I walked back, I found nothing, just more rows of dusty objects. The entire place was an impossibility, but I moved on, desperate to find my wife and perhaps see if she had really found our son.

Eventually, I came upon another door. I went inside, and this time I found another weird, set-like room. It appeared to be a butler’s quarters. I moved inside and found a small pedestal with a strange-looking bell on it. It had another placard that read: “Last call for dignity.”

The thing gave the same disturbing impression that the table in the previous room had, and I decided to keep my distance. Unfortunately, bad luck had other ideas. As I was walking past it, my leg bumped into an object sticking out in the aisle. The event started a reaction that led to various objects falling off a nearby bookshelf. One of the books struck the small silver bell as it fell. The contact caused a strange aura of light to form around the bell.

Then the sound of the bell rang out, and I tensed up, waiting for something to happen. The sound was pleasant at first, but before long I felt a terrible iciness in the air. I knew I was not alone again.

I heard a voice call out, “Sir? May I help you?”

I saw that a well-dressed man was waiting at attention as I turned around. He was holding a polished silver tray and appeared to be some sort of butler.

I was startled into silence and could not think of what to say to another spirit who had just materialized right before my eyes. I was about to respond, but I saw that, once again, another figure had shown up in the room. He was an ancient-looking man who looked half-dead. He spoke with an angry rasp that startled me, considering how wizened and decrepit he looked.

“Simon, you’re late! When I ring the bell, you are to be here in no less than fifteen seconds. If it happens again, I am docking your pay! Understood?”

The butler nodded his head, not showing any offence to the indignity of his master.

The old man continued. ”I need you to fix the maintenance elevator this evening as well. Those hacks I brought in for an estimate suggested it would be nearly six hundred dollars to repair! Can you believe that?”

“But sir,” the Butler responded, “I’m afraid I lack the skills to repair an elevator…”

Before he could finish, he was cut off by an angry tirade from the old man again. ”Damn it, Simon! You are going to lack a job if you do not fix that elevator! I don’t care how you do it! Just do it!”

For the briefest of moments, a hint of anger appeared on the otherwise stoic butler’s face, but he nodded his head and proceeded down the hall I had just come from. To my surprise, the hall had changed and now led towards what looked like a broken-down elevator. The door opened and closed with a loud metallic snap, and I swear I saw it bobbing.

I did not like the implications of what was happening, but I could not leave. The only way back was via the deathtrap of an elevator.

I suppressed my fear and followed the butler towards the door. I heard what sounded like heavy tools being used inside the lift. I stole a peek inside and found him doing his best to repair something inside. Then a bell rang from down the hall, and Simon looked up. He called down the hall to his boss.

“Sir, I’m afraid I am occupied! I have to finish this, or the elevator might malfunction!”

There was angry shouting down the hall, and Simon sighed, put down his tools, and tried to pull the door open. He had managed to get about halfway out of the door when a snapping sound rang out. There was a moment of panic and disbelief in his eyes before the elevator plummeted, and to my horror, Simon was cut in half!

He barely let loose a cry, and during his final moments, during which lay gasping and bleeding, the angry ringing of a bell sounded from down the hall.

The butler dragged himself along, even though he had been cut in two. He used his arms to propel his torso along the floor in the direction of the maddening ringing. I was too shocked to follow. I just watched in disbelief as the bisected man slowly and implacably moved towards the bell.

Then I heard voices calling out. ”Simon! That was far more than fifteen seconds. What happened? Is the elevator…”

Then a scream and a thumping sound were heard, followed by silence. I tried to ignore the horrible implications and turned back to the elevator. It had crashed, and I was unsure of what to do at that point. I went to the door and pressed the button to recall it. I knew it did not make sense, but I hoped it would do something.

To my surprise, it did, it started coming back up, and when I heard the bell of the elevator ring, a second ringing followed. I realized it was the small silver bell, and the frantic ringing I heard gave me an inexplicable chill. Then I looked down the hall and saw the figure on the floor, clutching the bell and covered in blood.

“You…you don’t belong here,” it said to me. “Your memories, you cannot escape them. The dignity of work is not an excuse to leave them behind. It did not save me, and nothing can now. You should have left. Now we will consume you, too!”

The butler’s body was drenched in blood, and he had a deranged, manic look on his face. He pulled himself towards me, ringing the bell and screaming after me. I pressed my back to the wall and watched as he inched closer, his insane shrieking getting louder. All the while, he swung the silver bell wildly, its chiming ring in sharp contrast to his demonic ranting.

Finally, the door to the elevator opened and I rushed inside. I pressed the button to close the door, and it slammed shut just in time to shield me from the hideous apparition.

I let out a panicked breath and fell back. I could not believe what was happening around me. This place had come alive with the awful memories of the past, and they were not content to stay buried. I was horrified to think about how many objects in the store might be hiding more of those terrible wraiths. I had to find Susan and escape this nightmare.

As the elevator resumed its descent, my phone buzzed. I still had no service, but had somehow received another message from Susan: ”Do you think it hurts…to die? What do you think he went through? What do you think will happen to us? Wouldn’t it be better to have some say in how it ends?”

I was shaken by the fatalistic message and prayed I could find her before anything further happened.

I got off the elevator and found myself on another floor that looked different than the previous areas. The entire hall felt like it had come right out of a Gothic Victorian manor. The details on the walls, the furniture, and, of course, the rows of antiques were impeccable, and I admired my surroundings for a while, despite my prior terror. I did not linger long, as I feared what might be lying in wait on this level.

As I crept through the brooding shadows, it was disturbing to see that little natural light came in through the high paned windows. The area seemed impossible. I had no idea how it could be housed within the same store. I supposed, however, that it was nothing when compared to the things I had seen earlier.

I kept walking until I came across an open door. I approached cautiously, not knowing what might be within, but hoping for some escape back to the lower level. I heard voices from within, and I slowed down to listen as best I could.

The voice of an elderly woman, nearly spitting the words, rang out. “She is a harlot! She will never make a proper wife to Chauncy, and if you do not do something now, she will take him away, along with the riches his estate promises!”

A softer voice spoke up, answering the first. ”I know, Mother! I know! But I do not know what to do. Rebecca has always been prettier than me. Maybe I can find another suitor?”

A slap was heard, followed by a pained exclamation and, finally, weeping. Then the sounds stopped.

I edged closer to the door, enough to peek around the corner, and saw that no one was in there. I started to step inside, but the door slammed shut, and I heard the voices again.

“I did it, Mother! I did it! But she hurt me! She did this to me! And when I told Chauncy, he did not want me! I don’t know what to do now! What do I do!?” Soft crying was heard, followed by the disdainful voice of the mother speaking again,

“Idiot girl, you have ruined our chances with him, and now you will be lucky to find a merchant who would take you in this condition! I can barely stand to look at you myself!” The weeping slowly faded, followed by a slight giggle and then a tirade of fitful laughter.

The older woman raised her voice again. “Be quiet and let me think!”

Then a scream was heard from the older woman, and the maniacal laughter of the younger woman continued through the sound of tearing flesh and the gushing of running blood.

Seconds later, the violent outburst was over, and the voices faded once again. I tried to steady my breathing and forced myself to step inside. It looked like a woman’s bedroom, an austere sort ofg room that a prominent lady might have had in the 1800s.

I was glad the spectral discourse was over, but was dismayed when I saw there was no way out through the room. As I turned around, I saw the door had closed behind me. I swallowed hard as I heard the softer voice again. This time, she was asking a question.

“My mother always said the gleam in my eyes was something she was proud of. But it’s gone now, just like she is,” she said. “Do you think I’m still pretty, without it? What do you think?”

I waited for a painful moment as I realized she was not talking to another spirit but addressing me directly. Slowly, I turned around and saw a slim, shorter woman, with her back turned to me, facing a vanity with a brilliant silver-framed mirror. She was wearing a beautiful, expensive-looking dress and had the full regalia of someone attending a social event.

“Well?” she repeated. “I asked you a question. Are you not the new servant, here to clean the room?”

I stepped forward, and she turned to face me. She was gorgeous. Light Auburn hair cascaded down her shoulders, and my eyes fixated on her stunning appearance. She had full lips and dazzling emerald eyes. I’ll admit I was smitten, left speechless for a moment. She noticed and giggled.

“It’s not polite to stare,” she said. “I said you could look, not stare. Why are you here? Your clothes are strange…”

“I-I…um,” I stammered, “I am looking for my w-wife.”

Suddenly, her smile faded, and she glowered at me. “Oh, you are taken as well then? Even my affections for the help are rebuffed!” She began to laugh, and then started crying, before sobbing outright. I was scared, but felt sympathy in that moment, and I tried to touch her shoulder to reassure her. But before I could, she vanished.

In the blink of an eye, the room changed. The decorations were smashed, the walls defaced, the furniture broken. Everything inside the room was destroyed, except the brilliant silver mirror. It was the only surface that had not been ruined. I should have left, but something, perhaps morbid fascination, compelled me to step towards it.

I saw another placard by the mirror that read: “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

I inched close enough to the mirror to see a shifting, rippling surface. The frame appeared to have the familiar ethereal glow that the other objects gave off while a spirit was present. I focused again on the center of the mirror and looked closer. Instead of my own face reflected at me, I saw a room that looked like the one I had been in earlier.

Then I heard her again. “A shame you came here uninvited! But not for me! Maybe I will take her after I take you. I’m sure she must be pretty…for now. Though tonight you shall be my feast! I will save your eyes for last…”

My blood froze, and suddenly I saw the woman’s face staring back at me from the mirror. Her lips were torn and bleeding, curled in a hideous snarl. There were deep cuts and gouges in her skin all over her face. Worst of all, her eyes were gone. All that remained were black pits that seemed to burn with an unholy fire. I felt her hands reaching for me through the mirror, and I fell back and landed hard on my side.

I watched in mind-numbing terror as the eyeless nightmare stepped out of the mirror and into the room, hands grasping at empty air, her ruined face twitching as she relied upon her other senses to pursue me. I managed to dodge her stumbling advance, but I stumbled into some fallen debris, and she shrieked and lunged at the sound I had made. I crawled along the floor, trying to stay as quiet as possible. I heard her speak again, her soft, pretty voice now distorted into an unearthly tone.

“Aren’t I still beautiful? Tell me I’m beautiful, like her!”

I slid along the floor in panicked desperation until at last I reached the door. I pulled hard, but it didn’t open. The fiend staggered towards me, arms outstretched, as if feeling the air for my presence.

I had to act fast. I stood up, stepped back, and thrust my foot into the door. The first kick sent a jolt of pain through my leg, but I heard the door crack, then another hard kick managed to knock it open. I fled just as her hands grasped the place where I had been, and I rushed down the hall and away from the eyeless ghoul masquerading as a beautiful woman.

I kept running until I thought I had put enough distance between us. I heard no pursuit and collapsed onto the floor. I heard a notification, and was not surprised to see another message from Susan.

“It’s beautiful, this place. I know it can’t be real, can it? He is here, now you are here as well. Can we truly be together again? Please hurry, come home…”

I was emotionally overwhelmed by the message, then physically overwhelmed. A feeling of displacement washed over me, as if the entire building had shifted. I nearly blacked out from the sensation, and when my eyes opened again, I found myself in a different hall. I walked towards the light in the doorway at the end and stepped inside.

I took in my surroundings, and I nearly dropped to my knees when I recognized where I was. It was our home, down to the last detail. It was as if I had just walked in the front door and looked around to see the entry hall. The walls all around were still hanging our family pictures.

The memories came rushing back in a surge of emotion that threatened to overwhelm me. I just could not believe it was all here. I moved closer to inspect the pictures and saw him.

Danny was in all the pictures, many of which I did not even remember taking, like the wall was showing me photos of the times we spent together, rather than just the moments we remembered to capture.

I could not believe what I was seeing, this place…somehow it was getting into my head, reading my thoughts? Or perhaps my memories? It wanted to show me something, or maybe someone…

I heard a voice I recognized as Susan’s and ran upstairs. I turned left and saw the door at the end of the hall that looked just like our son’s room at home. I could barely breathe when I heard her whispering and the voice of our son responding.

It couldn’t be real; he couldn’t really be here. He was gone. He had died, and we buried him. Yet I heard his melodic voice, giggling as his mother read him his favorite book, like they always did at bedtime. I was overcome by a desperate hope that led me forward. He was back… Somehow, he was back. This place brought him back to us. I slowly opened the door and saw.

The room looked exactly like it had years ago, before we packed it all away and said goodbye. And on his bed, sitting cross-legged, was our son. I wept quietly to myself before getting any closer. I had not been prepared for this. A terrible feeling in my gut told me that this was wrong, that it couldn’t be happening.

I remembered the other spirits I had seen so far, and I was horrified that my son might be some simulacrum designed to lure us in and trap us. But when I heard his voice and saw the way he acted near his mother, my fear lessened, and I moved closer, despite myself, clinging to hope that somehow it had been a miracle and he had been returned to us.

“Danny? Susan?” I managed to blurt out.

“Daddy!” Danny jumped off the bed, and he ran up to me and gave me a hug. I hugged him back, unable to hold back more tears, and I felt reunited with a part of my heart that had been lost. Susan was crying as she came over to us, and we all embraced.

We sat there for a while in that impossible moment. My family had been reunited, and despite all the horrors I had seen earlier that night, I felt at peace.

Danny looked at both of us and asked, “Can we stay together now? I missed you. I don’t want to leave again. We can be together here if you’ll stay. Please?”

Susan hugged him again and said, “Of course, Danny. I will never let you go again.”

I noticed a strange flashing light near Susan’s pockets and felt an odd shift in the pressure of the room. I saw she had the bracelet that Daniel had made for her on Mother’s Day the year he died. It was glowing faintly, and I had no idea how or why. Then I looked at Danny and saw he had a similar, almost imperceptible glow.

I tried to focus on the strange light and noticed that Susan was starting to glow as well. She had a faint blue aura that was getting progressively dimmer as she held onto our son. Something wasn’t right. There had to be a reason he could be here with all these other malevolent spirits that had attacked me earlier. Why was he here? This place couldn’t possibly have known about him. Unless…

I suddenly considered the bracelet and then the other objects that had been brought to this antique shop. I thought about how those things had tethered the spirits of the lost to them, or something else had clung onto them. Either way, I had to see what was really happening.

A terrible thought entered my mind, and I resolved to test my grim theory. I cleared my mind and forced a thought into my head, then spoke. ”Hey, Danny, is your scooter here? I would love to push you on it one more time.” I smiled at him, and Susan looked confused.

Then Daniel paused for a moment and jumped up with glee. “Yeah! It’s right here in my closet! Come on, Dad!”

He rushed to the closest drawer in his room and reached inside, rummaging around.

I cleared my mind of my plan and thought hard on a single word: “Green.”

Sure enough, Danny pulled out a green scooter from the closet and brought it to me, smiling with a face that looked exactly like how I remembered my son. Susan looked confused, but brushed it off, mentioning off-hand that she did not remember a scooter, but was happy that Danny and I would be playing together.

My heart sank because what she did not know was that there was no scooter. I had thought it up just now, just like I had its color. Something in this place was looking inside us, looking into our memories and our thoughts. Creating things out of the fabric of our own minds.

I considered the shop: “Precious Memories”. The antiques, each with a memory and a spirit, as Bishop had said. How each spirit had tried to keep us and force us to stay, and worst of all, how that bracelet that my son had made for my wife glowed with that same terrible light that the other items had, moments before the malevolent entities had been unleashed.

I smiled sadly at Danny and tried one last time. ”I am so happy you are with us again. Now that you are back, we can go home and be together again. Let’s go.”

He looked confused and then shrugged. “But we are home, Daddy. Just look around. You, me, and Mommy are here together. That’s what matters. That’s what you both wanted. We can stay here now, together.”

Susan nodded her head. I looked at her, concern plainly visible on my face. I did not know if she remembered that we were not in fact at home, or that we were in some bizarre antique store in the middle of a storm. Or worse, maybe she knew, but didn’t care.

Suddenly, I saw the shadow of another person in the room looming behind us. Turning around, I was greeted by the sight of Bishop, the owner, smiling at us all and clasping his hands together.

“Well, I see you found who you were looking for after all! I am so glad you will be joining us. The more the merrier! The more of you, the more for us! And the stronger we become!”  He paused as if tasting the air, and continued. “Will you stay with us, and live in this perfect and precious memory forever?”

I considered his words and the other things I had seen. I was about to respond when, to my horror, Susan spoke first. “Yes!” she cried. “I will stay! I am never going to leave you again, Danny!” She bent down and hugged him, and I saw the dim aura around her change once again.

I looked to them, unable to articulate just what was wrong without sounding crazy. All I was able to blurt out was, “Susan, wait! No…”

Mr. Bishop smiled and clapped his hands together. “Now your memories, your souls, will join us, and keep us all going a while longer. Your sweet, precious memories will never die, and neither will you, or your son.”

The wide rictus grin that spread on his face was ghastly, and I knew that this pact had a dark and terrible cost.

I grabbed my wife’s hand, and she looked at me. I tried to warn her about the terrible suspicions I had. “Susan, I…I don’t think it is really him. This memory, spirit, or echo of a memory, it’s not Danny, not really. It can only show us our memory of him and act accordingly. All of this…” I gestured around to the recreation of our house, “was put here to make us believe we were home, but you and I both know that we aren’t. This is a trap.”

Susan looked at me and held up a hand. For a moment, I thought she might listen, but the hopeful gleam in her eye when she looked at Danny and back to me made me understand. She finally responded, “Our memories make us who we are. Our boy is here with us. I cannot lose him again. I won’t. Please forgive me.”

I was in shock at her decision. I held out my arms to reach for her. ”No, no! You can’t go! You can’t leave, too! Please!”

Before I could beg her to reconsider, the entire foundation of the building shook, and Mr. Bishop looked at me, and then at Susan and Danny. “Well, it seems like your wife has made her choice. Surely you won’t leave them both?”

He started to chuckle, and I saw the hint of a malicious gleam in his eyes. It looked demonic in that moment. The rumbling intensified, and I didn’t know what else to do.

In desperation, I charged the man and tried to tackle him to the ground. I wanted to force him to let us all leave together. But when I lunged at him, I passed right through him and crashed into the wall by the door.

Bishop chuckled again and looked at a small brass pocket watch attached to his suit. “Oh, dear!” he said. “It looks like you made your choice. I did try to warn you. Well, now I’m afraid you must leave. It’s nearly dawn. Since you are not ready to stay, you should be off. If you don’t  go now, you might get stuck with the others on your way out.” He sighed, almost apologetically. “I must also depart. Good luck, and I’m sorry you won’t be seeing us again, not unless you truly wish to. Not unless you can’t let go.”

He vanished in a wisp of smoke, and to my horror, I saw Danny and Susan fading away as well. I reached for them, but they were intangible. I saw Danny vanish in his mother’s arms, and in one last terrible moment, I think Susan finally realized that this was not her dream, but a prison of a memory she could not let go of. With one last hopeless effort, I reached out to her, and she reached for me. I thought I heard her voice whisper as her form faded, “I’m sorry, I love you. We will always be with you.”

Then I was alone in a crumbling building. Part of me wanted to stay and be crushed along with everything else, but a base level of survival instinct kicked in. I was not ready to die that day. I stood up and broke into a desperate sprint, back down the halls, along the way that I prayed was to the exit.

The place began falling apart. I managed to dodge falling beams and collapsing sections of ceiling. I had no idea why everything was coming undone, but I had no time to consider it just then. I reached the door and hurled myself out just in time before the doorway itself collapsed. As soon as I hit the ground outside the store, I got the weird feeling of vertigo again. It was worse now. It felt like my eardrums might burst, and I knew I was going to be sick. My head hurt badly as well. I had not hit it, but it felt like something was happening in my mind very rapidly.

When I was able to stand up and focus, I couldn’t believe what I saw. The rain had stopped, and the dawn’s light was peeking out, shining down on an empty building. There was no store anymore. The sign for Precious Memories was gone. The place where it had once stood contained nothing but an empty storefront. It felt like nothing had ever been there at all. There was no trace left of the impossible place that had ensnared my wife, luring her in with the promise of a reunion with our beloved son.

My wife was declared missing, and a search for her began. I had no illusion that anyone would find her. But no one would believe that a vanishing antique store had taken her.

Sure enough, in the aftermath, I tried to look up Precious Memories and found that no such store had ever existed in that location, or anywhere else in the state.

* * * * * *

That is my story of what happened that fateful night, and it is the reason why I’m still here. To this day, I think about the terrible memories of that night every night before I go to sleep. I write everything down to try and remember clearly what happened. That place did something to my mind, and the effort to remember becomes more difficult by the day.

I think about all the memories trapped in that labyrinth of spirits. I think about Susan and Danny, lost there together. Or were they ever really there at all?  I don’t remember anymore. All I know is that they’re gone and I am alone.

Now, in my isolation and despair, I cling to all of their remaining possessions. They comfort me, reminding me of a time when we were actually together. These things will never leave me, but I know it’s not the same.

I just wish I could see her one more time. I wish I could see them both. The real them. I feel like I made a terrible mistake. I should have stayed and added my spirit to the memory. At least then we could still be together.

I have tried to accept the horrible fate I have been dealt. I tried to let go, to remind myself that Danny and Susan would not want me to be miserable. I considered how happy they looked together.  Even if he was an echo, their bond was real.

I have spent the last five years trying to accept what happened, but I don’t know if I ever can. And recently, I have had vivid dreams about that place. Dreams that speak to me and remind me that Precious Memories can be made real.

The dreams have given me clarity, and now I know what I have to do.

I remember Bishop’s parting words to me, about how I would never see them again, unless I really wanted to. I wanted to every day since then, but I never did. Now I realize what I must do to see them again. I remember the price of a precious memory.

I am taking another holiday to Echo Cove tonight. This time, I have an antique of my own. I smile as I grip my wife’s ring tightly.

I drive out there again. It’s dark, and the weather turns bad. The storm whips up, but I smile. Indeed, it’s a good sign, as I know it means I will find it there, as before. I just have to hold onto the memory.

I drive up to a familiar empty lot and see a faint light in the distance. As I approach the door, my wife’s ring glows faintly, and I hear voices whispering.

I’m so happy that I’ll get to see them again, one last time.

It will all be worth it.

I will never leave them again.

I will never leave this precious memory.