Incinerate

Chapter 5 - Hallucinations

The antique store sits along the town square, just a block away from the library and ice cream shack. A small park sits in the middle, surrounded on all sides by various little Mom and Pop shops. The grocery store, HGG, takes up a whole side by itself. Following the road with the flow of traffic, the next portion of the square holds a single-story row of businesses including a photography studio (A Portrait in Time Studios), a hair salon (Pinky Lou's Boutique), and a place to get your nails done (Talons by Design). The next block around the roundabout holds a candy store (Sweet Tooth Emporium) and a coffee shop (Jameson's Roast). A parking lot takes up the next block, a wrought iron gate towering over the entrance that reads "HERITAGE GROVE SQUARE" on a huge white wooden sign. The last block before we circle back to the grocery store holds three buildings: a second-hand general goods store (The Treasure Trunk), a bookstore offering both new releases and donated books (Athena's), and the antique store. In a fancy scrawling script, the etching on the big showroom window labels it as Yesteryear: Antiques and Uniques.

"Good afternoon!" the lady chimes from the cash register. Her long hair done up in a bun makes her pale cheeks seem wider, even more so with her wide welcoming smile. Her age shows in her laugh lines and crow's feet. She kind of resembles one of the girls that met Cujo, the one whose name I never got.

"Let me know if you need anything or have any questions," she adds before going back to her duties.

It's bigger on the inside. A couple chandeliers hang from the ceiling to add that extra spice of atmosphere. The walls are lined with shelves stocked full with miscellaneous items like tea sets, classic toys, and even some books. Running under the bottom of the shelves are paintings in decorative frames, many of them landscapes of varying scenes. Down the middle of the space is a row of furniture ranging from rocking footrests to a couch, wicker waste baskets to an armoire, end tables to a writing desk. Toward the back is a collection of appliances, large and small, tucked away in the corner.

On a table opposite the microwaves, coffeemakers, and even a stove, sits a few square boxes. Flicking through its contents, I find countless vinyl records. Most still have their original sleeve, but some are housed in plain paper things with their name written on the front. Next to these boxes wait an assortment of thinner yet longer prisms of cardboard. I recognize nary a name among them. Bagged in plastic and supported by backboards are comic books from the Bronze Age and older. Most have yellowed over the years and show some wear, but an interesting collection nonetheless. Though I had never been much into the medium, I still respect it for its style of storytelling and the various talents needed to create such literature.

Underneath the country music playing softly on unseen speakers, a ringtone interjects for attention. Mom breaks away from looking over items on a shelf to dig into her purse. She looks at the caller ID on the screen for a moment before her eyes find me.

"It's work," she tells me. "I'll be right back."

She answers the call with a polite "Hello" as she exits Yesteryear. The lady at the register pays neither Mom nor myself any mind. A trusting shop owner, it seems. Back in Huntley, you'd be hard pressed to find an independent store like this one where someone didn't keep an eye on you at all times. But I guess that's just another difference in small town life. Makes me wonder how many five finger discounts there are around here. Not that I wanna give it a try and find out firsthand, of course. I don't even know what I could get away with swiping.

Among the shelves, surrounded by various knick-knacks and random pieces of Americana, is an ornamental box with an open top. An assortment of small metal rods sit inside, and upon further inspection I found various rounded designs on one end of them and little shapes jutting out at the other end. Full of brass, bronze, silver, and even some painted ones, the box is full of keys. One near the top catches my eye: blackened metal, a mix of four rectangular and square teeth, and a pair of wings with the letters CW etched into the tip of its right wing.