The Gothic Tale

[Note: Thumbnail credit to Jayson Kassis]

https://www.artstation.com/artwork/YyE1X

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An electronic chime sounded as the door to the shop swung open. In walked a group of six twenty-somethings making enough noise to remind the shopkeeper why that age bracket was generally among the least-welcome customers. They gave the same oo's and aa's that every guest gave when seeing the interior of the shop for the first time, then they broke into three groups to explore. Three went one way, two went another, and the last broke off on her own.

Atheer had not vocalized her impression of the shop the way the others had, but she found the place every bit as attention-grabbing as they had. The shop presented itself as a store for bits and baubles. Based on the signs outside that so desperately hoped to lure absolutely anyone passing down the highway, she had assumed it would be a tourist trap. She had felt a pang of guilt at this seeing as coming here had been her idea.

When her friends had come to her with news that they were going on a road trip in America, she had thought that it was neither the most attractive nor the most inspired way to spend one's holiday, but she had not protested. They seemed excited enough at the idea, and she didn't hate it enough to shoot it down. She had been less congenial when they insisted that she pick some stops just like everyone else had done. After some back-and-forth, they came to a compromise with her picking one, and only one, destination. She had chosen Morra's Sundries and Antiquities because it was in the middle of an especially long and empty leg of the journey; and in America, that was saying something.

Now that she had a look at the interior though, she was reevaluating her sentiment toward this place. It was a medium-sized place, far more spacious than the convenience-store-sized establishments that seemed uniform along these roads. It was the sort of store you would have a hard time getting bored in. So diverse and plentiful were its goods that one could pass the time just looking at them all together like an especially busy portrait. What was more, the individual goods were interesting too. Most of the stock there looked to be spiritual paraphernalia of one sort or another.

Something that struck Atheer was how the items were not organized with any mind toward the presumable scope of appeal. Hindu Om magnets were displayed in the same quantity and reverence as Satanic pentagram necklaces. Atheer also saw star-and-crescents, Star-of-Davids, crucifixes, and Buddhas, as well as other common spiritual symbols. Many of these were remarkable crafts of wood or stone, and others were cheap, mass-produced trinkets. Alongside all these more traditional items though, were pieces from more obscure practices. And not just voodoo dolls and healing crystals either, but exotic and even unique things from faiths no one had ever heard of - cult-type things. The only reason Atheer suspected they were spiritually significant at all was because everything else she recognized in the store was consistently some item of religious value.

Long, tall, narrow aisles were brimming with these things. Dream catchers on one side, fertility idols on the other. Some of the items there were positively beautiful or ornate. Some looked pristine and new while others looked old enough to belong in a museum. However, upon seeing how low the prices of some of the more degraded items were, Atheer wondered if it wasn't just some primary-schooler's pottery project from thirty years ago.

Seeing what that place had to offer dashed Atheer's lingering regrets of picking it as a stop. Either the variety or the quality of the goods there would have been good enough reasons to visit on their own.

The young woman was appreciating a bust of some unfamiliar deity when footsteps at her side caught her attention. She looked over to see a woman she would have described as 'the embodiment of the secretary fetish.' She wore clean-black suit jacket and an ash-grey pencil skirt. The only real colour in her outfit came from the rich orange button-up that peeked from under her outerwear. Her attractive face smiled from behind slim glasses with that condescending look that workers reserved for empty-headed customers that were wasting their time. Straight, black hair was pulled into a tight bun high on the back of her head. All that was missing was the exorbitant cleavage - which she had the breasts for, Atheer noted - and the heels. She looked like she may have been of Latin American descent.

All in all, Atheer didn't think this woman quite fit the look of someone she would expect to run a place like this; perhaps more like a curator.

"Welcome to Morra's. Were you looking for something in particular today?" She said this warmly, with all of the charisma that one would hope for from customer service. Her accent was American though it was not distinct enough to be northern nor southern.

Despite this woman's friendly manner, Atheer could not help but feel at least a little profiled. Three of her friends were just down the aisle from her - only far enough that their horseplay was not distracting to Atheer - and yet this shopkeeper had felt compelled to approach the one goth. Sure, with the stereotypical goth, there was probably a good chance that they were into Satanism or some other edgy cult junk, and - yeah - Atheer had been the one to choose this place as a stop, but she never had any interest in this sort of stuff otherwise. This lady was mistaken if she thought Atheer would make the easiest mark of the six of them.

"No, thank you. I'm just browsing," she answered with all of the courtesy due in a first encounter. Assuming that that was the end of it, and that the woman would move on to her friends or else go back to passing the time, Atheer returned to looking over the bust. She became a tad uncomfortable when the woman's presence remained where it was.

"What's your name?" the woman asked, still in a friendly tone, but much too long after Atheer had supposedly broken off the conversation.

Okay, now I'm getting ' vibes and I'm not even a minor.

"Atheer," she responded with politeness. If this woman was just a little socially inept, then she didn't want to get short with her, but it did not feel like that kind of situation. Unlike someone who was not best at reading social cues, this woman unsettled Atheer.

"That's a lovely name. You can call me Morra. May I speak to you? Alone."

O-KAY. If she asks me to follow her into a back room, I'm making a break for it.

"Any reason why we couldn't speak right here?" Atheer asked. Out of the corner of her eye, she double-checked that her friends were down the aisle from her. They were, and they were picking up some curio with far less care than a responsible person would have.

"Hm, I'd rather not," Morra said flatly, dropping her veneer of hospitality for an attitude that was more candid, even if more callous. "The things I'd like to discuss with you are more sensitive than would be fitting for... some audiences."

As if the universe were helping Morra to make her point, there was an abrupt noise from behind Atheer. She whirled around to see that her friends had dropped the knickknack they had been fooling around with. Upon it hitting the ground, they had all frozen and looked over to the shopkeeper, expecting fierce retribution. It did not come, at least not in the form of words. The look Morra gave though, was intense enough to feel like its own punishment. Hastily, they replaced the item on its shelf. In spite of its delicate appearance, it was unscathed. Fortunate for the visitors.

Atheer followed Morra through the shop as she wove her way between the shelves. The format of the store was predictable with its rows and intersections spaced consistently. Along the way, they passed the clerk's counter. Behind the register, on a backless stool, was a young woman hunched over a clipboard and some bookkeeping materials. Her hair was an unnatural white; clearly dyed, but tasteful. She wore it in bangs that hung down from her bowed head as she stared at the clipboard. She supported her head on one fist while the other hand clasped an unmoving pencil. Her long sleeve, turtleneck shirt was the same hue of grey as Morra's skirt. It was only as Atheer was closest to her that she realized the girl was asleep.

Morra rectified this with a sharp snap of her fingers. "Ci-Ci," she addressed the girl.

The girl woke, but not with a start nor any sort of spontaneity. Her eyelids just lifted, as if finishing a long blink. "Yeah," she responded like she had been asked if she was awake.

They continued on until they reached a back corner of the shop. The shelves gave way to a small space that Atheer would have called a rest area had she been pushed to name it. There were a few vending machines for beverages and snacks against one wall, and against the other there was a long, backed bench. Between these, set in the corner, was a hallway with water fountains and a sign that promised restrooms further along.

Morra situated herself near the middle of the bench. She crossed her legs and leaned one arm on its back as she padded the space next to her, inviting Atheer to join her. The goth did, though not nearly as close as the woman had invited her to.

"What did you want," Atheer said curtly. She felt confident that this lady would not bemoan the abandonment of most courtesies. Still, the confidence was at least partially a façade. She didn't know what this woman wanted, but when a stranger makes an attempt to isolate you, it's always a red flag.

"I'm a demoness," Morra said blithely.

Atheer didn't react. "I'm sorry if the black makeup gave you the wrong impression, but I'm not into spur-of-the-moment Satanic roleplay shags with strangers."

"No, it's not a metaphor. I'm actually a demoness." Morra was undeterred by Atheer's stony-faced response.

Atheer still did not believe her, but she figured that if this woman was this committed to the charade, then maybe she could at least get something entertaining out of it. "Okay then, prove it."

Morra blinked and her brown eyes were replaced with black sclera and flickering yellow irises.

"Ooo, that's fun," Atheer commended her. "Got anything else, like bat wings?"

"No."

"Horns?"

"No."

"Pointy teeth?"

"No."

"Inhuman skin colour?"

"No."

"Immunity to fire?"

"Actually yes, but I don't want to set off the fire alarms."

"Well then what do you have?" Atheer was disappointed that the woman's bag of tricks peaked with coloured contact lenses.

"Immortality and magic dealings, but I can't really demonstrate those to you right now. My abilities aren't as flashy as some other kinds of demons." Morra blinked and her eyes returned to normal. "Look, people get less, and less superstitious every generation and I knew that the 'Boomers were the last one worth trying to convince, so I'm going to skip over the part where I bust my ass trying to prove that I'm the real deal to you, only for you to write off each of my displays as some clever trick. I'll cut to the chase.

"Like I said, I'm a demoness. Yes, we're real. Morra is short for Morrados, but when I put that on the sign outside, all the pasty suburbanites and hicks that frequent this road mistook it for a Spanish name and got scared off. The funny part is, if they knew the truth, then they'd keep their distance anyway. This shop is cursed." Morra indicated around them lazily. "Any party that enters and leaves without buying anything leaves with a curse. I say party because it would be stupid if every four-year-old that needed a potty break on the way to nana's house left with a hex on them."

"You know that sounds like a really lame threat to get a customer to buy your merchandise, right?"

"It does, doesn't it?" Morra agreed. "But it's not. If you really, really want proof that I'm not pulling your leg, take your friends and walk out of here without spending anything. Nothing will happen right away, but you'll believe it sooner or later. Well, I suppose something could happen right away. It depends on the curse."

"What kind of curse are we talking?" Atheer asked. She still wasn't ready to put her faith in this woman's words yet, but she was enjoying this tale. "Your-body-slowly-decays-into-dust-over-the-next-ten-years curse, or you'll-never-win-another-game-of-bingo-again curse?"

"Could be either." Morra scratched her neck as though she found this discussion very mundane. "You could get something like 'everyone you love will die premature deaths thinking it was your fault' or you could get 'you will no longer be able to sign your name without making some noticeable mistake' or you could get anything in between. I saw a local headline for someone that came through here and it claimed that every time the man went to put on his shoes, there would be a toad in one of them. Apparently they spent a while thinking that his daughter was just playing a very persistent prank on him. Anyway, I'm digressing. The point is, that if you want to leave here with your friends without being cursed, then you have two options."

"Let me guess, we either buy something or we each promise to tell ten friends to visit this place?"

"No," Morra shook her head. "If one of you buys something, then you all can leave curse-free, but there is a way for all of you to leave with a blessing."

"I'm not sleeping with you."

"That wasn't what I was going to- Stop assuming I'm trying to get into your pants."

"Then stop looking at me like a succubus," Atheer insisted.

Morra held up a defensive finger. "You may not realize it, but that is a deeply complimentary thing you just said about me. Most demons would kill to have the looks of a succubus or an incubus."

"So anyway, there's a way to leave with a blessing?" Atheer said, trying to get things back on track.

"Yes. If you pass a trial, you and all your friends will be blessed when you walk out that door."

"And I'm going to assume that, like the curses, there's some variation to the severity of the blessing?"

"Correct," Morra tapped her nose with a wink. "However, rather than being random, the power of the blessing correlates with the difficulty of the trial. The harder the trial..."

"The better the blessing," Atheer finished.

"Spot on."

"Then I get to choose my trial?"

"No," Morra said, using the same approving tone and expression as she had when Atheer was correct.

"Wait, how is it not random then?"

"The trial is random, the degree of the blessing is not," Morra explained.

"But if the blessing is based on the trial, which is random-"

"Come along," Morra interrupted, waving for Atheer to follow her.