Witches of Westfield Mall

I was in the Westfield Mall to return a couple shirts that didn't fit me. I knew I should've tried them on, but dress shirts are a massive pain in the ass when you're in a fitting room. All those pins and clips, the cardboard holding the collars and cuffs in place...way too much work.

So imagine my surprise when I saw people running or briskly walking out of Le Tailleur, some of them muttering to themselves and others silent & pale white as new linen. On asking someone what was going on, I got a strange reply:

"The devil!" An elderly woman told me, looking gravely into my eyes and grasping my coat. "Satan himself has taken this place--and those spawn of Lilith are his minions!" This was a demurely-dressed grandmother, serious in her conviction. Not wanting to upset anyone so sure in their mind, I simply nodded at her and feigned turning around to satisfy her pull on my sleeve. Once she let go and kept heading down the corridor as quickly as her legs and cane could carry her, I stared back into the store.

What was going on in here that could causing so many people to flee with such bizarre affect? Well, you know me. I had to find out.

Once I was inside, I still saw people browsing housewares and bedding. It occurred to me that most of the people on their way out had come from the escalator leading to apparel, and when another woman nearly broke her ankle coming down the moving stairs, a couple of the docile shoppers on this floor turned again to see what the disturbance was.

It was about now that a woman with a red polo and khaki pants came up to me, holding a radio.

"Sir, we're closed," she said. "I'm sorry, but there's an incident upstairs, and I have to ask everyone to leave." When I looked around at the other shoppers to plead my case, I noticed that they were being approached by staff as well, at least one of them arguing that they had a full cart and they weren't just going to leave because someone upstairs was throwing a tantrum. "Sir?"

"I, uh--I just needed to make some returns," I said, looking as dense as possible.

"Sir, I'm sorry, but everyone needs to leave. I don't know what's going on upstairs, but for your own safety--"

"You seem calm enough," I argued, "and I'm not hearing anything too dangerous." She scowled at me.

"Sir, I'm asking you to leave. Please. I don't want--"

"GHOSTS!" Said a man, taking three or four steps at a time, flying down the escalator like a gazelle. He leapt from nearly halfway up, rolling over one of the rubber handrails and landing on the floor. Unfazed by his drop, he continued running toward the door as the argumentative shopper in my view now complied with the other staff member.