Rouge

Read Part 1 Below

(You chose: Go Outside. You step out into the street… just to make sure.)

Part 2 - Closer Than Before

You don’t remember deciding to move, but you find yourself making your way to the door.

The bell doesn’t ring when you step outside.

The street should be busy.

It was busy.

You remember that.

People moving in and out, doors opening, voices carrying down the strip.

But now there’s nothing.

No footsteps.

No voices.

No movement.

Just you.

You step forward slowly.

Not because you’re sure.

Because you’re not.

What’s going on here?

Where is everyone?

It’s a tumbleweed moment.

As you look to the right the wind picks up and a napkin flutters across the street.

You look to the left, and the sky in the distance is gray.

Still daytime, but the sky behind the buildings has split.

Half of it holding.

The other half dark and heavy, like a storm pushing in too fast.

You start to slowly walk towards it.

Not really sure why.

Following it without meaning to.

That’s when you see it.

The figure.

Not something you can explain away.

It’s there.

Standing at a distance that feels too far to make out details but not far enough to ignore.

Tall.

Slightly shifting in the wind.

The clouds appear to get slightly darker, lurking over the figure.

You hear her again… the timbre of her voice still sitting in your ear.

“It’s already coming to collect.”

You take another step forward, trying to get a better look.

The wind picks up.

You narrow your eyes.

The proportions aren’t right.

The stillness isn’t right.

You start to feel your hands shake a little.

A panic setting in.

You stop walking.

Just stand there, watching it.

You turn your head slightly.

You’re now standing in front of Earl’s shop.

You step toward the window and peer inside. He’s there in the back, bent over something on the counter, tinkering the way he always does. Completely normal.

You let out an audible sigh of relief.

You glance back toward the street.

The sky is clear.

No split.

No storm.

And the figure is gone.

You blink a couple times just to make sure.

You shake your head.

Alright.

You go back inside.

This time the bell rings.

The sound snaps something back into place.

You move through the shop a little quicker than before.

Not rushing.

Just not lingering.

You reach the front, flip the sign from OPEN to CLOSED, then pull the blinds one by one until the light disappears from the room.

You stand there in it.

Quiet and still.

Something doesn’t feel right.

Not the same as before.

You glance at the clock. 5:02 PM.

What?!

That’s not right.

You reach for your phone and call Earl. He picks up on the second ring.

“Boy, what are you doin’ callin’ me? I’m tryin’ to close up here.”

You barely get the words out.

“What do you mean, close up? We just opened a couple hours ago.”

There’s a pause.

“Boy,” Earl says slowly, “it’s been a long day. It’s five o’clock, and I’m not spendin’ another minute wastin’ time here.”

You feel your hand start to sweat against the phone.

You don’t answer right away.

“Earl,” you say, hesitating, “you ever see a bald woman and kind of witchy clothes come through the shop?”

Silence.

You push a little further.

“Or did my grandmother ever say anything about someone coming back? Or about anything in here?”

Nothing.

Then Earl’s voice comes back, different now.

More focused.

“What’s goin’ on? You feelin’ alright? It’s a little strange you’re callin’ me when I’m right next door.”

He sounds concerned now.

But you’ve known him a long time, and he also sounds like he is holding something back.

“You need me to come over there?”

You hesitate.

You look around the shop.

The shelves.

The aisles.

The space where she stood.

“No,” you say. “No, it’s alright.”

You swallow.

“We can just talk tomorrow.”

Another pause.

“You sure?” Earl asks.

***

(You chose: Just Wait Until the Sun Goes Down)

Part 1: The Line Beneath

You’ve learned to read the town by its silence.

Before the doors open, before the sidewalks fill.

Before the version of this place that outsiders think they understand comes alive.

You enjoy the hustle and bustle.

Its unpredictability.

But right now it’s still yours.

The street is quiet.

Damp from the morning humidity that never really burns off this close to the water.

The buildings along the strip lean into each other.

The history resonates between alleyways.

Worn brick.

Windows filled with things that don’t belong to anyone anymore.

Your shop sits right in the middle of it.

Not the biggest. Not the flashiest.

But it draws some interesting people in.

Rows of shelves, glass cases, narrow aisles that force people to slow down whether they want to or not.

You wouldn’t call yourself an antique dealer.

But you’ve learned to recognize when something carries more than just time.

You’re outside, adjusting the small chalkboard sign near the door—

OPEN! Objects with a Story

—when you hear the familiar scrape of a chair leg from next door.

“Couple weeks,” he says.

You glance over.

Earl.

Same spot as always. Same chair.

Same slow way of speaking like he’s not in any rush to get to the end of a sentence.

“Tourists’ll start rollin’ in again. You ready for that?”

You give a small smile, brushing chalk dust off your hands.

“It’s always a whirlwind,” you say. “But yeah… as ready as I can be.”

Earl studies you for a second.

Then he nods, like he’s confirming something to himself.

“Your grandmother,” he says. “Ginny”

You know where this is headed.

He seems to forget he tells you this most mornings, but you like to hear it.

Keeps her alive.

“She’d be real proud of you, son. Real proud.”

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “You know it’s not really something I could walk away from.”

You glance back at your shop.

“I think it’s part of me. Or at least… it helped me find a part of myself. I didn’t really have anything else to tie me here, you know? Not like that.”

Earl doesn’t interrupt.

“Being raised by her…” you continue, softer now.

“She gave me something to build on. Something that felt like mine. Something I could actually be proud of.”

A pause.

“Plus, you’d miss me, Earl. Who is going to play chess with you when it’s slow?” you add.

Earl grumbles, rolling his eyes.

“There you go,” he says. “You just can’t accept I beat you every time so you keep coming back!”

You laugh and step inside.

There’s a small box on the counter you brought in earlier.

You open it again, pulling out the pocket watch you picked up just outside of town a few days ago.

It’s heavier than it looks.

Brass casing, worn smooth along the edges.

No inscription.

But something about it made you keep it.

You don’t overthink those decisions anymore.

You carry it toward the back display, stepping into one of the narrower aisles—

—and that’s when you hear it.

The bell above the front door.

A clean, unmistakable chime.

You glance up.

“Be right there,” you call out automatically.

No response.

You round the corner into the main room.

The front door is closed.

You quickly scan the aisles.

No one inside.

You stand there for a second.

Listening.

Nothing.

Just the low swirl of the fan overhead.

“Alright,” you mutter under your breath.

Probably just someone that changed their mind.

You finish placing the watch on display.

Adjust it. Step back.

You step behind the counter, reaching for the register—

—and when you look up—

she’s already there.

Standing on the other side.

You jolt. Not dramatically. Just enough to feel it in your chest.

“Jesus—” you catch yourself, straightening slightly. “Didn’t know someone actually came in.”

She doesn’t respond right away.

Just stands there.

Bald. Dark skin.

Smooth, unlined in a way that doesn’t quite match her age… whatever her age is.

Her eyes are fixed on you, not scanning the shop, not distracted.

Just… on you.

“You open?” she asks.

Her voice is calm. An accent you can’t immediately place.

“Yeah,” you say, recovering. “Yeah, I’m open.”

A small pause.

“You looking for anything specific?”

She tilts her head slightly.

“Just passing through,” she says.

Her eyes move then, but not around the shop.

They move over you.

You shift your weight subtly.

Her presence makes you feel a little uneasy.

“Lot of people do,” you say. “This time of year especially.”

She hums. Barely.

Then her gaze travels past you for a moment toward the aisles.

“You keep everything?” she asks.

“Not everything,” you reply. “Just what feels worth keeping.”

Another pause.

Then she smiles.

She must not do it often you think to yourself.

“You don’t know what’s worth keeping,” she says softly.

Something about the way she says it makes the hair on your arms stand up.

You force a small chuckle.

“Guess that’s part of the job,” you say. “Figuring that out.”

She steps closer.

Not enough to be invasive.

“She kept it from you,” she says. “That was her choice.”

A pause.
You’re just waiting to see how this plays out.

“You deal in old things… you know they don’t stay quiet forever.”

Your pulse picks up.

You’re getting frustrated.

“I’m sorry, what are you talking about?” you ask.

She doesn’t answer.

Just looks at you one last time.

Then… her eyes lock with yours.

“It’s already coming to collect.”

You blink—

—and she’s gone.

No bell.

No door.

Nothing.

Just empty space.

And for a second… you’re not sure she ever walked through the door at all.