Episode 018

The Devourer


March 1984


Adam had a pocket full of quarters and a plan. He would finally get his initials in the number one spot on an arcade game at The Machine Shop- the local video game arcade. It stood next to the Olde English Tavern on Westfield, across from the Five and Dime. 


He stepped into the dimly lit arcade with its sticky floors and aroma of stale popcorn and B.O. The manager, Mike, grunted a half-hearted greeting at him from behind the counter before sticking his face back into a magazine. 


Adam had his heart set on achieving the high score on Joust. So far he had made it to the list of “Daily Buzzards” - a leaderboard of the highest scores for a particular day. But his dream remained to place his initials at the top of the permanent list of “Champions”. 


Walking to the back of the Machine Shop, Adam almost dropped to the floor in shock when he saw the Joust game had been moved. Nearly running around the place twice to find where his favorite game had gotten to, Adam could not believe that it was nowhere to be seen.


“Mike! MIKE!” he said to the manager, who barely lifted his gaze from the periodical, “What happened to Joust?”


“What?” said Mike, his mouth half full of a chocolate bar.


“Joust! The game. It’s missing!”


“Oh. Yeah. The owner took it out. He put a new game in.”


“I don’t want to play a new game. I want to play JOUST.” said Adam.


“Well, sucks to be you then.” replied Mike before going back to his magazine, marking the conversation finished.


Frustrated, Adam walked around the arcade in search of another game on which to mark his legacy. Mario Bros was too popular. He knew that he’d never get to the top of the board on a game that all the bigger kids played. Joust was the only game he was really good at. He briefly considered Burger Time, but remembered he always got stuck between the hotdog and the pickle. 


After making three trips around the shop, he finally decided to investigate the new game the owner used to replace Joust. 


It sat in a matte black cabinet with very little artwork other than sharp teeth painted across the top of the frame beneath bold crimson letters that read “The Devourer”. 


Unlike the other games, no colorful graphics danced upon the screen. Just the words “Insert Payment” in blocky, white, pixelated letters that flickered ever so slightly. Placing his hand on the control panel of the cabinet, Adam found it to be strangely warm. Not the warmth of an electronic device, but more like...body heat. 

The buttons glistened with an eerie sheen, and the joystick, encased in a dark, polished material, felt as if it were made from something other than plastic or metal.


The instant Adam inserted a quarter, the screen sprang to life with an ominous glow. The stark graphics depicted a cavernous abyss of reddish rocky terrain adorned with jagged, teeth-like formations lining the walls. A discordant chiptune soundtrack permeated the air through unseen speakers in the machine. The synthesized music felt more like  guttural growls and agonizing groans than the typical arcade game melodies.


As he grasped the joystick, Adam felt it vibrate a little in his hand. Pressing the fire button caused a pair of fists to appear in first-person perspective. Adam had never played a game like this before, but he’d seen things like it in video game and computer magazines. When he pushed the joystick forward, the scenery moved toward him, but the hands stayed in place. This gave the illusion of moving forward through the rocky landscape. 


Pressing onward, Adam noticed that the tooth-like shapes circling the rim of the tunnel remained in place, hovering above and below his digital avatar. As he continued, they seemed to move inward, as if slowly biting down on him.


“Hey Mike!” Adam called out, “What’s the point of this game?”


Without looking up Mike replied, “I don’t play ‘em. I just pluck the quarters out at the end of the night.”


Is it just a maze? thought Adam, plunging forward through the strangely pulsating tunnels of The Devourer. This is pretty easy so far, but kind of stupid too. Then he saw ...it.


A squat pixelated beast lurked behind a stalagmite in the tunnel. It resembled a massive pink brain on legs with two meaty arms sticking out of its side and a gaping toothy maw. The matter of the brain quivered and pulsated as the digital creature lunged toward Adam.


The boy yelped and ducked out of the way before remembering it was just a video game and could not actually hurt him. Still, the thing made a terrible noise as it leapt repeatedly at his avatar, each time causing the screen to flicker and the cabinet itself to shake and rumble. With each attack from the creature the monitor became tinted with a darker and darker shade of red and the teeth surrounding the avatar moved closer and closer inward. 


Adam used the joystick to maneuver his character past the attacker and continued through the tunnels, turning left and right periodically as if navigating a labyrinth. Before long he encountered another of the pink creatures. This time Adam tried slapping the buttons on the control panel to find that they caused his avatar to strike out with its fists against the enemies. A few of the creature’s attacks landed, but eventually Adam managed to defeat it.


Usually in games the enemy creatures disappear upon death, but this one lingered in front of Adam’s avatar. What do I do? He thought. The creature’s corpse blocked his path and he found himself unable to move forward. 


Bold black letters appeared across the screen, “CONSUME or be CONSUMED!” they said before fading away..


“What?” Adam gasped out loud.


“CONSUME!” flashed on the screen once more. 


Adam pressed down on the fire button atop the joystick and the perspective of his character lowered over the dead creature. The game let out a series of digital grunts and various other noises as the creature’s body disappeared, piece by piece.


“Oh my god! I’m...eating it!” he cried, almost sickened as if he truly were gobbling up the squishy pink remains of his vanquished foe.


When the thing was fully ingested, the red tint to the screen subsided and the encroaching teeth settled back into their original position. 


Adam stopped to catch his breath. Looking around the arcade he thought it odd that no other kids had entered since he’d been there. The only other occupant was Mike, who seemed to have dozed off beneath his magazine. 


Where is everyone?  He thought. By this time of day the place is usually packed.


Before Adam could ponder any further the game roared with sound. A new creature had started attacking him while he looked away from the screen. This one was much larger than the previous two, with a heavily muscled body and no head. Its green torso contained a massive mouth filled with sharp, pixelated teeth. 


Adam tried mashing the attack buttons repeatedly, but to no avail, the thing assailed him over and over. With each devastating blow the screen grew a darker shade of red as the pointed teeth closed in on his avatar.


After several agonizing seconds of trying to defeat the beast, the teeth closed on Adam’s avatar and the screen went black. 


GAME OVER appeared in scarlet text that dripped like blood.


“Is that it?” said Adam. “What a rip off!”


After a moment the screen faded to black and the words “Continue?” and “Insert Payment” appeared.


Eager to keep playing this strange new game, Adam tossed another quarter into the machine, but the phrase remained on the display. He smashed the buttons and clicked the joystick, but to no reward. He pushed coin after coin into the machine, depleting his entire reserve but it still said “Continue?” and “Insert Payment”.


“Hey!” he called out to Mike, “This thing is broken! It took my money!”


“No refunds.” responded a groggy Mike, without removing the periodical from his face. 


Embittered, Adam slammed his hand against the coin slot.


“C’mon! Let me play! I paid you!”


Beneath the text on the monitor a countdown appeared.


“10”


“Come on!” he said, smacking the coin return button.


“9”


He hit it harder.


“8”


“What the heck?” Adam spat at the machine.


“7”


“I just want to play the stupid game!”


“6”


Adam wailed and punched the machine with his fist then howled in pain as his hand quivered. It was stupid to punch the metal plating of the arcade cabinet and he knew it. His agonized knuckles started to drip blood.


“5”


Adam spit on the machine, tears welling up in his eyes.


“4”


“I lost all of my quarters.” he cried. “All my money.”


“3”


He tried one more time to press the coin return button with his trembling, damaged finger. 


“2”


A bit of blood dripped into the coin slot.


“1”


“I give up.” said Adam, spent.


The machine whirred to life. The music began and Adam’s avatar hands were once more in the center of the display, with the strange labyrinth before it.  The green creature that had killed him was nowhere to be seen.


“I did it!” shouted Adam. “I did it! I got a second life!”


This time around he exercised caution, refusing to glance away from the screen for even a second. He began to notice that the electronic grunts and groans of the machine were not arbitrary, but rather indicators of the proximity of the monsters. He used that to his advantage, avoiding the strong creatures and seeking out the weaker ones to defeat and devour. With time he knew he was getting stronger in the game. In real life, the pain in his hand subsided until he no longer noticed it. 


After a while  navigating the tunnels Adam came across the muscular green torso beast again. Fighting it with his newfound strength proved helpful. He still took a lot of damage from the creature, but managed to defeat it. After the battle, his head ringing from the rhythmic pulsing of the dark red screen, Adam ate the corpse of his enemy. Each bite caused the pounding of his heart to quell along with the imminent doom of the gnashing teeth around him. Buried within the guts of the monster, Adam found a solid object- the hilt of a weapon. Pulling it out, revealed it to be a gleaming longsword.


Armed with the radiant blade Adam pushed his avatar onward through the strange corridors. The sword shed a sphere of light, which showed him more of his surroundings. The walls of the cavern were made of reddish stone marbled with white veins and covered here and there with rust-colored vines. As he walked, his unseen feet made squelching noises as if stepping through thick mud. 

The enemies came more frequently now, but Adam had grown equipped to deal with them. Little by little he made his way through the game until coming to a set of massive double doors. Scrawled across them was the phrase “Insert Payment”.


Adam attempted to open the doors, but they did not budge. He battered them with his digital fists and slashed at them with his sword, but no marks were left upon their surface. 


“Insert payment?” he pondered out loud, “But I already gave you all my money. I didn’t die. You can’t charge me to finish the game.”


Adam glanced around the arcade to find it pitch black and silent. All of the other machines had been turned off. Only The Devourer remained operating. 


“Mike?” he called out into the darkness. After a moment without response he called the name again. 


“Mike? Anybody?” his voice echoed in the empty arcade. 


The Devourer cabinet lit the room with a dull reddish tint. Adam managed to circle the arcade using the light it provided. The large exterior window looked out onto Westfield, revealing the desolation of a street in the late evening. Dim streetlamps barely managed to illuminate the empty avenue.


“How late is it?” Adam spoke out loud to himself, “It’s super dark outside. Mom’s gonna be mad.”


The emptiness of the arcade made his voice feel louder than normal. Adam went to open the front door, but it was locked from the outside. He shook the latch, but the door failed to budge.


Adam spun around and dashed to the back door that led to the alley behind the Machine Shop. The doorknob refused to turn in his hand. Instead of a lock switch the knob contained a keyhole. Like the front door, it seemed locked from the outside.


“I’m trapped in here!” Adam continued to speak to himself. “How do I get out?” 


From behind Mike’s counter, Adam heard a rustling noise.


“Who’s there?” he called out, cautiously moving toward the counter to investigate. The rustling noise paused for a moment, then continued.


“I hear you back there! You aren’t supposed to be here after closing!” said Adam, noting the irony silently to himself. 


A small shadow emerged from the darkness, a fat little rat, its sleek fur illuminated by the glow of the machine. Adam's stomach churned as he watched the rodent saunter out from its hiding place. Its beady eyes glinted as it dragged a half-wrapped chocolate bar across the sticky carpet of the arcade. 


“Oh gross!” he spat, sickened at the sight of the rat. Determined to not spend another minute in the arcade, Adam whirled around toward the exit and nearly smashed directly into an arcade cabinet. 


The Devourer stood in front of him with its painted-on teeth bared.


“What!?” he cried. The machine had been back against the rear wall of the arcade. Why was it suddenly nearer to the counter than it had been? The screen remained as he’d left it, with the double-doors and the words “Insert Payment” now flashing intensely.


Adam stumbled backward. The machine stood before him, croaking digital squelching noises and low growling sounds. His body pressed against the counter, Adam looked back and saw something on the floor behind him. A pair of legs sticking out from behind the counter.

Mike’s legs. 


“Mike!” shouted Adam, but the man didn’t stir. “MIKE!” he cried, to no answer.  


Adam climbed on top of the counter to peer over it. Mike’s body lay slumped on the floor beside his chair. His glassy eyes peered up at the ceiling. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. 


“Mike?” said Adam, tears streaming down his face. He’d never seen a dead body before, but was pretty sure this was what one looked like.


Adam crouched down on the counter to get a closer look, thinking maybe Mike was just messing with him. As he leaned in closer, Adam felt a presence behind him. Slowly, Adam turned, the pulsing lights of the arcade machine dancing in his vision.


Pressed up against the counter stood The Devourer. Adam gazed wide-eyed at its mouth-like screen. The phrase “Insert Payment” flashed bright red as the game roared digitally. 

(insert roaring noise)


Adam fell back behind the counter onto Mike.


Mike’s body was stiff and cold to the touch. Adam quickly clambered off it, feeling something hard on the floor as he climbed to his feet. 


A keychain. Mike’s keys.


Maybe I can open the door with these. Thought Adam. But as he stood, the arcade cabinet was somehow behind the counter, blocking his passage.


“INSERT PAYMENT” blazed across the screen.


Adam yelped and ran back, nearly tripping over Mike’s corpse.


He hopped up onto the counter.


The machine stood above the remains of the arcade manager.


“CONSUME!” flashed the screen. “CONSUME!”


What?  Thought Adam once more. What am I supposed to do? The arcade game’s come to life. I just wanted to get the high score on Joust. That’s all I wanted!


The display on the screen had changed. Instead of the strange reddish cave it now showed a pixelated rendition of the interior of the Machine Shop. On the floor an 8-bit image of a corpse that vaguely resembled Mike. 


“CONSUME” said the screen, “CONSUME or be CONSUMED!”


Adam scooted backwards on the counter, edging away from the machine.


It slid toward him, continuing its refrain, “CONSUME! CONSUME!”


Tears and snot gushing out of his face, Adam cried. “No! I can’t! I won’t!”


“CONSUME or be CONSUMED!”


The room went dark until all Adam could see was the screen of The Devourer.


“You can’t make me do it!” said Adam, but his body moved toward the arcade cabinet, compelled.


“CONSUME!” came a crackling bellow from the machine’s speakers.


“No.” cried Adam as his hand gripped the joystick, “No, no no.” as his thumb pressed down on the fire button. 


“Mike-” he started to say, but he retched as the name came out of his mouth. 


I’m sorry Adam thought as the digital corpse disappeared, one bite at a time.


The room lit up once more, the reddish glow of the game reflecting off Adam's tear-streaked face. The ominous music continued to play, echoing through the empty arcade. Adam collapsed to the floor, his chest heaving in hyperventilation. 


When he arose, Adam found himself standing at the back of the arcade, in front of the familiar Joust cabinet. He stumbled quickly around the place. Finding no sign of The Devourer nor of Mike. On the floor, behind the counter sat a crumpled up chocolate bar wrapper and a set of keys.


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Nothing Is Wrong is written and recorded in New Jersey on Lenapehoking territory.




Episode 017 The Shop



Episode 017 The Shop

June 1920


Barry Mullein opened his occult shop on Westfield avenue just after the war. He started it as a traditional pharmacy, intent on providing  common helpful goods and services to the people of Amon Heights.


In time, Barry's little store started to receive requests from members of the immigrant communities for unusual powders, blessed candles, and other folk remedies.


In response to the increasing demand for occult and spiritual items, Barry decided to expand his inventory. He began carrying specially formulated sachets, incense, and blends of occult oils, all intended to enhance contentment, happiness, and prosperity. These products became popular among the locals, and the store gained a reputation as a source of spiritual and mystical supplies.


One crisp October day, a new customer entered Barry’s Occult Shop, accompanied by the jingle of the shopkeeper bell above the door. The little man wore a charcoal gray suit with matching bowler hat and carried a gleaming black satchel. Thick black eyebrows contrasted with his paper-white face that somehow didn’t seem to match his head, almost like a mask. Every step as the man entered the store seemed almost too exact and correct, as if he were performing the act of walking rather than merely doing so. The stranger walked up to the counter and read aloud the aluminum sign directly above Barry’s head.


“We’re here to help.” said the man. 


“Yessir!” said Barry, “That’s my motto. Our entire mission statement. Barry’s Occult Shop, ‘We’re here to help!’  What can I do for you, mister?”


“Your motto? So I am safe to assume that you are the eponymous Mr. Barry?” 


“Right again, friend. So what seems to be the trouble? If your suntan needs work, I’ve got all kinds of ointments and unguents to assist in that endeavor.”


“A joke? Haha.” said the man in a tone that did not seem amused. “My employer is a lover of all forms of levity and frivolity. I think your shop will suit his needs quite nicely.”


“Oh. I see. You’re here on behalf of another then? Well, tell me pal, who’s your boss and what’s he need?”


“Well,” started the man as he picked up from the counter a small figurine with grotesque features formed from clay and painted with horizontal black stripes , “Mr. Chino, my employer, is a man of singular taste. He has in his collection many unique items that perhaps you would consider displaying in your little emporium.”


“Oh, I see,” said Barry, “You’re not fixin’ to buy, you’re lookin’ to sell.”


“Oh no sir.” said the stranger, “I don’t mean to give you the impression that Mr. Chino is a mere peddler. He is a connoisseur of the unusual. But he would wish to share his acquisitions with others who may be in need. As your sign says, he too would like to help.”


“Hold on a minute, sir. Are you implying that Mr. Chino is looking to give stuff away? Just like that? That doesn’t sound ordinary to me, sir.”


“Oh Mr. Barry. There is nothing ordinary about it at all. I assure you. However, my employer is quite insistent that your shop is the perfect place for his collection. And he understands that you are a businessman. Therefore you are not expected to allow him to take up space in your store without compensation. Please sir, feel free to charge whatever price you deem reasonable to your patrons.”


“Ok. Alright...Mister...”


“Contragust.”


“Mister Contragust,” continued Barry, “You’re saying that your boss doesn’t wish for me to compensate him in any way other than to distribute his goods to my paying customers and that he expects me to just TAKE the profits all for myself?”


“Yes.” mister Contragust said, “But, may I indulge myself one teensy bit? Should you agree to the deal?”

“In what way?”


“This.” Contragust said, holding up the tiny figurine, “It amuses me so.”


“You’re offering me free products to sell at one hundred percent profit and all you want is that Hopi sacred clown kachina doll?”


“I believe it is Zuni, not Hopi, but yes sir.”


“Then you got yourself a deal, Mister Contragust!” smiled Barry, “Where do I sign up!”


A contract was produced from the strange man’s bag and signed swiftly before Mr. Contragust went on his way.


The next day Mr. Chino’s new products started pouring in. Box after box delivered in a plain white truck by men in plain white overalls with the name “BALATRON” printed on the back. 


It was an odd assortment of items indeed. Barry found himself at a loss of how to categorize, display, and present most of these enigmatic products to his customers. As he unpacked the strange trinkets, ancient relics, and various objects that exuded an aura of mystery and mysticism, his employee, Millie entered the store.


“What the heck is all this junk?” she asked him.


“Now, Millie,” said Barry, “This isn’t junk. These are...umm...curios.”


“Well, I’m pretty curios about how you intend to stock it all. It takes up half the shop!”


“I’m working on it. I think I need to move the counter back a few feet and that will leave room for a grand display. I can stack a few crates and drape them with a few old sheets. When I’m done it will actually look quite nice I suspect.”


“When did you order all this stuff? It don’t look nothin’ like our usual crap.”


“Our silent benefactor donated them!” beamed Barry. 


“Silent what-a-factor?” asked Millie.


“Certain Mr. Chino.” Barry said. “He’s providing his gimcracks, gewgaws, and baubles for our clientele to ooh and ahh at. Between you and me, I can’t say I expect this merchandise to move, but never look a gift horse in the mouth. That’s what I say. If nothing else, we should have a nice window display to draw ‘em in!”


“Draw who in?”

“Why, our customers, of course.”


“But they already come in. For the services we provide them”. Millie said.


“Yes, but maybe we can lure a few new folks into the old shop! If not, no harm done. That’s what I always say.”


“And this Mr. Chino, you sure you trust him?”


“Why wouldn’t I trust him?” asked Barry, “What’s he stand to gain by giving me products to sell pro bono?”


“What’s he stand to gain?” gasped Millie, “Oh I dunno. Maybe he’s fixin’ to unload his stolen goods? You ever think of that?”


Barry was truly taken aback. He’d never considered the notion.


“But,” he began, “but that don’t make sense. If he’s lookin’ for a fence then certainly he’d want his piece of the pie. But I tell you, this guy doesn’t want a dime!”


“Well, that’s even more suspicious!” said an exasperated Millie, “He’s probably a smuggler!”


“A smuggler? Come now!”


“Think about it, boss. He gets you to hold onto his ill-gotten gains until he can pass it off to the real buyer. They pay you and then...”


“And then what? How’s he supposed to get his cut? There’s no logical way for that to happen. I tell you Millie, this fella is simply an eccentric altruist.”


“I don’t know what an owl truthist is, but he sure sounds eccentric.”


Millie crossed her arms and shook her head, skeptical about this whole arrangement. "I just don't trust it, boss. There's something fishy about all of this."


Barry, always the optimist, shrugged off Millie's concerns. "Well, we won't know until we give it a try. Besides, if it turns out to be legit, we stand to make quite a profit from Mr. Chino's unique items. And if not, we can always return them or report any suspicious activities to the authorities. But let's not jump to conclusions just yet."


Over the following days, Barry and Millie worked diligently to reorganize the store, creating a dedicated section for Mr. Chino's enigmatic wares. They carefully displayed the bizarre figurines, ancient manuscripts, and otherworldly relics in a way that piqued the curiosity of passersby. The new display quickly became a focal point of the shop, drawing in a stream of intrigued customers.


As weeks passed, the items from Mr. Chino's collection began to sell, much to Barry's surprise. People from all walks of life were captivated by the peculiar items.


Customers often had questions about the items, but Barry could provide almost no info regarding them. Each curio came with a handwritten tag, but the labels offered little in the way of illumination. In most cases the tags had two or three words on them such as “Sadness Bowl” or “Box of Rectification”. Nevertheless, nearly every article that a customer asked about was sold immediately. It was as if merely touching one of these strange artifacts was enough to encourage a sale. On the other hand, as Barry preferred to believe- the customers were drawn to the object that best suited their needs.

The donated objects didn’t exactly fly off the shelves, but Barry noticed an uptick in sales in general as his reputation as the man to go to when you have a seemingly unsolvable problem increased. 


Mr. Granahan came in one day looking for something that would stop his wife’s snoring. Before Barry could offer him a tonic which he’d stocked for just such a problem, the man picked up an old pillowcase that lay folded on the display. Barry hadn’t even noticed it before. Of course, that was often the case with these items. There were so many that Barry couldn’t keep track of them. Still, he was certain that some of these objects just seemed to appear just as they were needed.


“This is it.” said Mr. Granahan. “Just the thing! I don’t know how you do it, Barry.” 


He purchased the pillowcase and left. Barry wasn’t entirely sure how it was supposed to help Mr. Granahan’s problem, but he’d not had a single complaint about the new products so far.


Sometimes weeks went by without any of the items moving, but sooner or later someone or other would come in looking for the solution to a problem. Inevitably they’d pick up the “Satchel of Coveting” or “Laughing Dog Figurine”, declare it was exactly what they were looking for and then leave happy.


Barry almost felt guilty charging for the things since they’d cost him nothing at all, but Mr. Contragust had insisted. There had been a contract and everything.


One day Millie came in with a gentleman. 


“This is Rodney.” she said, introducing the man, “He’s a...friend of mine. I told him about the new products we’ve been selling and he’s really interested.”


“Interested in what?” asked Barry.


“Interested in making you a wealthy man!” said Rodney. “You seem to be sitting on a gold mine here.”


“Well, business is doing just fine. I don’t think I need-”


“Don’t need more money?” Rodney interrupted. “Come now, Barry. Everyone could use more cash. Am I right?”


“Well, sure, but-”


“Let me tell you what I can do for you! You’ve got a good line of products! But you need to expand! This little rinky-dink shop isn’t gonna get you where you need to be! I got a buddy in the real-estate biz. He can set you up with a bigger place in the city! That’s where the money’s at.”


“Well, friend, I’m not sure-”


“You should listen to Rodney.” said Millie. “He’s got an MBA...from Wharton.”


“What the heck is an MBA?” asked Barry.


“It’s a certificate that says I know what I’m talking about!” said Rodney. “You listen to me and the sky’s the limit!” 


“Look,” said Barry, “I’m not against expanding my business, but hold your horses there mister. I got into this line of work first and foremost to help people. That’s what I do.”


“Well,” said Rodney, “Think of all the people you can help with a bigger store. Two stores! Ten! You could have a line of Barry’s Emporiums all across the country! You could be the next Woolworths! The next Sears!”


“That sounds a bit much.” said Barry.


“Look. Barry.” said Rodney as he picked up a small glass globe. “You got the goods, right? People love ‘em. But say you take this here-what’s the tag say? This here ‘Orb of Courage’ - good one!  You take this Orb of Courage and you mass-produce it!”


“Mass produce it? These are all one-of-a-kind.” Barry protested.


“That’s the problem, Bar - you think too small! We could easily make a million of these babies! What do you sell one of these for?”


“Oh, that one’s three dollars!” said Barry.


“So, are you the kind of man to say no to three MILLION dollars?” asked Rodney.


“Now, don’t be ridiculous,” said Barry. “People come here with a need and I help them fulfill it. I’m not trying to sell them cheap...crap. There I said it. Crap!”


“Barry, you’re not getting it.” said Rodney as he flourished the little ball in his hand. “It wouldn’t be crap. It would be high quality replicas of all your best sellers!”


“But each thing I sell is unique!”


Rodney tossed the glass globe in the air as if juggling it.


“Hey,” said Barry, “Be careful. That’s my merchandise!”


Rodney caught the globe and held it out to Barry, presenting it between his thumb and forefinger. 


“Here you go pal.” said Rodney, “I don’t want to run afoul of any ‘you-break-it you-buy-it policy’!”


Barry snatched the glass ball from Rodney, but in his haste, he dropped it and it fell to the floor, shattering.


“Oh butterfingers, Barry.” said Rodney in a tone that was more mocking than sympathetic. 


“I-I told you not to mess around with it!” said Barry. “You don’t understand. These aren’t mere knick-knacks.”


“I’m sorry, pal.” said Rodney, as he pulled out his wallet. “Here. Lemee make it up to you. Here’s a fiver. Keep the change.”


“Get out of my store!” barked Barry.


“Oh c’mon boss.” said Millie. “He’s only trying to help. He didn’t mean to drop the glass. And he’s payin’ for it.”


“Get out! You have zero respect, Rodney. And I won’t listen to another second of your chicanery!”


Rodney set the five dollar bill on the counter and turned to leave. 


“Your loss, mister.” he said.  Just as he got to the door, Rodney turned and held out his business card and added “In case you come to your sense-”  but the words cut off as Rodney found himself standing face-to-face with a hulking, shadowy figure.


“What the hell?” Rodney managed to gasp before the inky-black being in the vague shape of a man grabbed him by the throat.


Millie looked on in shock as Barry held his own hand out in the same position as the shadow that stood in front of him.


“Get out and take your card with you!” sneered Barry. “I won’t be needing your services!”


The shadow stepped forward, pushing Rodney by his tensed neck, dropping him onto the pavement outside. 


“And stay out!” snapped Barry as the shadowy figure dissipated like smoke.


“What the FUCK was that?” spat Millie. “Barry. What the hell? What?” she started sobbing, and backed away from him.


“Millie. I’m sorry.” said Barry, “I didn’t mean to lose my temper like that. That Rodney fella, he just got under my skin. I shouldn’t have snapped like that.”


“You...” she began to say but lost her breath.


“I what?”


“You...DEMON!” she ran out of the shop and continued down Westfield Avenue.


Barry swept up the broken glass and placed it in the dustbin. Then he sat down at his usual spot behind the counter and read the paper.


After a while the shopkeeper bell rang once more and in walked Mr. Contragust.


“Mr. Barry.” began the little man in the charcoal gray suit.


“It’s Mr. Mullein, sir.” corrected Barry.


“Of course. No disrespect intended.” 


“So, what brings you into my shop today?”


“Mr. Mullein,” said Mr. Contragust, “It has come to my attention that a portion of our wares has been used by you.”


“Oh,” said Barry, “The Orb of Courage, yeah. It was a little accident. The fella responsible paid up for it, though.”


“Yes, very well.” Mr. Contragust continued, “But that leaves one thing.”


Barry could sense a change in Mr. Contragust's demeanor, and it felt like  a serpent made of ice slithering down the back of his shirt. 


"Mr. Mullein, in the contract, it explicitly states that you are not to use any of the items for your own benefit," Mr. Contragust declared, his voice cutting through the room. "The items from Mr. Chino's collection are meant to serve others, not you."


Barry tried to explain, "It was just an accident, Mr. Contragust. Rodney, that man who was in here a while ago, he was pressuring me to mass-produce the items, and he dropped the Orb of Courage. I didn't mean to use it for myself."


Mr. Contragust's dark lips curled into a cold smile. "Accidents, Mr. Mullein, have consequences."


Barry looked on as Mr. Contragust opened his gleaming black satchel and produced a small, intricate wooden box, adorned with symbols that seemed to writhe and shift as if they were alive.


"This, Mr. Mullein, is a Punishment Box," Mr. Contragust explained. "It contains the means to restore balance when one has deviated from their agreed obligations."


Barry started to panic. "You can't be serious. I didn't do it on purpose, and the damage has been paid for."


Mr. Contragust's voice remained unyielding. "The rules must be followed, Mr. Mullein. You used an item for your own benefit, breaking the agreement. And now, you must face the consequences."


Barry watched in horror as Mr. Contragust opened the Punishment Box, revealing an array of tiny, malevolent-looking figurines. Each one was unique, and all of them exuded an aura of darkness and foreboding. He couldn't help but notice the tag on the box: "Figurines of Retribution."


Mr. Contragust selected one of the figurines, a grotesque and nightmarish creature with jagged teeth and hollow eyes. "This will serve as a reminder, Mr. Mullein."


Mr. Contragust placed the figurine on the counter. 


"What... what's going to happen?" Barry stammered, his voice quivering.


Mr. Contragust's tone remained as cold and emotionless as ever. "This figurine will exact retribution for your transgression. It will take something from you in return for the misuse of the Orb."


Before Barry could protest or plead for mercy, the figurine leapt from the counter and latched onto Barry's hand, sinking its jagged teeth into his flesh. He cried out in pain as dark energy surged through him.


The figurine fed on his fear and regret, absorbing his very essence. As it drained him, a patch of Barry's hair turned shock white, and deep lines etched into his face. He felt weaker and frailer with each passing moment.


When the figurine finally released its grip, Barry slumped against the counter, gasping for breath. 


Mr. Contragust collected the Figurine of Retribution and returned it to the Punishment Box. "Remember, Mr. Mullein, the items in Mr. Chino's collection are not to be used for personal gain. If you break this rule again, the consequences will be far more severe."


Barry, still reeling from the ordeal, nodded weakly. "I understand, Mr. Contragust. I won't make that mistake again."


Millie did not return to work the next day, nor the day after that. Barry continued to run his occult shop single-handedly until the day he died.