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00:00:03
My uncle left me his antique shop in00:00:05
Brattleboroough, Vermont when he died00:00:07
last month. And I thought it would be a00:00:09
simple inheritance. Sell the building,00:00:12
auction off the contents, pocket the00:00:14
money. The shop had been in our family00:00:16
since 1847,00:00:18
passed down through six generations of00:00:20
webs, and it was crammed with exactly00:00:23
the kind of dusty furniture and old00:00:25
paintings you'd expect. Victorian00:00:27
dressers, tarnished silverware, oil00:00:30
portraits of sternl looking people in00:00:32
clothes from another century.00:00:35
The building sat on Elliot Street just00:00:38
off Maine, wedged between a used00:00:41
bookstore and a vacant storefront that00:00:43
had been empty since before I was born.00:00:46
The sign above the door read's00:00:49
curiosities and fine antiques in faded00:00:52
gold lettering, and the window display00:00:54
hadn't been updated since some time in00:00:56
the Reagan administration. On my first00:00:58
day going through the inventory, I found00:01:00
a leather-bound ledger behind the00:01:02
register labeled current stock, do not00:01:05
remove. Inside were handwritten entries00:01:08
listing every item in the shop with00:01:11
descriptions and dates acquired.00:01:14
Normal enough for a business that00:01:15
predated computers. Except when I00:01:18
checked the last entry, dated the day my00:01:21
uncle died, it said00:01:24
portrait of Caleb Web, oil on canvas.00:01:27
Acquired March 15th, 2025.00:01:31
That's my name. And March 15th, 2025 is00:01:35
4 months from now. I don't own any00:01:38
portrait of myself. I've never sat for00:01:41
any painting.00:01:42
But I walked through the shop looking at00:01:44
the paintings on the walls. And in the00:01:47
very back corner, partially hidden00:01:49
behind a grandfather clock that had00:01:52
stopped at 3:47,00:01:54
there it was, a portrait of me, painted00:01:57
in the style of the 1800s, wearing00:02:00
clothes I'd never seen, staring out of00:02:03
the canvas with an expression of00:02:04
absolute terror. I grabbed the painting00:02:07
to take it down, but when I touched the00:02:10
frame, it was warm.00:02:12
Not room temperature, but body warm,00:02:15
like something alive, and the expression00:02:18
on my painted face changed just00:02:21
slightly. The eyes shifted, following me00:02:24
as I moved. I dropped the painting and00:02:27
ran to the front of the shop, and that's00:02:29
when I noticed something that made00:02:31
everything inside me go still.00:02:34
The inventory book was open on the00:02:36
counter where I'd left it. But there was00:02:38
a new entry that hadn't been there 6000:02:39
seconds ago, written in fresh ink.00:02:42
Antique music box, walnut with mother of00:02:45
pearl inlay. Plays my grandfather's00:02:48
clock. Acquired December 15th, 2024.00:02:53
Today is December 15th, 2024.00:02:57
I don't have a music box, but from00:03:00
somewhere in the back of the shop, I00:03:02
heard it.00:03:03
the tinkling mechanical sound of my00:03:05
grandfather's clock playing coming from00:03:08
the storage room I hadn't opened yet.00:03:10
The inventory book knows what's going to00:03:12
arrive before it gets here. And00:03:15
according to the next entry dated00:03:17
December 20th, 2024,00:03:20
the shop will be acquiring one complete00:03:23
human skeleton, approximately00:03:27
170 cm tall, male, estimated age at00:03:31
death. 27 years old. I'm 27 years old.00:03:35
I'm 170 cm tall. The shop is predicting00:03:39
its own inventory. And apparently in 500:03:42
days I'm going to become part of the00:03:44
collection. I stood there staring at the00:03:47
ledger, my hands gripping the edge of00:03:49
the counter so hard my knuckles went00:03:51
white.00:03:53
The music box continued its tiny melody00:03:55
from the storage room. Each note landing00:03:58
like a small hammer against my skull. My00:04:01
first instinct was to leave. just walk00:04:04
out the door, get in my car, drive back00:04:07
to my apartment in Burlington, and00:04:09
pretend none of this had happened.00:04:12
But something held me in place. Not fear00:04:15
exactly, but a strange sense of00:04:18
obligation.00:04:20
This shop had been in my family for 17700:04:23
years. My great greatgrandfather, Ezra00:04:27
Webb, had built it with his own hands.00:04:30
Whatever was happening here, I felt like00:04:33
I owed it to him to at least understand00:04:36
it before I abandoned everything. That's00:04:38
when I noticed the envelope taped to the00:04:40
underside of the cash register drawer.00:04:44
It was yellowed with age, but the00:04:46
handwriting on the front was00:04:48
unmistakably my uncle's cramped, precise00:04:51
script00:04:52
for Caleb when the time comes.00:04:56
My hands were shaking as I tore it open.00:04:58
Inside was a single sheet of paper00:05:00
folded twice covered in my uncle's00:05:03
handwriting. At the top, underlined00:05:05
twice, it read, "Rules for operating00:05:08
Web's curiosities."00:05:10
I read them once, then again, then a00:05:13
third time, each reading making less00:05:15
sense than the last.00:05:17
Rule one, the inventory ledger must be00:05:21
consulted every morning at exactly 7:0000:05:23
a.m. and every evening at exactly 70000:05:26
p.m. Any new entries must be00:05:29
acknowledged aloud by reading them in00:05:31
their entirety.00:05:33
Failure to acknowledge an entry within00:05:35
12 hours of its appearance will result00:05:37
in the item acquiring you instead.00:05:40
Rule two, if a customer enters the shop00:05:43
and asks to purchase something that is00:05:45
not listed in the inventory ledger, do00:05:47
not sell it to them. They are not00:05:49
customers. Do not speak to them. Do not00:05:52
look at their faces. Wait silently until00:05:55
they leave.00:05:56
Rule three, the storage room in the back00:06:00
may only be entered between the hours of00:06:02
10:00 a.m. and 400 p.m. Outside of these00:06:05
hours, the door must remain closed and00:06:08
locked. If you hear sounds coming from00:06:11
inside after hours, do not investigate.00:06:14
The sounds are not meant for you. Rule00:06:16
four. Some items in the shop will move00:06:19
on their own. This is normal. Do not00:06:22
attempt to return them to their original00:06:24
positions. They are where they need to00:06:27
be. Rule five. If your portrait changes00:06:31
expression, leave the shop immediately00:06:34
and do not return until sunrise. Under00:06:37
no circumstances should you be inside00:06:39
the building when the portrait smiles00:06:42
below the rules. My uncle had written00:06:44
one final note.00:06:46
I'm sorry, Caleb. I tried to find00:06:49
another way. The ledger chose you before00:06:52
you were born. Follow the rules and you00:06:56
might survive long enough to understand.00:06:59
There's a second envelope hidden in the00:07:01
floorboard beneath the grandfather00:07:02
clock. Don't open it until December00:07:05
19th.00:07:06
Trust me on this. I looked at my phone.00:07:10
It was 6:47 p.m. 13 minutes until I00:07:14
needed to acknowledge whatever new00:07:15
entries had appeared in the ledger. The00:07:18
music box had stopped playing. The00:07:21
silence that replaced it felt heavier00:07:23
than any sound could.00:07:25
I walked back to the counter and opened00:07:27
the inventory book, scanning the entries00:07:30
for anything I hadn't seen before. There00:07:32
were two new lines written in that same00:07:34
fresh ink that seemed to appear from00:07:36
nowhere.00:07:38
The first read, "Morning locket, gold00:07:41
with braided hair, contains photograph00:07:43
of deceased child. Acquired December00:07:46
15th, 2024,00:07:49
6:52 p.m. I checked my phone again. It00:07:53
was 6:51.00:07:55
From somewhere in the shop, I heard the00:07:57
faint sound of something small and00:07:59
metallic hitting the wooden floor. A00:08:01
soft golden glint caught my eye from the00:08:04
shadows near the Victorian writing desk.00:08:07
A locket. Gold. The chain coiled around00:08:11
it like a sleeping snake.00:08:14
The second new entry made my stomach00:08:16
lurch. Visitor female approximately 8000:08:20
years old dressed in morning attire will00:08:22
arrive December 15th, 2024, 7:15 p.m.00:08:28
Not a customer. I read the words three00:08:31
times, hoping I'd misunderstood.00:08:34
Not a customer. According to rule two,00:08:37
that meant I couldn't sell to her,00:08:38
couldn't speak to her, couldn't look at00:08:40
her face. She would be here in less than00:08:43
half an hour. And I was standing in a00:08:45
shop full of objects that seemed to have00:08:48
minds of their own with a portrait of00:08:50
myself that might smile at any moment,00:08:53
and a storage room I couldn't enter for00:08:55
another 16 hours. a storage room that00:08:59
was currently making soft shuffling00:09:01
sounds despite the music box having gone00:09:04
silent. I grabbed my uncle's letter,00:09:07
stuffed it in my pocket, and waited for00:09:09
the clock to strike seven. At exactly00:09:13
700 p.m., I stood in front of the00:09:15
inventory ledger and began reading00:09:17
aloud. Antique music box walnut with00:09:20
mother of pearl inlay plays my00:09:23
grandfather's clock. Acquired December00:09:25
15th, 2024.00:09:27
My voice sounded strange in the empty00:09:29
shop. Too loud and too small at the same00:09:32
time.00:09:34
Morning locket. Gold with braided hair.00:09:37
Contains photograph of deceased child.00:09:40
Acquired December 15th, 2024,00:09:43
6:52 p.m.00:09:46
I paused, looking at the third entry,00:09:49
the one about the visitor.00:09:52
Visitor, female, approximately 80 years00:09:56
old, dressed in morning attire, will00:09:59
arrive December 15th, 2024, 7:15 p.m.00:10:04
Not a customer.00:10:06
The moment I finished speaking,00:10:08
something shifted in the air. The00:10:10
pressure in my ears changed, like00:10:12
driving up a mountain road too fast. The00:10:15
antique barometer on the wall behind me,00:10:18
a brass piece from the 1890s, swung00:10:21
wildly from fair to stormy and back00:10:24
again before settling somewhere in00:10:26
between. I had 15 minutes. I used them00:10:30
to explore the locket that had appeared00:10:32
near the writing desk. It was heavier00:10:34
than it looked, the gold warm against my00:10:37
palm in that same unsettling way the00:10:40
portrait frame had been. Inside was a00:10:43
tiny photograph sepia toned and cracked00:10:46
with age showing a young girl in a white00:10:49
dress. Her eyes had been scratched out,00:10:52
not faded. Scratched as if someone had00:10:56
taken a needle to the image with great00:10:58
care.00:10:59
I set the locket on the counter next to00:11:01
the ledger and tried not to think about00:11:03
the braided hair visible through the00:11:05
glass backing.00:11:06
Whose hair was it? The girls? someone00:11:10
who had loved her. At 7:14, I heard00:11:13
footsteps on the sidewalk outside. They00:11:16
were slow and uneven, accompanied by the00:11:19
soft tap of a cane against concrete.00:11:21
Through the front window, I could see a00:11:23
shape approaching, a figure in black,00:11:26
hunched and shuffling, making its way00:11:28
toward the shop with a patience that00:11:30
seemed to stretch time itself.00:11:32
I moved behind the counter, positioning00:11:35
myself so I could see the door without00:11:37
directly facing it. Rule two echoed in00:11:40
my head. Do not sell to them. Do not00:11:43
speak to them. Do not look at their00:11:45
faces.00:11:47
The bell above the door chimed as she00:11:49
entered. I kept my eyes fixed on the00:11:51
ledger, but my peripheral vision caught00:11:53
enough. A long black dress that brushed00:11:56
the floor, sleeves that covered her00:11:58
hands completely, a veil of black lace00:12:01
that obscured everything above her00:12:03
shoulders. She smelled like dried roses00:12:06
and something else. something organic00:12:09
and faintly sweet, like fruit left too00:12:12
long in a bowl. "Good evening," she00:12:15
said. Her voice was pleasant,00:12:18
grandmotherly, even. The kind of voice00:12:20
that should be offering fresh cookies00:12:22
and stories about the old days. I said00:12:25
nothing. My fingers gripped the edge of00:12:27
the counter. "I'm looking for a locket,"00:12:30
she continued, moving deeper into the00:12:33
shop. I could hear the tap of her cane00:12:36
against the wooden floor. Each strike00:12:38
sending small vibrations through the00:12:40
boards.00:12:42
Gold with braided hair inside. It00:12:45
belonged to my granddaughter.00:12:47
Someone stole it from her grave in 1891,00:12:51
and I've been looking for it ever since.00:12:54
She was getting closer. I could feel her00:12:56
presence like a cold draft, despite the00:12:59
shop's heating system running at full00:13:01
blast.00:13:03
Young man, it's terribly rude not to00:13:06
answer when spoken to. I bit the inside00:13:09
of my cheek hard enough to taste copper.00:13:12
Still, I said nothing. I can see you're00:13:16
new here. Her voice had shifted, the00:13:19
grandmotherly warmth cooling into00:13:21
something flatter, more curious.00:13:24
Your uncle was better at this. He knew00:13:27
how to be polite while still following00:13:28
the rules. He would nod at least00:13:32
acknowledge my presence without00:13:34
speaking. The cane tapped closer.00:13:37
She was at the counter now, no more than00:13:40
3 ft away. I could see the edge of her00:13:43
veil in my peripheral vision. The way it00:13:45
moved slightly, as if stirred by a00:13:47
breeze that didn't exist. Look at me,00:13:51
she said. I stared at the ledger, at the00:13:54
entry that described her, at the words,00:13:57
"Not a customer," written in ink that00:14:00
seemed darker than before.00:14:02
"Look at me, Caleb. She knew my name."00:14:06
Of course she did. The shop knew00:14:08
everything, and she was part of the shop00:14:11
now, or connected to it in some way I00:14:13
didn't understand. Your uncle made a00:14:16
mistake, you know, near the end. He00:14:19
looked at me just once, just for a00:14:22
moment. And you know what he saw? I00:14:25
didn't answer. I couldn't answer. He saw00:14:29
what's coming for you. He saw the00:14:31
skeleton entry in the ledger. And he00:14:33
understood what it meant. That's why he00:14:36
died when he did. He chose to die. Gave00:14:40
himself to the shop on his own terms00:14:42
rather than wait to be collected. The00:14:45
locket on the counter began to vibrate.00:14:47
the chain rattling softly against the00:14:49
wood. "That locket is mine," she said,00:14:53
and now her voice had lost all pretense00:14:55
of warmth. "It was hollow, echoing, as00:14:59
if coming from somewhere much farther00:15:01
away than the woman standing in front of00:15:03
me. Give it to me, and I'll tell you how00:15:05
to survive, how to break the contract,00:15:08
how to burn the ledger without burning00:15:10
yourself."00:15:12
My hand twitched toward the locket. It00:15:15
would be so easy. just pick it up, hand00:15:18
it over, and maybe this nightmare would00:15:20
end. Maybe she was telling the truth,00:15:23
but the ledger had listed her as not a00:15:26
customer. And rule two was absolute. Do00:15:30
not sell to them. I kept my hand where00:15:33
it was. The woman stood there for what00:15:36
felt like hours, but was probably only00:15:38
seconds. Then she laughed, a dry,00:15:41
rustling sound like dead leaves scraping00:15:43
across pavement.00:15:45
Your uncle was right about you. She00:15:47
said, "You have the stubbornness, the00:15:51
web stubbornness. It's kept your family00:15:53
alive for 177 years, and it's killed00:15:57
just as many of you." The cane tapped00:16:00
once, twice, three times. Then the00:16:04
footsteps retreated, and the bell above00:16:06
the door chimed again. When I finally00:16:09
looked up, she was gone. The locket had00:16:13
stopped vibrating. The barometer had00:16:15
settled on fair, and in the inventory00:16:18
ledger, the entry about the visitor had00:16:20
changed. Where it had previously read,00:16:23
"Will arrive," it now read, "Departed."00:16:28
But there was a new entry below it,00:16:30
written in handwriting I didn't00:16:31
recognize. Older, more elegant, with00:16:35
loops and flourishes from another00:16:37
century. The boy refused. The contract00:16:41
holds. Countdown continues.00:16:44
I had 4 days left until December 20th. 400:16:48
days until the shop tried to add my00:16:49
skeleton to its collection. I didn't00:16:52
leave the shop that night. I know that00:16:54
sounds insane given everything that had00:16:56
happened, but where was I supposed to00:16:58
go? My apartment in Burlington was 200:17:01
hours away and the ledger needed to be00:17:03
consulted at 7:00 a.m. If I missed that00:17:06
window, if I failed to acknowledge00:17:08
whatever new entries appeared overnight,00:17:11
then according to rule one, the items00:17:13
would acquire me instead.00:17:16
I didn't know exactly what that meant,00:17:18
but I had a feeling it wasn't00:17:19
metaphorical.00:17:21
There was a small apartment above the00:17:23
shop. My uncle had lived there for the00:17:25
last 30 years of his life, refusing to00:17:27
leave the building for more than a few00:17:29
hours at a time.00:17:31
I'd seen it briefly during the estate00:17:33
assessment. A single room with a narrow00:17:35
bed, a hot plate, a bathroom barely00:17:38
large enough to turn around in. The00:17:41
walls were covered with notes written on00:17:42
index cards, hundreds of them, each one00:17:45
containing observations about the shop00:17:47
and its inventory. I climbed the stairs00:17:50
around 9:30, leaving the lights on00:17:52
downstairs.00:17:54
Before I went up, I checked my portrait00:17:56
one more time.00:17:58
The expression was the same as before.00:18:01
Terror, frozen, and silent, but the eyes00:18:05
seemed to track me as I moved across the00:18:07
room. I told myself it was a trick of00:18:10
the light, the way certain paintings00:18:12
seem to follow you regardless of where00:18:14
you stand. I didn't believe it, but I00:18:18
told myself anyway.00:18:20
The apartment was cold despite the00:18:22
radiator clanking in the corner. My00:18:25
uncle's bed was made with military00:18:27
precision. The sheets tucked so tight00:18:30
you could bounce a quarter off them. On00:18:32
the nightstand was a photograph in a00:18:34
silver frame. My uncle as a young man00:18:37
standing in front of the shop with a00:18:39
woman I didn't recognize. She was00:18:42
beautiful in a severe way, with dark00:18:44
hair pulled back from her face and eyes00:18:47
that seemed to look through the camera00:18:49
rather than at it. On the back of the00:18:51
frame, someone had written, "Ezra's00:18:55
promise, 1847,00:18:57
the first and the last."00:19:00
Ezra was my ancestor, the one who' built00:19:03
the shop. But this photograph couldn't00:19:06
be from 1847.00:19:08
The technology didn't exist yet. and my00:19:11
uncle hadn't been born until 1952.00:19:14
I set the photograph down and tried to00:19:17
sleep. At 11:47 p.m., the sounds from00:19:21
the storage room began.00:19:23
At first, I thought it was mice. Old00:19:25
buildings in Vermont are full of them,00:19:28
especially in winter when they seek00:19:29
warmth. But mice don't knock. Mice don't00:19:33
drag heavy objects across wooden floors.00:19:36
Mice don't whisper. I lay in the narrow00:19:39
bed, staring at the ceiling, listening00:19:42
to sounds that seemed to come from00:19:44
directly below me.00:19:46
The storage room was beneath the00:19:48
apartment, separated by a single floor00:19:50
of old pine boards. I could hear00:19:53
movement down there, something00:19:55
shuffling, rearranging, organizing.00:19:59
Occasionally, there would be a pause,00:20:01
and in that silence, I would hear what00:20:03
sounded like breathing, slow and wet, as00:20:06
if whatever was down there had lungs00:20:08
full of fluid.00:20:10
Rule three, the storage room may only be00:20:13
entered between 10:00 a.m. and 400 p.m.00:20:16
If you hear sounds coming from inside00:20:18
after hours, do not investigate.00:20:22
I did not investigate, but I also did00:20:25
not sleep. Around 2:00 a.m., I heard00:20:28
something different. Not from the00:20:30
storage room, but from the shop floor00:20:33
below. A scraping sound like furniture00:20:36
being dragged across hardwood. I00:20:39
remembered rule four. Some items will00:20:42
move on their own. This is normal. Do00:20:46
not attempt to return them to their00:20:48
original positions. Normal. My uncle had00:20:52
written that word as if it meant00:20:53
something. as if anything about this00:20:55
situation could be considered normal. I00:20:58
got up and walked to the window that00:21:00
overlooked the main floor of the shop.00:21:02
The lights were still on just as I'd00:21:05
left them. And from my vantage point, I00:21:07
could see most of the inventory, the00:21:09
Victorian dressers, the writing desks,00:21:12
the grandfather clock frozen at 3:47.00:21:16
The furniture was moving, not quickly,00:21:19
nothing dramatic or violent, but the00:21:22
pieces were shifting inch by inch,00:21:24
rearranging themselves into a00:21:26
configuration I didn't recognize. A seti00:21:29
that had been against the east wall was00:21:31
now in the center of the room.00:21:34
A mirror that had faced the front window00:21:36
was turning slowly, degree by degree,00:21:39
until it faced the back corner where my00:21:41
portrait hung.00:21:43
The portrait, even from up here, I could00:21:46
see it. The painting of me in clothes00:21:49
from another century, with an expression00:21:52
of terror that I was beginning to00:21:54
understand all too well. The mirror was00:21:57
pointing directly at it now, and in the00:22:00
reflection, I could see something that00:22:01
made my legs go weak. The portrait in00:22:04
the mirror wasn't the same as the00:22:06
portrait on the wall. In the reflection,00:22:09
the painted version of me wasn't looking00:22:11
out at the viewer.00:22:13
It was looking up toward the apartment00:22:15
window toward where I was standing, and00:22:19
its mouth was open, stretched wide,00:22:23
frozen in the middle of a scream that I00:22:25
couldn't hear.00:22:27
I stepped back from the window so fast I00:22:29
tripped over my uncle's reading chair00:22:31
and went down hard, catching myself on00:22:34
the edge of the bed. When I got back up00:22:37
and looked again, the mirror had moved.00:22:40
It was facing the wall now, showing00:22:42
nothing but faded wallpaper.00:22:45
The portrait on the wall was unchanged.00:22:48
Same expression, same terror, same eyes00:22:51
that followed me wherever I went, but it00:22:54
wasn't smiling. That was the important00:22:57
thing.00:22:59
Rule five said to leave if the portrait00:23:01
smiled. The portrait wasn't smiling. I00:23:05
stayed. The rest of the night passed in00:23:07
fragments. I dozed occasionally, jerking00:23:10
awake at every creek and groan of the00:23:12
old building. The sounds from the00:23:15
storage room continued until around 4:3000:23:18
a.m. when they stopped so abruptly it00:23:21
was almost worse than the noise itself.00:23:23
The silence that followed was thick and00:23:26
expectant, like the building was holding00:23:28
its breath.00:23:29
At 6:15, I gave up on sleep and went00:23:32
downstairs to prepare for the morning00:23:34
consultation.00:23:36
The shop looked different in the gray00:23:38
pre-dawn light filtering through the00:23:39
windows. The furniture had returned to00:23:42
its original positions, or at least00:23:46
positions that seemed original.00:23:48
I couldn't be entirely sure anymore. The00:23:51
mirror was back against the east wall,00:23:54
facing the window as if it had never00:23:55
moved, but there were new items on the00:23:58
shelves.00:24:00
A porcelain doll with painted eyes sat00:24:02
on top of a display case that had been00:24:04
empty the night before. Next to it was a00:24:07
wooden box roughly the size of a shoe00:24:10
box with symbols carved into the lid00:24:12
that I didn't recognize.00:24:14
And on the counter beside the inventory00:24:17
ledger was a brass key on a leather00:24:19
cord.00:24:21
I opened the ledger. Three new entries00:24:24
all dated December 16th, 2024.00:24:28
Porcelain doll French circa 1885 glass00:24:32
eyes replaced with painted ceramic00:24:35
acquired 3:17 a.m. Wooden reoquary00:24:39
origin unknown contains preserved00:24:41
fingerbone acquired 3:17 a.m. Key to00:24:46
storage room brass with leather cord00:24:48
acquired 3:17 a.m. Note original key00:24:52
lost 1923 replacement provided.00:24:56
I looked at the key on the counter. Then00:24:59
I looked at the storage room door, still00:25:01
closed, still locked with a padlock that00:25:04
had been there since I arrived. My00:25:06
uncle's key ring, which I'd been using00:25:09
since I inherited the shop, didn't have00:25:11
a key for that padlock. I'd assumed the00:25:14
storage room was accessible through some00:25:16
other means, or that my uncle had simply00:25:18
lost the key years ago. But now there00:25:21
was a new key provided by the shop00:25:24
itself. and in 4 hours when the clock00:25:27
struck 10, I would be able to use it.00:25:31
The question was whether I wanted to see00:25:33
what was waiting for me on the other00:25:35
side. At exactly 7:00 a.m., I stood00:25:38
before the ledger and read the new00:25:40
entries aloud. Porcelain doll, French00:25:43
circa 1885.00:25:45
Glass eyes replaced with painted00:25:47
ceramic. Acquired 3:17 a.m. My voice was00:25:51
horsearo from the sleepless night.00:25:53
Cracking on certain syllables. Wooden00:25:56
reoquary origin unknown. Contains00:25:59
preserved fingerbone. acquired 3:17 a.m.00:26:03
Key to storage room brass with leather00:26:05
cord acquired 3:17 a.m. Note original00:26:10
key lost 1923.00:26:12
Replacement provided.00:26:15
The moment I finished speaking, the00:26:17
barometer swung to fair and stayed00:26:19
there. The shop seemed to settle around00:26:22
me, boards creaking as if the building00:26:24
itself was exhaling.00:26:26
3 hours until I could use the key.00:26:29
I spent the time reading my uncle's00:26:31
index cards. There were hundreds of them00:26:34
pinned to the walls of the apartment,00:26:36
organized in a system that took me00:26:38
nearly an hour to understand.00:26:40
They were arranged chronologically,00:26:43
starting from his first day as the00:26:45
shop's owner in 1987 and continuing00:26:48
until 3 days before his death. Some00:26:51
cards contain simple observations.00:26:54
December 3rd, 1987.00:26:57
Music box played at 2:14 a.m. No new00:27:00
entry in Ledger, possibly residual.00:27:04
Others were more disturbing. March 15th,00:27:07
2001. Visitor arrived. Male,00:27:11
approximately 40, Civil War uniform.00:27:14
Asked for his rifle, did not speak, did00:27:16
not look. He stood in the corner for 600:27:19
hours before departing. Ledger noted him00:27:22
as satisfied.00:27:24
But it was the oldest cards, yellowed00:27:26
and brittle, that caught my attention.00:27:29
My uncle had clearly copied these from00:27:31
earlier sources. The handwriting was00:27:34
his, but the content referenced events00:27:36
from long before his birth.00:27:39
August 12th, 1847. Ezra Webb opened00:27:42
shop. First entry in ledger. One soul00:27:46
bartered for prosperity. Contract sealed00:27:49
in the high places. Note: High places00:27:52
believed to reference Green Mountains.00:27:54
Possible location of original agreement.00:27:58
September 1st, 1847.00:28:01
First acquisition arrived without00:28:02
purchase. Silver candlestick belonged to00:28:05
Ezra's mother. She died the same day in00:28:08
Newfane. Cause of death listed as00:28:10
natural, but body found in root cellar00:28:13
with expression of extreme fear.00:28:17
October 31st, 1847. Ezra recorded first00:28:21
visitor. Female, young, dressed in00:28:24
white. Asked for the thing that was00:28:26
promised. Ezra refused to give it.00:28:29
Visitor departed. Next morning, Ezra's00:28:33
wife found dead. Ledger entry. Martha00:28:36
Webb. Acquired October 31st, 1847.00:28:42
I stopped reading. My hands were00:28:44
trembling so badly the index card shook00:28:47
like a leaf in a storm.00:28:49
The shop didn't just predict its00:28:51
inventory, it demanded it. And when Ezra00:28:54
refused to give the visitor what she00:28:56
wanted, the shop took his wife instead.00:28:59
The clock on the wall showed 9:47 a.m.00:29:03
13 minutes until I could open the00:29:04
storage room. I went downstairs and00:29:07
stood in front of the padlock door, the00:29:10
brass key warm in my palm.00:29:12
The storage room was at the back of the00:29:14
shop, past the grandfather clock and the00:29:17
Victorian set and the corner where my00:29:19
portrait hung. I avoided looking at the00:29:22
painting as I passed, keeping my eyes00:29:24
fixed on the door ahead. At exactly00:29:27
10:00 a.m., I inserted the key into the00:29:30
padlock. It turned smoothly, as if the00:29:33
mechanism had been oiled yesterday00:29:35
rather than untouched for over a00:29:36
century. The padlock fell away, and I00:29:40
pushed the door open.00:29:42
The smell hit me first. Old paper, dust,00:29:46
and something else beneath it all.00:29:49
Something organic and faintly rotten,00:29:51
like vegetables forgotten in the cellar.00:29:54
The storage room was larger than I'd00:29:56
expected, stretching back into darkness00:29:59
that the single bare bulb overhead00:30:01
couldn't fully penetrate.00:30:04
Shelves lined the walls, floor to00:30:06
ceiling, packed with objects I'd never00:30:08
seen in the main inventory.00:30:11
There were boxes labeled with dates00:30:13
going back to the 1850s.00:30:16
Jars filled with murky liquid and shapes00:30:18
I didn't want to examine too closely.00:30:22
A collection of shoes, all left feet,00:30:25
arranged by size from child to adult.00:30:29
A bird cage containing a taxiderermy00:30:31
crow that looked fresher than any00:30:33
taxiderermy should. And in the center of00:30:36
the room, on a wooden table scarred with00:30:38
knife marks and what might have been00:30:41
burns, was a second ledger.00:30:44
This one was older than the one at the00:30:46
counter. Much older.00:30:49
The leather cover was cracked and00:30:50
peeling, held together with twine that00:30:53
had been replaced dozens of times over00:30:55
the years.00:30:56
The pages inside were thick, almost00:30:59
fabric-like, and covered in handwriting00:31:02
that changed every few pages as00:31:04
different generations of webs had added00:31:06
their entries.00:31:08
I opened it to the first page. Contract00:31:11
entered this day, August 12th, 1847,00:31:15
between Ezra Webb of Brattleboro and the00:31:18
proprietor of the high places. In00:31:20
exchange for a business that shall never00:31:22
fail, Ezra Webb agrees to the following00:31:25
terms. The terms were listed below.00:31:29
Written in handwriting, but wasn't quite00:31:31
human. The letters were too precise, too00:31:34
angular, as if drawn by something that00:31:36
had learned to write by observation00:31:39
rather than practice.00:31:41
One, the ledger shall record all00:31:43
acquisitions past and future. What is00:31:46
written shall come to pass.00:31:49
Two, the shop shall draw what it needs.00:31:53
Refuse nothing that arrives.00:31:55
Three, those who come asking are owed.00:31:59
Answer them not, but do not deny them00:32:02
entry.00:32:03
Four, the blood carries the contract.00:32:06
Each generation must serve or be served00:32:08
upon the inventory.00:32:11
Five, the shop may be inherited but00:32:14
never sold. The shop may be closed but00:32:17
never abandoned. The shop may be burned00:32:21
but never destroyed.00:32:23
Below the terms was a signature. Ezra00:32:26
Webs, shaky but legible, and beside it00:32:30
something that wasn't a signature at00:32:32
all. It was a mark burned into the page00:32:35
rather than written in the shape of a00:32:37
tree with roots that extended down off00:32:40
the edge of the paper. I flipped through00:32:42
the pages, scanning entries from every00:32:44
decade since 1847.00:32:47
Each generation of webs had added their00:32:49
own notes, their own observations, their00:32:52
own desperate attempts to understand or00:32:54
escape the contract. My grandfather in00:32:57
196200:32:59
tried to burn the ledger. Fire would not00:33:02
catch. Matches extinguished themselves.00:33:05
My hands blistered for a week. My great00:33:07
aunt in 197800:33:10
consulted priest from St. Michael's. He00:33:13
entered shop and did not leave. Ledger00:33:15
acquired him 3 days later. Body never00:33:18
found.00:33:20
My uncle in 2019.00:33:22
The portrait appeared today. Caleb's00:33:25
face. He doesn't know yet. God forgive00:33:28
me. I should have told him years ago,00:33:30
but I thought I could find another way.00:33:33
I thought I could break it before it00:33:34
came to him.00:33:36
The last entry in the second ledger was00:33:38
dated the day before my uncle died. I00:33:41
understand now. The contract can be00:33:43
broken, but not by us, not by any web.00:33:47
The blood is tainted, but the ledger is00:33:49
paper, and paper can burn if the fire00:33:52
comes from outside the family. Caleb00:33:55
will need help. I pray he finds it00:33:57
before March 15th. I pray he is stronger00:34:01
than I was.00:34:03
Below this, in fresher ink, someone had00:34:06
added a single line. He will not find00:34:09
help. He will join the collection. This00:34:12
has already been written. The00:34:14
handwriting matched the angular, too00:34:16
precise script from the original00:34:18
contract.00:34:19
The proprietor of the high places had00:34:21
been reading along with me. I closed the00:34:24
ledger and backed out of the storage00:34:26
room, my heart slamming against my ribs.00:34:29
The clock on the wall showed 10:34 a.m.00:34:33
I had until 400 p.m. before the room00:34:35
became forbidden again. And somewhere in00:34:38
those shelves, somewhere in those boxes00:34:41
and jars and collections of forgotten00:34:43
things, there had to be something that00:34:46
could help me. I went back in and00:34:48
started searching. I searched the00:34:51
storage room for nearly 5 hours. The00:34:54
shelves held generations of accumulated00:34:56
objects, each one tagged with a small00:34:59
paper label indicating the date of00:35:01
acquisition and in many cases the name00:35:04
of the previous owner. Some labels00:35:07
simply listed dates. Others contained00:35:10
names I recognized from Brattleboroough00:35:12
history. Families who had lived here for00:35:15
centuries, whose descendants still00:35:17
walked the streets and shopped at the00:35:19
co-op on Main Street.00:35:21
A few labels contained only a single00:35:23
word, collected.00:35:26
I didn't want to think about what that00:35:27
meant. By 2 p.m., I had assembled a00:35:30
small pile of items that seemed00:35:32
potentially useful. A journal belonging00:35:35
to my great greatgrandfather, Silas00:35:37
Webb, who had run the shop from 1889 to00:35:41
1924.00:35:43
A bundle of letters tied with faded00:35:45
ribbon addressed to various members of00:35:47
the web family from someone who signed00:35:49
themselves only as eh.00:35:52
A glass vial containing what looked like00:35:54
salt but smelled faintly of iron. And a00:35:58
photograph, another photograph showing00:36:01
the same woman from the picture in my00:36:03
uncle's apartment, standing in front of00:36:05
the shop in clothes that could have been00:36:08
from any decade between 1850 and 1950.00:36:13
The woman's face was the same in every00:36:15
image. Exactly the same. Not similar,00:36:19
not resembling, identical, down to the00:36:22
precise angle of her cheekbones and the00:36:24
particular darkness of her eyes.00:36:28
Silus Webb's journal provided some00:36:30
answers, though not the ones I wanted.00:36:33
The woman comes every generation, he had00:36:36
written in an entry dated March 1901.00:36:40
She is not a visitor in the way the00:36:42
others are visitors. She is something00:36:44
else. A witness perhaps or a keeper of00:36:48
accounts. Father called her the00:36:50
collector's daughter, though I do not00:36:53
believe she is anyone's daughter in the00:36:55
way we understand such things. She00:36:58
appears when the contract is threatened.00:37:01
She appeared to father when he tried to00:37:03
sail for England in 1872.00:37:06
She appeared to me when I married a00:37:08
woman from outside New England, thinking00:37:11
perhaps the distance of blood might00:37:12
weaken the bond.00:37:15
The entry continued.00:37:17
My wife died in childbirth. The child00:37:20
survived. The contract held. I have not00:37:24
seen the woman since, but I feel her00:37:26
watching. She is always watching.00:37:29
I set the journal aside and open the00:37:31
letters from eh.00:37:34
They were addressed to different webs00:37:35
across different decades, but they all00:37:38
contained the same essential message, an00:37:40
offer of help.00:37:42
Eh claimed to be a scholar of00:37:44
contractual entanglements and offered to00:37:47
assist the Web family in breaking their00:37:49
arrangement with the proprietor.00:37:52
The letters were polite, formal, and00:37:54
increasingly desperate as the years went00:37:57
on. The final letter dated 1987 and00:38:01
addressed to my uncle read, "Dear Mr.00:38:03
Webb, I have studied your family00:38:05
situation for nearly 60 years. I believe00:38:09
I have found a solution, but it requires00:38:11
something that no web has been willing00:38:13
to provide. Complete transparency.00:38:17
You must tell someone outside the00:38:19
bloodline everything. The contract's00:38:21
power lies in secrecy.00:38:24
The proprietor feeds on isolation.00:38:27
If you can bring an outsider into your00:38:29
confidence, truly into your confidence,00:38:31
holding nothing back, the fire they set00:38:34
will burn true. I am too old now to be00:38:37
that person. But I beg you, find00:38:39
someone. Tell them everything. Let them00:38:42
choose to help you freely without00:38:44
coercion or payment. Only then can the00:38:47
ledger be destroyed. Yours in hope, eh.00:38:52
There was no return address on any of00:38:54
the letters. No indication of who eh was00:38:57
or how they had learned about the Wed00:38:59
family's curse. But the message was00:39:01
clear. I needed help from someone00:39:04
outside my bloodline. Someone I could00:39:07
tell everything to, someone who would00:39:09
choose to help me of their own free00:39:11
will. The problem was that I had been00:39:14
living in Burlington for 5 years. And in00:39:17
that time, I had made exactly zero close00:39:20
friends. I had acquaintances. I had00:39:23
co-workers at the accounting firm where00:39:25
I'd worked until last month. I had a00:39:28
landlord who nodded at me in the00:39:30
hallway, but I didn't have anyone I00:39:32
could call at 3:00 a.m. with a story00:39:35
about cursed antique shops and contracts00:39:38
with mountain demons and expect them to00:39:40
believe me, let alone help me. I was00:39:43
alone. The webs had always been alone.00:39:47
Maybe that was part of the contract,00:39:49
too. At 3:45 p.m., I gathered my00:39:52
findings and left the storage room,00:39:54
locking the door behind me with the00:39:56
brass key. 15 minutes of permitted00:39:59
access remained, but I couldn't spend00:40:01
another second in that space with its00:40:03
jars and its boxes and its labels that00:40:05
said collected.00:40:07
The 7 p.m. consultation revealed two new00:40:10
entries. Silver hand mirror Victorian00:40:14
glass cracked in three places. acquired00:40:16
December 16th, 2024. 4:47 p.m. I looked00:40:22
around the shop and spotted it00:40:24
immediately. A tarnished mirror sitting00:40:26
on the display case near the front00:40:28
window. Its surface spiderwebed with00:40:30
fractures that hadn't been there an hour00:40:32
ago.00:40:34
Visitor, male, approximately 60 years00:40:37
old, dressed in workc clothes, will00:40:39
arrive December 16th, 20124, 8:30 p.m.00:40:45
Not a customer. Note: This visitor may00:40:48
be spoken to. This visitor may be looked00:40:51
upon. This visitor is owed a debt. The00:40:55
note was different from the previous00:40:56
visitor entry. This one could be spoken00:40:59
to. could be looked upon, but was owed a00:41:02
debt. I didn't know what that meant, but00:41:05
I suspected I was about to find out. At00:41:08
8:30 exactly, the bell above the door00:41:11
chimed. The man who entered was tall and00:41:14
gaunt with the weathered face of someone00:41:16
who had spent decades working outdoors.00:41:19
His clothes were stained with what might00:41:21
have been oil or might have been00:41:23
something darker, and his boots left00:41:25
muddy prints on the hardwood floor. He00:41:28
removed his cap as he entered, holding00:41:30
it in both hands like a supplicant00:41:32
approaching an altar. "You're the new00:41:35
web," he said. His voice was rough,00:41:39
graveled with the distinct accent of00:41:41
someone born and raised in Vermont.00:41:45
Heard Old Nathaniel passed. "Sorry for00:41:48
your loss." I stood behind the counter,00:41:51
my hand resting near the ledger.00:41:54
"Thank you. Did you know my uncle00:41:57
knew him well enough. The man's eyes00:42:00
swept across the shop, taking in the00:42:03
inventory with a familiarity that00:42:04
suggested he'd been here before, many00:42:07
times. He helped me once. Long time ago00:42:11
now, back in 94.00:42:15
Helped you how? The man was quiet for a00:42:18
moment. Then he reached into his jacket00:42:20
and pulled out a small wooden box00:42:23
different from the reoquary in the00:42:24
storage room, but similar in size and00:42:27
construction.00:42:28
"My boy got sick," he said. "Real sick.00:42:33
Doctors couldn't do nothing for him. But00:42:35
your uncle, he told me about a deal.00:42:37
Said the shop could help if I was00:42:39
willing to pay the price." He opened the00:42:42
box. Inside, resting on faded velvet,00:42:45
was a human tooth, small, a child's00:42:49
tooth.00:42:50
The shop took this, he said. One tooth00:42:53
from my boy, given freely, and in00:42:57
exchange, my boy got better, walked out00:43:00
of the hospital two weeks later like00:43:01
nothing had ever been wrong. He closed00:43:04
the box and set it on the counter.00:43:07
But your uncle told me there'd be a00:43:08
reckoning.00:43:10
said one day the shop would call in the00:43:11
debt and I'd have to answer. I stared at00:43:14
the box, then at the man. What does the00:43:18
shop want from you? Don't know yet.00:43:21
That's why I'm here. He met my eyes, and00:43:24
I saw something in his gaze that I00:43:26
recognized. The same exhausted00:43:28
resignation I'd seen in my own00:43:30
reflection that morning. The ledger00:43:32
knows, though, doesn't it? The ledger00:43:35
always knows. I turned to the inventory00:43:38
book and scanned the entries. Below the00:43:41
one announcing the man's arrival, a new00:43:43
line had appeared. Debt collection.00:43:46
Hyram Thatcher owes 30 years of service.00:43:49
Service may be rendered in person or by00:43:51
proxy. If proxy is chosen, proxy must be00:43:54
blood relation of debtor. Hyram00:43:57
Thatcher.00:43:59
I didn't recognize the name, but Vermont00:44:01
was full of Thatchers. Have been for00:44:03
generations.00:44:06
It says you owe 30 years of service, I00:44:09
told him. Or a blood relation can serve00:44:12
in your place. Hyram's face went pale.00:44:16
30 years? I'll be dead before. He00:44:19
stopped, his hands clenched around his00:44:22
cap, knuckles whitening. A blood00:44:24
relation. You mean my boy, the one who00:44:27
got healed? I don't know. I'm just00:44:30
reading what it says.00:44:33
He's got a family now, kids of his own.00:44:36
He doesn't even know about any of this.00:44:39
I never told him how he got better.00:44:42
The words from Eh's letter echoed in my00:44:45
mind. The contract's power lies in00:44:48
secrecy.00:44:50
Maybe you should, I said. Maybe you00:44:54
should tell him everything. Hyram looked00:44:56
at me sharply. What do you know about00:44:59
it? I know that secrets feed this place.00:45:03
I know that my family has been keeping00:45:04
secrets for 177 years, and it's gotten00:45:08
every single one of us killed or00:45:10
collected or worse. I leaned forward00:45:12
across the counter. Tell your son. Tell00:45:16
him what you did, what the shop took,00:45:18
what it wants now. Let him decide for00:45:21
himself whether to help you. And if he00:45:24
decides not to,00:45:26
then at least he'll know. At least he'll00:45:28
have a choice.00:45:30
Hyram stood there for a long moment00:45:32
staring at the wooden box on the00:45:34
counter. Then he picked it up, tucked it00:45:37
back into his jacket, and put his cap00:45:39
back on his head. "You're different from00:45:42
your uncle," he said. "He would have00:45:45
told me to pay the debt and be done with00:45:47
it." "My uncle is dead. I'm trying not00:45:50
to follow him." Hyram nodded slowly.00:45:54
"Good luck with that," he said, and then00:45:58
he left. the bell chiming behind him.00:46:01
The ledger updated itself as the door00:46:03
closed. Hyram Thatcher debt pending.00:46:07
Decision deferred.00:46:09
Below that, another line appeared. The00:46:12
new web speaks of secrets. The new web00:46:15
seeks to break the pattern. The00:46:17
proprietor is watching with interest.00:46:20
Evan. I closed the ledger and looked at00:46:22
my portrait on the wall. The expression00:46:24
had changed again. It was still terror,00:46:28
still frozen, still wrong. But now there00:46:31
was something else in the painted eyes.00:46:34
Something that might have been hope or00:46:36
might have been a warning.00:46:39
3 days until December 20th. 3 days until00:46:42
I became inventory. And somewhere in00:46:45
Brattleboro, a man named Hyram Thatcher00:46:48
was driving home to tell his son a00:46:49
secret that had been kept for 30 years.00:46:53
Maybe the pattern was already breaking.00:46:56
Or maybe I was just giving the00:46:57
proprietor exactly what it wanted. I00:47:00
wouldn't know until the ledger told me.00:47:03
December 17th passed in a blur of00:47:05
consultations and visitors. The morning00:47:08
ledger revealed three new acquisitions00:47:10
that had appeared overnight.00:47:12
A set of brass scales with weights that00:47:15
didn't match any standard measurement00:47:17
system. A leather satchel containing00:47:19
letters written in a language I couldn't00:47:22
identify. and a wooden cane with a00:47:24
silver handle shaped like a serpent00:47:26
eating its own tail.00:47:28
I acknowledged each one aloud, feeling00:47:31
foolish talking to an empty room. But00:47:33
the alternative, being acquired myself,00:47:37
kept me obedient.00:47:39
Two visitors came that day. The first00:47:41
was a woman in her 30s who asked for a00:47:43
music box that played a specific tune.00:47:46
One I didn't recognize when she hummed00:47:48
it. The ledger listed her as not a00:47:51
customer. So I stood silent behind the00:47:54
counter while she wandered the aisles,00:47:56
humming that sane melody over and over00:47:59
until finally she stopped in front of00:48:01
the walnut music box that had appeared00:48:04
on my first day. She stared at it for00:48:07
nearly 20 minutes without touching it,00:48:10
then left without a word.00:48:12
The second visitor was a child, maybe00:48:14
eight or nine, dressed in clothes that00:48:17
were 50 years out of fashion.00:48:19
He asked for his mother. I couldn't00:48:22
answer him either. The ledger was clear.00:48:25
And watching him search the shop with00:48:26
that hopeful, desperate expression was00:48:28
worse than any of the sounds from the00:48:30
storage room. By evening, I had made a00:48:34
decision. I needed to find someone to00:48:37
tell. Someone outside the bloodline.00:48:40
Someone who could help me burn the00:48:42
ledger before March 15th. or better yet00:48:45
before December 20th when my skeleton00:48:48
was scheduled to join the collection.00:48:51
The problem was finding that person.00:48:53
Brattleboroough wasn't a large town, but00:48:56
it wasn't small enough for everyone to00:48:58
know everyone else. I had no connections00:49:01
here beyond the shop itself. My uncle00:49:03
had been a recluse, and whatever social00:49:06
ties the Web family had maintained over00:49:08
the generations had long since frayed00:49:10
into nothing. But there was one place in00:49:13
town where people still gathered, still00:49:16
talked, still shared stories over00:49:18
drinks, and didn't ask too many00:49:20
questions. The Wetstone Station, a brew00:49:23
pub down by the river that had been00:49:25
operating in various forms since the00:49:27
1920s.00:49:29
I locked up the shop at 5:00 p.m.,00:49:32
making sure to set my phone alarm for00:49:34
6:30 so I could return for the evening00:49:37
consultation.00:49:39
The walk from Elliot Street to the00:49:41
restaurant took 12 minutes, and with00:49:43
every step, I rehearsed what I might say00:49:45
to a stranger. None of it sounded00:49:47
believable. All of it sounded insane.00:49:51
The pub was warm and crowded when I00:49:53
arrived, filled with the afterwork00:49:56
crowd, nursing beers, and picking at00:49:58
plates of machos. I found a seat at the00:50:00
bar and ordered a drink I didn't intend00:50:02
to finish, just to have something to00:50:05
hold while I figured out my next move.00:50:08
You're Nathaniel's nephew.00:50:11
The voice came from my left.00:50:14
I turned to find a woman about my age,00:50:16
maybe a year or two older with dark hair00:50:19
pulled back in a practical ponytail and00:50:21
paint stains on her fingers that00:50:23
suggested she worked with her hands for00:50:25
a living. I'm sorry.00:50:28
Nathaniel Webb, the antique shop guy.00:50:31
You're his nephew, right? I saw you00:50:33
going in there a few days ago. She00:50:36
extended a hand. I'm Abigail Putnham.00:50:39
Abby. I run the art supply store two00:50:41
blocks down. I shook her hand, trying to00:50:44
keep my expression neutral. Caleb Web.00:50:47
How did you know my uncle? Everyone knew00:50:50
Nathaniel. He'd been here forever.00:50:53
She took a sip of her beer, watching me00:50:55
over the rim. Weird guy, though. Nice00:50:59
enough, but weird. Never came to any00:51:01
town events. Never joined the business00:51:04
association. never even put up a sign00:51:06
for the holiday stroll. Just sat in that00:51:09
shop day after day like he was waiting00:51:11
for something. He was, I said before I00:51:14
could stop myself. Abby raised an00:51:17
eyebrow. Waiting for what? This was it.00:51:21
The moment of decision. I could brush00:51:24
off the comment, change the subject,00:51:26
finish my drink, and go back to the shop00:51:29
to die alone in 3 days. or I could tell00:51:32
her the truth and hope that eh's letters00:51:34
were right. That breaking the pattern of00:51:36
secrecy might actually accomplish00:51:38
something. Can I tell you something00:51:40
strange? I asked something that's going00:51:43
to sound completely insane.00:51:46
Abby studied me for a long moment. Then00:51:49
she smiled and there was something00:51:51
knowing in her expression that I hadn't00:51:53
expected.00:51:55
My grandmother used to tell me stories00:51:57
about your family, she said. about the00:52:00
shop, about things that happened there00:52:02
that didn't make sense. She grew up on00:52:05
Putney Road back when there were still00:52:08
farms out that way. And she said the old00:52:10
folks used to warn their kids not to buy00:52:12
anything from Web's Curiosities.00:52:15
She leaned closer, lowering her voice.00:52:18
She said the shop was hungry, that it00:52:20
ate people who weren't careful. I stared00:52:23
at her. Your grandmother knew about the00:52:26
shop. She knew something was wrong with00:52:28
it.00:52:29
Whether she knew the specifics, I00:52:31
couldn't say. She's been gone 15 years00:52:34
now.00:52:36
Abby finished her beer and set the empty00:52:38
glass on the bar. But I grew up hearing00:52:41
those stories. And when I saw you going00:52:43
into that place, I thought,00:52:47
maybe here's someone who finally wants00:52:48
to talk about it. Someone who might tell00:52:51
me what's really going on in there. She00:52:54
wasn't exactly an outsider. She had00:52:56
roots in Brattleboro going back00:52:58
generations and her family had clearly00:53:01
been aware of the web situation for a00:53:03
long time.00:53:05
But she wasn't a web. She wasn't bound00:53:07
by the contract and she was sitting here00:53:10
asking me to tell her the truth. I00:53:13
checked my phone. 6:15. I had 45 minutes00:53:17
before I needed to be back for the00:53:19
consultation.00:53:20
It's going to take longer than 4500:53:22
minutes, I said. And you're probably00:53:25
going to think I'm crazy.00:53:27
I've got time, Abby said. And I already00:53:30
think everyone in this town is a little00:53:32
crazy. It's Vermont. We're all weird00:53:35
here. I told her everything. I started00:53:39
with the ledger and the portrait and the00:53:41
music box. I told her about the rules my00:53:44
uncle had left behind, about the storage00:53:46
room and its contents, about the00:53:49
original contract from 1847 and the00:53:52
proprietor of the high places. I told00:53:55
her about Hyram Thatcher and his son's00:53:57
tooth, about the woman who appeared in00:53:59
photographs across a hundred years00:54:01
looking exactly the same, about the00:54:04
letters from Eh, and the claim that only00:54:06
fire from outside the bloodline could00:54:08
destroy the ledger. By the time I00:54:11
finished, my drink was warm and00:54:13
untouched, and Abby was staring at me00:54:15
with an expression I couldn't read.00:54:18
December 20th, she said finally. That's00:54:21
when the ledger says you'll become00:54:23
inventory.00:54:24
A skeleton, 170 cm, male, 27 years old.00:54:30
And you think if I burn the ledger,00:54:32
you'll be free? I think it's the only00:54:34
chance I have.00:54:36
I met her eyes trying to convey00:54:39
everything I couldn't put into words.00:54:41
The fear, the desperation, the strange00:54:45
hope that had been building since Hyram00:54:47
Thatcher walked out the door. But I'm00:54:50
not asking you to do it. The letter said00:54:52
it has to be a free choice, no coercion.00:54:56
I'm just asking you to know, to00:54:58
understand what's happening. What you do00:55:01
with that information is entirely up to00:55:04
you.00:55:06
Abby was quiet for a long moment.00:55:08
Outside, the sun had set and the windows00:55:11
reflected back the warm interior of the00:55:13
pub. Somewhere in the distance, a church00:55:16
bell was ringing. 6:30, which meant I00:55:19
needed to leave. I have to go, I said00:55:22
standing. The evening consultation.00:55:26
I can't miss it.00:55:28
Wait, Abby grabbed my arm before I could00:55:31
turn away. tomorrow. Come to my shop00:55:34
after your morning consultation. We'll00:55:37
talk more. I want to see those letters,00:55:39
the ones from eh. And I want to know00:55:42
about December 19th. December 19th. You00:55:46
said there's a second envelope hidden00:55:48
under the grandfather clock. Your uncle00:55:50
said not to open it until the 19th. Her00:55:53
grip tightened. That's the day after00:55:56
tomorrow. Whatever's in that envelope, I00:55:58
think you shouldn't open it alone.00:56:01
I nodded slowly. Putnham Art Supply.00:56:04
I'll find it. Two blocks down from your00:56:07
shop on the left. Red awning. You can't00:56:11
miss it.00:56:12
She released my arm and sat back on her00:56:14
bar stool.00:56:16
Be careful tonight, Caleb. And don't00:56:18
look at the portrait if it smiles.00:56:21
How do you know about that rule?00:56:24
Aby's expression flickered just for a00:56:26
moment into something older and sadder00:56:29
than her years.00:56:31
"My grandmother wasn't the only one who00:56:33
told stories about your family," she00:56:36
said. "Some of those stories came from00:56:39
people who used to work at the shop,00:56:41
people who didn't make it." She didn't00:56:44
say anything else. She didn't need to.00:56:48
I walked back to the shop as fast as I00:56:50
could, arriving at 6:52 with 8 minutes00:56:53
to spare. The ledger was waiting on the00:56:56
counter, open to today's page, and there00:56:59
were two new entries I hadn't seen00:57:01
before. Abigail Putnham, age 29, artist,00:57:06
descendant of original Brattleboroough00:57:08
settlers, potential catalyst. Interest00:57:11
noted. And below that, the new web has00:57:14
spoken. The pattern shifts. The00:57:17
proprietor awaits the opening of the00:57:18
second envelope. The shop knew. Of00:57:22
course it did. The shop knew everything.00:57:24
But for the first time since I'd arrived00:57:26
in Brattleboro, I didn't feel entirely00:57:29
alone. Tomorrow I would visit Abby. The00:57:33
day after, I would open the envelope,00:57:36
and on December 20th, one way or00:57:38
another, this would all be over.00:57:42
I acknowledged the new entries aloud,00:57:44
closed the ledger, and went upstairs to00:57:46
wait for morning. Putnham Art Supply was00:57:49
exactly where Abby had described it. Two00:57:52
blocks down from Web's Curiosities on00:57:54
the left side of the street with a faded00:57:57
red awning that had seen better decades.00:58:00
The window display featured an00:58:02
arrangement of brushes, canvases, and00:58:05
handmade paper that spoke to the kind of00:58:07
craftsmanship you didn't find in chain00:58:09
stores. I arrived at 10:30 on the00:58:12
morning of December 18th, carrying a00:58:15
canvas bag stuffed with everything I'd00:58:17
collected from the storage room. Silus00:58:20
Web's journal, the letters from eh, the00:58:23
photograph of the woman who never aged,00:58:26
and a few other documents that seemed00:58:28
relevant.00:58:30
Abby was waiting behind the counter, two00:58:32
cups of coffee steaming beside her. "You00:58:36
look terrible," she said by way of00:58:38
greeting. I haven't slept more than 300:58:41
hours in 4 days.00:58:43
That tracks.00:58:45
She handed me one of the coffees and00:58:47
gestured toward a door at the back of00:58:48
the shop.00:58:50
Studios through there, more private. We00:58:54
can spread everything out and go through00:58:55
it properly. The studio was cluttered in00:58:58
the way that creative spaces always are.00:59:01
Half-finish paintings leaning against00:59:02
walls, jars of brushes in various states00:59:05
of cleanliness, the sharp smell of00:59:08
tarpentine mixing with something00:59:09
earthier like clay. Abby cleared a00:59:13
section of her workt and I began laying00:59:15
out the evidence of 177 years of web00:59:19
family suffering. She read everything,00:59:22
every letter, every journal entry, every00:59:26
scrolled note from generations of my00:59:29
ancestors.00:59:30
trying and failing to escape the00:59:32
contract.00:59:34
She studied the photograph of the00:59:35
ageless woman for nearly 10 minutes,00:59:38
holding it up to the light at different00:59:39
angles as if trying to catch some hidden00:59:42
detail.00:59:43
Eh, she said finally, tapping the00:59:47
signature on one of the letters. Any00:59:49
idea who this person was? None. The00:59:53
letters span 60 years, but there's no00:59:55
return address, no full name, nothing.00:59:59
just the initials and the same message01:00:01
repeated over and over. Tell someone.01:00:04
Break the secrecy. Let them choose to01:00:07
help. And no one in your family ever01:00:09
tried it. Apparently not. Or if they01:00:13
did, it didn't work. I took a long drink01:00:16
of my coffee, which had gone lukewarm01:00:18
while Abby read. My uncle's final note01:00:21
said it has to be someone from outside01:00:23
the bloodline, someone who chooses01:00:26
freely.01:00:28
Maybe my ancestors tried telling people,01:00:30
but those people didn't actually choose01:00:32
to help. Maybe they were paid or coerced01:00:36
or just didn't believe enough to commit.01:00:40
Abby set down the letters and looked at01:00:41
me directly.01:00:43
And what about me? What do you think I01:00:46
am?01:00:47
I think you're someone whose grandmother01:00:49
warned her about my family's shop when01:00:51
she was a child. I think you approached01:00:53
me at the wetstone because you'd been01:00:55
waiting years for someone to finally01:00:56
confirm the stories you grew up hearing.01:00:59
And I think I hesitated trying to find01:01:02
the right words.01:01:04
I think you want to know what's real.01:01:07
Not because of me, but because of you.01:01:10
Because you've spent your whole life01:01:11
wondering if the things your grandmother01:01:13
said were true.01:01:15
Abby was quiet for a moment. Then she01:01:18
nodded slowly.01:01:21
She told me other things, too. She said01:01:25
things I never told anyone because they01:01:27
sounded too crazy.01:01:29
She said the Green Mountains weren't01:01:31
just mountains.01:01:33
She said there were things living up01:01:35
there in the high places that had been01:01:37
here long before any European set foot01:01:39
in Vermont, before the Abnaki, even01:01:43
things that didn't have names in any01:01:45
human language.01:01:46
The proprietor of the high places,01:01:49
maybe. or something related to it.01:01:52
Something that makes deals with01:01:54
desperate people and always collects01:01:56
what it's owed. She picked up the01:01:58
photograph again, staring at the woman's01:02:01
unchanging face. My grandmother called01:02:03
them the old traders. Said they'd barter01:02:06
anything, health, wealth, love, revenge,01:02:10
but the price was always more than you01:02:12
expected. And once you made a deal, your01:02:15
whole bloodline was marked. Your family01:02:17
made a deal, too.01:02:20
No, we were too poor to have anything01:02:22
worth trading and too stubborn to ask01:02:24
for help. A faint smile crossed her01:02:27
face. Putnham's stubbornness. It's kept01:02:31
us alive for 300 years in this valley.01:02:34
Maybe it'll be useful now. We spent the01:02:36
rest of the day going through the01:02:38
materials, making notes, trying to01:02:41
construct a timeline of every01:02:43
significant event in the shop's history.01:02:46
By evening, we had a clearer picture01:02:49
than any Web had managed to assemble01:02:51
alone.01:02:53
Probably because no Webb had ever had01:02:55
someone from outside the family to help01:02:57
them see the patterns.01:03:00
The contract was renewed every01:03:01
generation, not through explicit01:03:03
agreement, but through inheritance.01:03:06
Each Web who took over the shop01:03:08
implicitly accepted the terms by01:03:10
continuing to operate it. The only way01:03:13
to break the cycle was to destroy the01:03:15
original ledger. Not the inventory book01:03:18
on the counter, but the older one in the01:03:20
storage room, the one that contained01:03:23
Ezra's signature and the burned mark of01:03:25
the proprietor.01:03:27
And according to eh, that destruction01:03:30
had to come from someone with no web01:03:32
blood acting of their own free will.01:03:36
Tomorrow, Abby said as I gathered up the01:03:39
documents.01:03:40
The envelope. What time?01:03:43
I don't know. My uncle just said01:03:46
December 19th.01:03:48
I'll open it after the morning01:03:50
consultation. I suppose around 7:30.01:03:54
I'll be there. She walked me to the door01:03:57
of her shop and for a moment we stood01:03:59
there in the fading afternoon light. Two01:04:02
people bound together by circumstances01:04:05
neither of us had chosen.01:04:07
Thank you, I said, for believing me.01:04:12
Thank me when it's over, she replied.01:04:15
Thank me when you're still alive on01:04:17
December 21st.01:04:19
I walked back to the shop, performed the01:04:22
evening consultation, and spent another01:04:24
sleepless night listening to sounds from01:04:26
the storage room, and watching for any01:04:29
change in my portrait's expression.01:04:31
December 19th arrived gray and cold,01:04:34
with a light snow falling that dusted01:04:36
the streets of Brattleboro in white. I01:04:39
performed the morning consultation at01:04:41
exactly 7:00 a.m. Acknowledging a single01:04:44
new entry. Second envelope, contents to01:04:47
be revealed. December 19th, 2024.01:04:52
The shop was telling me it was time.01:04:54
Abby arrived at 7:25, stamping snow off01:04:58
her boots and carrying a furnace of01:05:00
coffee that smelled strong enough to01:05:02
wake the dead.01:05:03
We walked together to the grandfather01:05:05
clock frozen at 3:47,01:05:08
and I knelt down to pry up the loose01:05:09
floorboard my uncle had mentioned in his01:05:11
letter. The envelope was there, yellowed01:05:15
and brittle, sealed with wax that bore01:05:18
an impression I didn't recognize. Not01:05:20
the web family seal, but something01:05:23
older, more angular. I broke the seal01:05:26
and unfolded the paper inside.01:05:29
It was a letter written in my uncle's01:05:31
handwriting, but the words weren't his.01:05:34
He had copied something, transcribing it01:05:36
from another source, and at the top he01:05:39
had written, "Found in the second01:05:41
ledger, hidden between pages 47 and 48.01:05:47
I believe this is eh's final message,01:05:50
left for whoever might need it most."01:05:53
The letter read, "To the last web who01:05:55
still has hope.01:06:00
If you are reading this, you have done01:06:01
what none of your ancestors managed to01:06:03
do. You have found someone outside the01:06:06
blood to stand beside you. That is the01:06:08
first step and the hardest. The second01:06:12
step is simpler, but it will cost you01:06:14
something precious. The ledger cannot be01:06:17
burned by web hands, but it can be01:06:19
weakened. Every entry in the ledger is a01:06:22
thread binding the contract together. If01:06:25
you can undo an entry, reverse an01:06:27
acquisition. Return something the shop01:06:30
has claimed. The ledger's power01:06:32
diminishes. There is one entry that01:06:34
matters more than any other. The01:06:37
portrait. Your portrait. The shop01:06:40
painted it using your future fear,01:06:43
drawing on a death that hasn't happened01:06:45
yet. If you can destroy the portrait01:06:47
before the date of its acquisition,01:06:49
before March 15th, 2025, the entry01:06:53
becomes void.01:06:55
A void entry creates a tear in the01:06:57
contract. When the contract tears, the01:07:00
ledger becomes vulnerable. When the01:07:02
ledger is vulnerable, fire will catch.01:07:06
But hear me carefully. Destroying the01:07:09
portrait will not be easy. The shop will01:07:12
fight you. The proprietor will send01:07:15
everything it has to stop you. And you01:07:17
must not be the one to strike the final01:07:19
blow. Your ally must do it. Your hands01:07:23
cannot touch the frame when it burns. I01:07:26
wish I could have helped your family in01:07:27
person. I tried for 60 years and failed.01:07:31
But perhaps these words will succeed01:07:33
where I could not. Break the portrait,01:07:36
tear the contract, burn the ledger, and01:07:39
then walk away from this cursed place01:07:42
and never look back01:07:44
with hope for your future. Eliza01:07:47
Hartwell.01:07:49
E H Eliza Hartwell, a woman who had01:07:53
spent six decades trying to help my01:07:55
family from afar, leaving letters and01:07:57
hidden messages. And finally, this a01:08:00
blueprint for escape. I looked at Abby.01:08:03
She looked at me. The portrait, she01:08:07
said, we have to destroy your portrait01:08:10
before March 15th, before the01:08:12
acquisition date becomes real. And then01:08:15
I burn the ledger. If the contract01:08:18
tears, if the fire catches,01:08:21
Abby reached out and took my hand. Her01:08:24
fingers were warm, calloused from years01:08:26
of working with brushes and canvas and01:08:28
clay. "Let's go break a cursed01:08:31
painting," she said.01:08:34
We walked together toward the back of01:08:36
the shop, where my portrait hung in its01:08:38
corner, watching us with eyes full of01:08:40
terror. Tomorrow was December 20th, the01:08:45
day I was supposed to become inventory.01:08:47
But Eliza Hartwell had given us a way01:08:50
out. And for the first time since I had01:08:52
inherited this nightmare, I actually01:08:55
believed we might survive.01:09:01
The portrait fought back. When Abby01:09:03
lifted it from the wall, the temperature01:09:05
in the shop dropped 30° in seconds.01:09:09
Frost crept across the windows. The01:09:12
grandfather clock, frozen at 3:47 for01:09:15
God knows how long, suddenly began to01:09:18
chime. Not the hour, but a single01:09:21
sustained note that rattled my teeth.01:09:24
From the storage room came a sound like01:09:26
a hundred voices screaming through01:09:28
water, muffled, but unmistakably01:09:31
furious.01:09:33
And the painted version of me began to01:09:34
move. Its mouth opened wider. the01:09:37
expression of terror shifting into01:09:39
something else. Rage, desperation,01:09:42
hunger.01:09:44
The eyes trapped Abby as she carried the01:09:46
portrait toward the center of the shop,01:09:48
and I could see the canvas bulging01:09:50
outward, as if something behind it was01:09:52
trying to push through.01:09:55
Don't stop, I said, my voice barely01:09:58
audible over the chaos. Whatever you do,01:10:01
don't stop. Abby didn't stop. She set01:10:05
the portrait on the floor, face up, and01:10:08
pulled a bottle of lighter fluid from01:10:09
her coat pocket. She'd come prepared.01:10:13
Of course, she had. Putnham01:10:16
stubbornness, she'd called it. 300 years01:10:19
of survival in this valley. The fluid01:10:22
splashed across the canvas, soaking into01:10:25
the paint, and the portrait screamed,01:10:28
not metaphorically.01:10:30
The painted mouth opened and a sound01:10:32
came out. A shriek of pure anguish that01:10:35
seemed to come from everywhere and01:10:37
nowhere at once.01:10:40
The shop shook. Display cases toppled.01:10:43
The morning locket flew off the counter01:10:45
and shattered against the far wall. Abby01:10:48
struck a match. For one terrible moment,01:10:52
I thought it wouldn't catch. I thought01:10:54
the shop would extinguish it the way it01:10:56
had extinguished my grandfather's01:10:57
matches in 1962.01:11:00
I thought Eliza Hartwell had been wrong,01:11:03
and we were both going to die here,01:11:05
collected and cataloged like everything01:11:07
else.01:11:09
But the flame held, and when Abby01:11:11
dropped it onto the portrait, the fire01:11:13
caught with a roar that shook the01:11:14
foundations of the building. The canvas01:11:17
burned. The paint bubbled and blackened.01:11:20
And somewhere deep beneath the shop,01:11:23
something let out a sound that wasn't01:11:25
quite a scream and wasn't quite a word.01:11:28
Something older than language, older01:11:30
than Vermont, older than the mountains01:11:33
themselves.01:11:34
The contract was tearing. I ran to the01:11:37
storage room, threw open the door01:11:39
despite the hour, and grabbed the second01:11:41
ledger from the scarred wooden table.01:11:44
The pages were already smoldering, smoke01:11:46
rising from between the covers as if the01:11:49
fire in the main room had spread through01:11:51
some invisible connection.01:11:54
Abby, I shouted. Now01:11:57
she was beside me in seconds. I held out01:12:00
the ledger and she took it from my01:12:02
hands. The first time in 177 years that01:12:06
a non-web had touched the original01:12:08
contract.01:12:10
She threw it into the flames, consuming01:12:12
my portrait. The fire turned blue, then01:12:16
white, then a color I don't have a name01:12:19
for. Something that hurt to look at01:12:22
directly.01:12:23
And then it was over.01:12:26
The flames died. The screaming stopped.01:12:29
The frost on the windows melted into01:12:31
ordinary condensation. The grandfather01:12:34
clock fell silent. Its hands finally01:12:36
unstuck, ticking forward for the first01:12:39
time in decades. I checked the inventory01:12:42
ledger on the counter. The entry about01:12:44
my skeleton was gone. So was the entry01:12:47
about my portrait. So were dozens of01:12:50
other entries stretching back years.01:12:53
Acquisitions that had been scheduled but01:12:55
would never arrive. Debts that would01:12:57
never be collected.01:12:59
The shop was just a shop now. Dusty01:13:02
furniture and old paintings and01:13:04
tarnished silverware. Nothing more.01:13:10
I sold the building two weeks later to a01:13:13
couple from Boston who wanted to open a01:13:14
yoga studio. They seemed happy. I didn't01:13:18
tell them about the history. Some01:13:20
stories don't need to be passed on. The01:13:23
money was enough to start over. I found01:13:26
a small storefront in Melier. Nothing01:13:29
fancy. Just enough space for shelves and01:13:32
a reading corner and a cat who wandered01:13:34
in during my first week and never left.01:13:36
I named it Hartwell Books after the01:13:39
woman who saved my life from 60 years01:13:41
away. Abby visits sometimes. We drink01:13:45
coffee and talk about everything except01:13:47
antiques and ledgers and contracts01:13:49
written in fire. She's working on a new01:13:52
series of paintings, landscapes of the01:13:54
Green Mountains seen from angles that01:13:57
make them look almost welcoming. Almost.01:14:01
Some nights I still dream about the01:14:02
shop, about the portrait with my face01:14:05
screaming silently from its frame, about01:14:08
the storage room and its jars and its01:14:11
boxes labeled collected. But I wake up01:14:14
and the dream fades. And I open the01:14:16
bookstore and sell stories to people who01:14:19
want them. Stories, not destinies.01:14:23
That's the difference. That's what01:14:25
matters.01:14:26
Some family businesses should be allowed01:14:28
to fail. Some inheritances should be01:14:31
refused and some contracts, no matter01:14:34
how old, can still be broken if you're01:14:36
willing to ask for help and if someone01:14:38
is willing to give it freely. The webs01:14:41
are done with Brattleboro, and01:14:44
Brattleboroough, I hope, is done with01:14:46
us.Description:
" I Inherited an Old Antique Shop in Vermont, There Are STRANGE RULES to Follow! " creepypasta 💚 Our New Channel : https://www.youtube.com/@Mr.GrimArchives 💚 Join Our Membership : https://www.youtube.com/@MrGrim_ltd/join 👉If you'd like one of your own stories to be narrated, submit it on: https://www.reddit.com/r/Mr_Grim/ 💕 Disclaimer : This is an Original Narration by Mr. Grim done in the Metalabs Studios. ❤️ Support the Author and Site: 👉 Written by u/Adorable-Mousse5477 🎵 Support the Music: 🎤 Artists: @co.agmusic and @Myuu 📧 Contact: Coagmusic@gmail.com , https://www.facebook.com/unsupportedbrowser 💰Support Them : https://www.patreon.com/u3550597 https://www.patreon.com/myuuji 🔍 Keywords: creepypasta rules creepypasta mrcreeps darksomnium letsread creepypastarules cryptidstories missing411 firetowerstories parkrangerstories governmentscarystories zombiestories ghoststories paranormalstories spinechillingstories aloneatnight gasstationstories somniumstories insomniastories letsnotmeetstories creepyencounters horrorstories scaryhorrorstories truecreepystories darkhighwaystories reststophorrorstories cabinhorrorstories kidnapstories traffickinghorrorstories middleofnowherehorrorstories cophorrorstories policehorrorstories statetrooperhorrorstories desertedroadstories drivingthroughthedesert followedhome 🛑 Tags:
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