The Storekeeper

The Storekeeper

Chapter 1

My wife was young and beautiful, perhaps too young but so beautiful I had to marry her before someone else did.

Neither of us knew much about each other; that didn't seem to matter. We soon learnt how to give each other all the love and affection we wanted and that was what mattered. Our life together was wonderful.

The small and adequate flat we rented soon filled up with the things we wanted, the things we didn't really need and the gifts we bought each other. Rosie was an obsessive gift buyer. I loved it, even if sometimes her gifts were a bit expensive or too elaborate for my taste. She thought the bright plaid trousers suited me perfectly for shopping. I knew she'd only bought them so I could be spotted from any distance if I slipped away from her in our busy shopping centre.

I did occasionally slip away from her when I saw a shop with some exotic or sensual undies in the window. She had a body that raised even the assistant's eyes when I went in to buy her something and I told them her measurements.

Toward the end of our first year of marriage, Rosie became a little disillusioned with her job. I'd done quite well in mine and the promotion they'd given me had boosted our household income quite substantially. 'It doesn't matter, darling,' I told Rosie. 'It's my job anyway to bring home the housekeeping, it's yours to spend it.'

Well, it did matter to Rosie; she changed her job. She come home one day quite excited. 'I've been poached.' She announced.

'You do that to eggs,' I told her and got a kiss on the cheek.

'Idiot, not that poached. A man, a customer told me I'd served him so courteously he wants me to work for him.'

'Doing what?' I asked, for some reason my hackles at the ready.

'Serving in his bookshop, darling.'

'Don't you have to know something about books to work in a bookshop?'

'Well, I didn't know much about jewellery when I started in Bonningtons.' She carried on before I could get a word in. 'They still don't think I know much or they'd have given me a decent raise. And this man is going to double my pay.'

Even more money to buy me gifts with, I thought for a moment. 'What bookshop is it?' I asked, putting such thoughts to one side.

'The Samuel Bookshop, it's on the corner of East Street.'

We never went shopping on East Street, in fact, we hardly ever went shopping out of the centre of town and we never went into book shops, except Smiths, and then just for my car magazine and Rosie's women's mag's. They were about her only obsession. 'Sounds Jewish, did he look Jewish?' I asked her.

'No, not at all. He was a tall, very slim man about fifty-five.'

After a couple of weeks, Rosy changed her job and started working in the bookshop. About this time, I started working later in the evening. Part of my promotional responsibilities, I told her. After Rosie had been at the bookshop for nearly a month I came home at the normal time one evening and she wasn't home. She came in half an hour later.

'Where have you been?' I asked.

'Working in the bookshop. We're doing some rearranging and had to finish it before we opened in the morning.'

I couldn't say much, I'd been well over an hour late on several occasions and she hadn't pressed me for an explanation. I made myself a promise to visit her bookshop one day.

Then I was sent away for three days with my boss. Rosie didn't like it but she agreed that it was part of my new promotional responsibilities.

We kissed very fondly when I left. 'I know, darling I'll tell him you were very reluctant to let me go,' I told her.

Rosie was very pleased when I returned; we made love in the evening and then again in the early morning. But I was tired from the late meetings the long flight and the drive home so it didn't surprise me it wasn't as good as usual.

'I'll be late home a couple of evenings each week for the next two or three weeks,' Rosie told me as we sat together after one evening meal. 'We're stocktaking.' She added and left that as her explanation.

Over the next few weeks, I was also very busy, with several late nights. Making love became less frequent, not yet a necessary chore but not the be-all and end-all of our married life together.

Then one month I was sent away on business from Monday until Friday. I left to catch an early flight before Rosie even got up. When I returned late on Friday evening the flat was cold and empty. She knew when I was coming home and the least I expected was for her to be waiting for me with a warm flat and a hot meal.

I thought there was only one place she could still be and getting even angrier I drove to East Street and got out of my car. At nine in the evening, all the shop fronts were dark. Then I walked toward the corner. Just before the corner, there was a shop that had obviously been empty for some time with its name still readable. The Sammael Bookshop. Rosie had told me it was The Samuel Bookshop. But why was it spelt like this? This couldn't be the right place. I checked the road name plaque on the street corner. East Street was clearly displayed.

I drove back home and the house was still empty but this time I went to our bedroom. All her clothes were still in the wardrobe; her bits were still on the bedside table. In the kitchen, it quickly became obvious she hadn't been in the house for at least a couple of days.

I left and drove straight to the police station. The Sergeant looked up. 'Can I help you, sir?'

My wife is missing.' I blurted out and knew immediately I was an unwanted visitor.

'Yes, sir. How long has she been missing?' His hand had stopped writing and hovered over the page.

I told him as much as I knew. 'That shops been empty for five years or more.' He confirmed while giving me a very quizzical look.

'Look,' I told him. 'I want to report my wife missing and I want to see someone in authority.'

'Right sir, please wait there.' I was directed to a hard wooden bench and he disappeared into the back of the building.

Three hours later I was home, alone. I'd eventually convinced them my wife was missing and a couple of officers who'd come home with me confirmed all her clothes were still here and that the house appeared to have been empty for at least two days. They said they'd complete their enquiries tomorrow, probably to confirm I had been in America since Monday.

All night I went over everything Rosie had said and done before I went away. There was no doubt in my mind she had changed her job and she had told me she was working in a bookshop called The Samuel Bookshop. She'd been working there for three months. She had the extra money to prove it. She'd told me bits about it, the old books in part of the shop covered in dust. How knowledgeable the owner was. What was his name, I didn't know his name, come to think of it I don't think she ever told me his name. Thank goodness I had Saturday and Sunday to get some rest before a busy day on Monday. No, I didn't, I had a big report to write before Monday morning. I didn't sleep at all that night.

On Tuesday, although showing some sympathy to my wife leaving me, my boss insisted I spend three days at our other office. Some of the findings in my report needed discussing with them before he could make out his report.

A couple of days later a letter arrived from the landlord's solicitor. Because of a clause in the lease, which neither of us had paid any attention to when we both signed it, as I was now the only occupant I had to vacate the flat within four weeks as the terms of the lease only applied to married couples living together. I took the letter and my copy of the lease to our company solicitor.

'I'm sorry Michael, those are the terms of the lease.' He confirmed. 'You will have to vacate the flat in four weeks or get your wife back.'

'How did the landlord know she wasn't living there with me?' I asked.

'Someone probable noticed she hadn't been living there for the past week.'

I was angry at the way I was being treated; my wife had left me without any reason yet I was becoming the victim. I tried not to vent my anger on the company solicitor. The best place for me right now was somewhere on my own, not surrounded by work colleagues. I told my very unsympathetic boss I was taking the rest of the day off.

Chapter 2

When I moved out of our flat I chose the East Side of town to find somewhere to live. For some reason, I wanted to be near The Sammael Bookshop. I'd found out the meaning of Sammael; it was an ancient word for Lucifer. The Devil.

I took a room that was advertised in a terraced house, one of those that went back for more than its frontage. My landlady was old, her husband was old, and their house that I'd already lodged in for the past three weeks was old. Now I was starting to feel old, and tired. My nights were not peaceful, most of them I dreamt. If only I could dream of Rosie.

The shop front appeared before me again, dark and alone on an unknown street in an unknown silent and windless place. Suddenly the windows were full of light, yellow light that flickered, creating dancing shadows of the window display at my feet. Shadows that beckoned me toward the open door.

I did, yet I didn't want to be in this place. I didn't want to go through that door. That door, that yellow glowing open doorway.

'Uh, no, not again.' My own voice had woken me up. Instantly I knew why I'd woken. I didn't want to go through that door, was my first thought. Not what or where the shop front was or why did I keep seeing it in my dreams.

As I sat down to the breakfast my landlady had cooked for me I knew I'd be asked if I'd had the dream again. 'You had the dream again, didn't you Michael?' She spoke a confirmation not a question. I nodded with a mouth full of bacon. I was left to continue eating until the meal was finished.

'I've told you, you need someone with you, Michael to lead you through the door.' I turned to her husband.

'There's never anyone else there,' I told him for the umpteenth time.

'Then you should create someone.' He suggested.

'How can you suddenly make someone appear in a dream?' My words were patronizing.

'They'll come into your dream if you really want them to.' He insisted. We stared at each other. 'If they're someone you already know, and trust.' He added.

Who did I know and trust? I was just an itinerant, forced from the reality of life by the humiliation of my beautiful wife leaving me, an unfair clause in a property lease and a totally unsympathetic ex-employer.

'You could imagine Francis in your dream; if you trust her.' I looked at his wife. She certainly wasn't a woman I wanted to have in any of my dreams. But I did feel I could trust her. She'd fed me well and kept my room clean and tidy for the past three weeks.

'You only need her to lead you through the door, Michael.' He made me feel as if he was offering to lend her to me. Francis looked at me and smiled a thin, crooked, wrinkly smile. 'Take Francis's hand, Michael, and imagine her leading you through the door.' He leant toward me and his voice was quite insistent.

She held out her wrinkled, arthritis-swollen hand. I held it between my fingers and felt guilty for not taking it firmly. 'Remember holding her hand, Michael when the dream comes to you again tonight.' How did he know I'd have the dream again tonight, I wondered?

With a little anticipation, I went to bed earlier in the evening, but sleep didn't come quickly or easily until a warm soft hand was holding mine and someone was walking beside me toward the open door. I wanted to see whose hand I was holding; it certainly wasn't my landladies but all I could see was the open door getting closer and closer.

I heard the door close behind me as my eyes squinted against the brilliant yellow inside light. I put my hands to my face and instantly panicked as I realised that the hand I'd been holding had gone. I swung around expecting someone to be standing beside me or behind me. Even the open doorway had gone. Just a window and the backs of a line of naked tailor's dummies faced me.

'Can I help you, sir?' The man's voice was calm, friendly and totally unexpected. I turned again and saw him behind a counter. I pointed to myself.

He repeated himself. 'Yes, you Michael, can I help you?' How did he know my name and he sounded as though he really did want to help me?

How could he help me, what did he have in here anyway? I didn't want anything. I moved a little closer to him and then closer. He looked familiar like a middle-aged version of my landlady's husband.

'What do you sell?' I asked him now I was standing at the other side of the counter.

'Look around you, Michael I sell anything you would like.'

But I didn't want anything and I didn't see anything except some more tailors' dummies and some empty display cabinets, and rows of empty shelves everything lit by the bright yellow light.

I turned back to him. 'I can't see anything here, it's empty,' I told him.

'Then come again tomorrow, Michael when you have thought of something you would like.'

'Wake up Michael, your breakfast will be ready in fifteen minutes.'

The shaking stopped as I looked up at my landlady's husband.

'So, you slept all night, Michael,' Francis told me as my breakfast was put in front of me.

'Did I?' I mumbled. 'Yes, I suppose I did,' I added before putting a forkful of food in my mouth. They let me eat my breakfast and I remembered everything about my dream. It was so clear. The shop was so empty. I'd seen shops like it when the owners have sold their stock and left all the fitting and fixtures. 'Then come again tomorrow, Michael when you have thought of something you would like.' His words kept repeating in my mind.

'You did enjoy your breakfast this morning, Michael.' My landlady acknowledged as she removed my empty plate.

'Did you hold Francis's hand Michael and go into the shop?' Her husband eventually asked me.

'I went into the shop,' I told him. Then his wife came back from the kitchen and I saw her arthritic hands. 'But it wasn't Francis's hand I held,' I added.

'How do you know that?'

'It was warm and soft,' I told him and as I looked at him I was sure the man behind the counter was like him, perhaps thirty years younger.

His wife sat down at the table beside me. 'Tell us what you saw in the shop, Michael?'

'It was empty, well not empty there were lots of naked tailors' dummies and empty cabinets and empty shelves.' I then stopped myself and looked from Francis to her husband and back again. Shall I tell them about the man behind the counter, I wondered?'

'Was there anyone else in the shop, Michael?' Her husband's question answered my dilemma.

'Yes,' I mumbled. 'Well, only the man behind the counter,' I admitted reluctantly. Now I'll have to tell them he knew my name.

'What was he like?' I knew her husband was going to get everything out of me. 'He expects you to visit him again tonight.' He confirmed when I'd told him everything. Then they both sat in silence, and I knew they were waiting for me to tell them what I'd be asking him for.

But I didn't know what I wanted. Well, you don't when there's no ambition left in you. And anyway, an empty shop isn't very inspiring. I stared back at them as the minutes passed.

'Are you trying to thinking of something you want, Michael?' Francis asked me.

Was I, I'd got all the clothes I needed for doing nothing. My life was a mess, ruined by an infatuated woman. I began to feel angry toward the man in the bookshop who I'd convinced myself had taken her away from me and then I was angry toward her for letting him. My God, if he was as old as she'd told me, he was over forty years older than her. What could he give her that I didn't?

'Do you think about your wife?' Her husband's question probed my thoughts.

'Yes.' I blurted out my anger. 'And right now, I'd like to know what she's doing with the bastard who took her from me?'

They ignored my outburst. 'Perhaps you'll find out tonight when you visit the shop again.'

'That's ridiculous,' I shouted at her husband.

That night the soft hand held mine and led me into the shop. I looked behind me hoping to see whose hand I'd been holding but all I saw was the window and the line of empty dummies.

'Can I help you, Michael?' The man's voice filled my head.

I turned back and walked up to the counter he was standing behind.

'Do you know what you would like, Michael?' He asked me quietly.

This is ridiculous, totally ridiculous, how can he give me what I want? I looked at him for several seconds and finally convinced myself he was a younger version of my landlady's husband.

Then involuntarily the words blurted out of me. 'I want to know what the man who took my wife from me is doing with her?' Now let's see how clever you are, I thought. You don't even know who my wife is.

He smiled at me. 'That's a good place to start, Michael.'

Why was I suddenly afraid, afraid of what I'd see, afraid of what I'd hear, afraid of what I'd find out about Rosie?

'Turn around, Michael,' he told me.

I turned, slowly and saw the empty dummies, the empty cabinets and the empty shelves and everything bathed in yellow light. Then the light faded to almost blackness and became an orange then a dull red glow. Two clothed dummies stood in front of me. One was clothed in a red cloak and the other in a black and gold cloak. As the light grew stronger I saw that the dummy with the red cloak was a female dummy with long blond hair. The other dummy was a man. The light grew stronger and the female dummy moved toward the male dummy.

Now the red light was very bright and I saw the female dummy was my wife and the male dummy was a tall thin man with straight black hair. Only they weren't dummies anymore, they were real and they were now standing very close to each other.

I couldn't move; I knew I was just an observer, a watcher of something I shouldn't be seeing.

My wife lifted her face, reached up and put her arms around the man's neck and as he bent his head down they kissed. It was a long kiss, an open-mouthed tongue-thrusting kiss. The man broke the kiss and raised his head while Rosie kept looking up at him as he said something to her that was totally inaudible.

She stepped away from him and undid the fixings down the front of her red cloak then moved back to him. He reached forward, put his hands on her shoulders and slowly eased the cloak off her. It slid to the floor, just as slowly and revealed her beautiful, wonderful body wearing red undies as bright a red as the red light filling the room. Red bra, red suspender belt, red stockings, red shoes and tiny red panties. She'd sometimes worn undies like them for me and I knew what they made her body feel like. I fought my inability to move. I tried to call her name, Rosie, Rosie but it only rolled around in my head.

She moved closer to the man until she was pressed against his cloak. He stroked her hair, running his hand down its tresses then he pulled her head to one side. He bent his head down to kiss her neck. She gave a little jerk and several seconds passed. Then he raised his head and I saw the two bloody punctures on the side of her neck.

I watched until the man and my wife faded from sight.

Chapter 3

'You'll be late for breakfast, Michael.' The husband's voice called me through the fuzziness of my waking. I lay in my bed and I was late for breakfast. I'd dreamt something awful, something unacceptable, something I just couldn't believe. Eventually, I made my way downstairs.

'I've kept your breakfast warm for you.' My landlady told me, putting the expected plate of fried food in front of me. 'Did you have a good dream last night, Michael?' She asked as she sat down at the table.

'No, it wasn't a good dream,' I told her, hoping she'd be quiet while I ate my food. I saw her glance at her husband and they nodded to each other. I was allowed to eat in silence.