NOT FOR SALE

In an effort to come to terms with the surreal events of the past two days and to confirm my own sanity, I am composing this piece. My hope is that by doing so, I can assure myself that I am still anchored in reality and have not completely succumbed to madness.

At present, I go by the name of Alex, and I can, at the very least, confirm that I am still breathing. I had an experience that could be described as an attack, but most people whom I recount my story to are skeptical. This is because the entity that attacked me - if I am recalling it correctly - was not a living being, but rather an inanimate object that almost took my life.

I understand how absurd it may sound, but I am certain of its legitimacy. The evidence lies in the injuries I have sustained and in the coat that I now wear. There is no other explanation for their existence.

I will endeavor to recount the events to the best of my ability, as my memory of the last few nights is hazy and incomplete due to periods of unconsciousness. I cannot be wholly certain of all the events that occurred.

During the peak of the holiday shopping season, I found myself at my neighborhood mall on a winter evening. I perused various stores without a specific agenda, simply wandering from one to the next. As the night wore on, the mall began to empty out and many establishments were already in the process of closing up shop.

I recall coming across an unfamiliar store that caught my attention due to its peculiar appearance. Positioned above the entrance was a sizable sign, adorned with Gothic-style font, which read "The Proud Tailor." Intrigued, I decided to venture inside and explore its contents.

Upon entering, it became evident that the store primarily specialized in clothing. The establishment itself was rather peculiar, exuding an air of antiquity. The shelves were adorned with a plethora of unique garments, reminiscent of the Victorian era, along with various accessories that seemed more fitting for a bygone century.

As I perused the store, I couldn't help but ponder whether customers frequented this establishment for costume purposes or if they genuinely embraced the antique-style clothing as part of their everyday attire. Unfortunately, I was unable to discern the true intentions of the patrons, as I appeared to be the sole individual remaining within the store. In addition to the clothing, the shop also housed an assortment of aged accessories, including canes, umbrellas, and even an old cavalry saber displayed prominently on one of the walls.

I couldn't help but find it peculiar that this store, nestled among the generic mall shops and chain clothing stores, was selling antique relics and old clothes. It seemed like an unlikely place for such items, but I entertained the idea that perhaps there was a newfound market for Victorian-style clothing making a comeback. Intrigued, I ventured further into the store.

As I made my way to the back, my curiosity was piqued even more. There, in a row, stood a collection of peculiar mannequins. Now, I've always found mannequins a bit eerie, thanks to the countless horror stories depicting them coming to life. But these particular specimens were on a whole other level of unsettling. Their poses and expressions were uncannily lifelike, and what struck me as even more disturbing was the pained look on their faces. It was as if they were silently suffering, unlike the usual blank expressions of other mannequins.

The clothes adorning these mannequins were of exceptional quality, exuding an air of grandeur. I found myself fixated on one mannequin in particular, wearing an impressive fur-lined overcoat. Its expression was the epitome of despair, and against my better judgment, I felt an inexplicable urge to reach out and touch the coat.

Before I could act on this impulse, I was startled by a member of the store staff who had approached me. Embarrassed, I let out a surprised cry and quickly composed myself. It turned out that touching the mannequins was strictly forbidden, as indicated by a sign nearby. The staff member explained that these were valuable antiques, not meant for sale like regular mannequins. She apologized for the inconvenience and offered her assistance in finding anything else I might need.

In that moment, I realized that there was more to this store than met the eye. The strange mannequins and their forbidden touch, the exquisite clothes that couldn't be purchased - it all added to the enigma surrounding this place. I couldn't help but wonder what secrets lay hidden within its walls.

I pretended to be fine, but my curiosity got the better of me, so I couldn't help but ask her why they had those clothes on display if they weren't for sale. She took a moment to think before giving me a rather peculiar answer. She said, "We just don't like being touched." She quickly corrected herself, saying, "I mean, they don't like being touched. The clothes they wear are extremely rare and valuable, meant more for decoration. Please respect our rules and refrain from touching them, or else we'll have to ask you to leave."

It struck me as odd that she kept referring to herself as part of a group, even though she seemed to be the only one working there. The way she stared at me while speaking made me feel uneasy, and I couldn't help but notice that she hadn't blinked once during our conversation.

Caught off guard, I struggled to find a response when she suddenly interrupted me, saying, "Oh, look at the time! We'll be closing soon. Let me know if there's anything we, or rather I, can assist you with. But please hurry, thank you." With a smile, she turned around and busied herself with arranging a rack of dusty dresses.

As I stumbled into the backroom, I was hit with a putrid smell that made me instinctively cover my mouth and hold back nausea. It was a mixture of something rotting and a rank mildew-like odor that was so strong, I was surprised I hadn't smelled it in the store. As I tried to regain my balance, I realized the room was freezing, a full 10 or 20 degrees cooler than the main store. It was so dark that I could barely see anything beyond the light of the main store that carried into the entryway of the back room. Despite my instincts telling me to leave, I called out a faint "Hello?" just to give in to some voice in the back of my mind.

As I cautiously made my way through the dimly lit store, I couldn't help but hold my breath in anticipation of what I might find. The stench of decay and rot hung heavily in the air, making it difficult to breathe. Suddenly, a loud crashing sound echoed through the room, causing me to whip around in alarm. To my horror, I saw that the heavy iron gate that served as the entrance and exit had fallen, trapping me inside.