The Procurer

Stepping through the veil had always been difficult for Camille and so she did not do it without good reason. Today, unfortunately, she did have a good reason. She held a parcel tightly wrapped in unassuming brown paper closely to her chest while the squeak of her platform boots echoed on the empty street. She felt quite stupid for wearing them. The grey sky blended into the buildings that lined the streets and heavy wind was insistent on blowing her hair into her face where it then stuck to her lipstick. It made her feel stupid for wearing that as well. As she worried over how ridiculous she probably looked she walked right past the entrance to the shop. She backtracked, wincing at the sound of her boots and at the same time began trying to pull the hair out of her mouth and off of the lipstick she wore. She stopped for a moment and examined the facade. Camille did not know what she expected from this specific antique bookshop but it wasn’t this. The building did not have any windows save for one and it was only large enough to hold a small sign that said Antique Books and another below it that said Closed. She hesitated for only a moment noting the energy surrounding the shop felt desperate, lonely, and very hungry.

As she stepped over the threshold she stiffened waiting for the resistance that usually came with leaving the known world and entering a new one, and did not feel it. Her thoughts moved again to the hunger she felt radiating off of the building, but before she could change her mind she moved further into the book shop. The bell tinkled as the door shut behind her and to Camille, it sounded like how biting on tinfoil felt. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed it when she initially opened the door. Swallowing her uneasiness down she took one painfully deep breath and finally looked at her surroundings. The inside of the shop was not unlike any other antique bookshop in New York City. Dusty volumes lined rows of floor to ceiling bookshelves, some books were even stacked on the floor where shelves overflowed. She took one more deep breath wanting to breathe in the smell of waiting books. Her deep breath stopped short when she noticed an underlying smell of rot and decay. The deep breath quickly turned into loud coughing as she choked back a gag. The smell was not the only thing out of the ordinary in this shop. The other patrons were quite strange as well and she couldn’t help but think there was something just out of the corner of her eye. Once she got her coughing under control she quickly smiled at the nearest browser and realizing that they were hovering just off the worn wood floors walked quickly towards a small crowded desk on the far side of the building. Once she made it to the desk she came face to face with a shrewd looking shopkeep who did not bother to look up from the large ledger she was examining.

“Excuse me, ma'am. My name is Camille and...”

The shopkeep held up her hand. A silent warning to stop talking and keenly examined the girl before her and nodded her head. She said nothing else to Camille and simply continued her work where she left off. Camille was too bewildered to say or do anything but stand wide-mouthed.

“Camille, is that you?” and she snapped her jaw shut and at the same time slipped on a slick spot on the floor. As she tried to catch herself on the nearest bookshelf she dropped her primly packed parcel and it hit the ground with a thunk. As she stood clutching the bookshelf she couldn’t help but think that the platform boots were to blame. The man before her, the Procurer, snickered and walked into a well-hidden office leaving the door open behind him. Camille righted herself and bent over to fetch the parcel from the floor. As she did she saw the legs of someone or something standing directly behind her. She turned and stood up on a dime but there was nothing. The legs she saw were not particularly frightening in simple dress shoes and slacks but their proximity was unnerving. As she squeaked towards the office she noticed that her hands were shaking and so she gripped the package she was holding a little bit tighter and braced herself as she walked through the door and into the waiting grin of the Procurer.

He sat on the other side of a large intricate desk stacked with books, scrolls, and papers of all sorts. This inner room was similar to the outer save for the iron bars that covered the face of every floor to ceiling bookshelf. As Camille examined the heavy looking locks she saw something flit in the corner of her eye. She could have sworn it was a tentacle but when she turned the only thing she noticed was that the office door had shut of its own accord locking her in the crowded room alone with the man that she had come to meet. Although these events happened quickly she could have sworn that the Procurer’s grin had grown wider in the instant that she had turned away. He almost looked absurd and she noted to herself that it might have even been funny if it wasn’t so terrifying. Camille did the only thing she could think to do and without saying a word handed the parcel across the desk and into the hands of the man that she hoped would procure it. She looked back down at her shaking hands for a moment and then the man before her cleared his throat loudly. When she looked back up at him the grin was gone and he was somehow even more frightening. The room grew hazy as darkness began to swirl up around him. She saw them then, the tentacles, and she knew they belonged to the man before her. It was difficult to reconcile in her head for she knew that he was a monster and that he had power or she would not have come, but seeing the thick black tentacles swirl in the darkness around the both of them was almost unbearable. He spoke then in an otherworldly voice and asked “What do you want for it?”

She hesitated for a moment. “I would like to see my father one last time.” As she said it she felt the room around her change. The darkness lifted and she was back in the twenty-four-hour diner. The place she had last seen her father. She had always thought it was a little corny to come here after the heyday of the fifties but her father had loved it, and she couldn’t say no when he asked if she wanted a milkshake. Camille hadn’t been back since he had passed. Looking around at the lycra countertops and the jukebox and the white pleather seats she exhaled a shaky breath. She really was here, the booth was sticking slightly to the sweat on her back and the tile was damp beneath her boots. It was exactly as it had been all those years ago. She looked at the booth across from her again and there he was smiling down at her. As she looked into his eyes tears began to stream down Camille’s face. He nodded his head almost imperceptibly at her and smiled. A silent way to tell her everything was okay. She tried her best to smile back but her bottom lip still quivered with held back sobs. She never thought she would see that smile or those kind eyes again, and at that moment he reached out and held onto her hand. That was the gesture that brought her tears to a halt. She smiled back at him and held tightly onto his hand.

Camille didn’t know how long they had sat in the otherworldly diner holding onto each other but it felt like a lifetime. He didn’t speak to her. She didn’t blame him; she had the feeling that he wasn’t allowed a voice this time. That was okay because she didn’t speak either. They were content to sit. Finally, Camille looked at the clock hanging above the door and noticed it was midnight. She felt the grip on her hand disappear and when she turned her head back to look at her father he was gone. She had never been fond of the witching hour. Finally noticing that the diner was disappearing around her she took a moment to look around one last time and then closed her eyes and ran her fingers along the chrome tabled edges. When she opened her eyes the Procurer, again, sat before her. He was not smiling, but he did not look unkind. Camille stood up, nodded her head, and left the office, and then the bookshop behind her. When she finally made it outside she smiled and looked up at the grey sky. She thought a rainstorm might be blowing in. And so Camille walked briskly down the New York Street but this time she did not notice the squeak of her shoes or the way her hair was sticking to her lipstick she only thought of her father.