The Thrift Store – Part 3

Here's the link of other parts:

Part-1 by Rowan Finley

Part-2 by Sk parihar

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The moment I felt that icy touch on my shoulder, my body locked up in terror. Every instinct screamed at me to run, but I couldn’t. My limbs felt like lead, my breath caught in my throat.

Slowly, I turned my head.

The old woman with the fleas was standing there, her milky-white eyes gleaming in the dim candlelight. The corners of her lips curled up into a grotesque grin, revealing yellowed, jagged teeth.

“I told you… you can’t LEAVE.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, yet it echoed through the room like a scream.

I wrenched away from her grip, stumbling back against a table covered in porcelain dolls. One of them toppled over, its glassy eyes rolling to meet mine.

The door. I needed to get to the door.

I bolted toward it, but the second old woman was already standing there, blocking my escape. How had she moved so FAST?

“You should put the shirt on,” she said, her tone light, almost playful. “It’s YOURS, after all.”

I gritted my teeth. “I’ve never seen this shirt before in my life.”

The flea-ridden woman let out a wheezing laugh. “Oh, but you have.”

I turned back, my eyes drawn to the girl’s doll—the same one I had mocked moments ago. But now, something else caught my attention. The man in the photo… his features seemed familiar. The longer I stared, the more the resemblance became undeniable.

It was ME.

My breath hitched. No. Impossible. That couldn’t be me—I had never seen this photo in my life! And yet, the more I looked, the clearer it became. The same jawline, the same eyes… the same shirt I now held in my trembling hands.

I swallowed hard. “Who are you people?”

The old woman at the door stepped forward. “Caretakers,” she said simply.

“Caretakers of what?”

The flea-ridden woman grinned wider, and the fleas on her skin began to stir again, crawling into the deep lines of her face.

“Of what’s been forgotten.”

The words made my stomach drop.

This wasn’t just a THRIFT store.

This was a place where lost things ended up.

And somehow… I was ONE of them.

The air grew thick, pressing in on me from all sides. My vision blurred at the edges, the candlelight warping.

I had to get out. Now.

I lunged toward the door, shoving the second old woman aside with more force than I thought I had. She barely reacted, her body light as paper.

I grabbed the doorknob and twisted—

It wouldn’t turn.

Behind me, the flea-ridden woman’s voice came in a singsong whisper.

“It’s closing time.”

The lights flickered, and suddenly, the room was full of movement. The dolls on the shelves twitched. The clothes hanging on the racks swayed as if something was moving through them. The shadows on the walls stretched, peeling away from the surfaces like living things.

And then, the worst sound of all.

A child’s giggle.

I turned just in time to see the girl from the photograph.

She was standing right in front of me.

Her face was pale, her eyes impossibly dark. She clutched the bedraggled doll tight in her small hands.

She smiled.

“FOUND YOU.”

The candle blew out.

The darkness swallowed me whole.

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To Be Continued …

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AUTHOR'S NOTE :

Moral of the story? Maybe just stick to online shopping.

But hey, don’t panic just yet—Part 4 is coming soon, and it’ll be written by Maryam Batool!

Will our unfortunate thrifter escape? Will the fleas stage a full-blown horror takeover? Stay tuned to find out!

Happy (and hopefully less cursed) thrifting!