“That’s not true,” Wrath says immediately, despite the fact that we’re in public. Winter has gone in pursuit of her own lunch, and I’ve got the backpack. The employee with the blank eyes continues to watch me, making no other movement or recognition of what was just said.

  It’s the demon’s reaction that confirms the validity of the information rather than the weirdness of the cashier. I wait to see if he’s going to share anything else, and then try to prod him when he retains his silence. “Anything else?”

  “If you need a moment to look over the menu, take your time,” he rasps. “We will be waiting.” It’s more a threat than an observation, and underlying tone of menace. Normally that’s why I like this restaurant. The hint of malice with everything they do.

  Something electrifyingly unpleasant begins to stir inside me, but I push it down. It’s too early to revisit this. Maybe I misheard. Maybe it meant something else that I’m not realizing. “I’ll take the number thirteen and I’ll nether-size the drink.”

  The cashier repeats my order back to me and then takes my card. A moment later he hands it back with my receipt. You will soon see a conflict of opposing forces. Greed versus grief. The printout does not look like any receipt I’ve ever gotten before but I hold onto it.

  I get my food and head towards a table near the middle of the food court, where Winter is frowning at her own receipt. “Did you get something like this?” she asks, holding the receipt to me. I take hers, swapping with my own. Hers says beware the white man who wears lies on his wrist. He smells like herring, red and rotten.

  “Well it’s clearly talking about Ghastly,” Winter says, reading my receipt. “Any idea what it means, though?”

  “No clue, but I think we’re going to find out.”

  “I want to see,” Wrath whisper whines, and I hold out my receipt to where the stuffed animal can read the warning, or the prophecy, whatever it should be called. A laser jet fast food receipt sharing prophecies might be unusual in another town, but in Hollow Hills adjacent, as we are now, it’s just business as usual.

  “It’s not happening at the store anymore.”

  “Not just at the store,” I agree. “It seems like it’s spreading to the rest of the mall.”

  “Is it dangerous?” Winter asks, looking around the open area. None of the customers in the food court look particularly distressed. The employees at the fast food restaurants look the normal level of apathetic and tired, while customers in line and eating at tables look the normal amount of morose and pitiable that comes from people who hang out at a mall on a weekday.

  “I don’t think so?” It’s a question because I’m honestly not sure. I do the same thing she is, studying the crowd. Normally when something supernatural happens, there’s an immediate, obvious danger at play. Someone’s getting their guts clawed open, or a hungry monster opens a writhing maw deep beneath the floor and people begin to fall in. But this is rather… ordinary.

  “They’re still spending money,” Wrath says, and something about the way he says it pulls at both of our attention. We turn to the stuffed animal.

  “Explain,” I say.

  “You thought it was a poltergeist at first because it was acting out. But all that did was delay the store opening. Then you investigated and it messed with you in the stock room. You weren’t hurt, but again, it was a warning sign. Now it’s being subtle. Making small little changes. Look,” he says, but being a stuffed animal, it’s hard to know what he’s directing our attention to.

  “Uhm…”

  “The receipt.”

  I look down at my receipt, and the message typed out along the bottom, the warning message, it’s gone. In its place is a normal thank you message and an ominous wish that we return. Or else.

  We finish the rest of our meals in relative silence, and for my part I spend the time chewing thoughtfully. It doesn’t actually involve much thinking, but eating while trying to strike the right pensive expression to convey my deep and thorough mental exercise. Winter certainly looks like she’s undergoing a similar triathlon, mentally speaking, and Wrath’s face…well it’s stitched in place so he can’t do much about it right now.

  Eventually we finish, and Winter stands, taking her tray to the nearest row of waste bins. “We should find Ghastly and see what else he can tell us about who’s involved with the store,” she says. I realize she actually was thinking about what to do next, and I should have been doing the same.

  How do you look busy and manage to be busy at the same time. That seems almost impossible. “Totally,” I agree, dumping the rest of my tray as well. I grab my Wrath-bag and we head back into the mall. I’m not even sure what we’re looking for first, but Winter seems to. She takes us back the way we came, almost nearly to the CinnaSin bakery when she stops at a nondescript hallway with glass walls further down at the other end. Above the hall is a sign. Building Admin.

  “This was where Ghastly came from the other day before the meet and greet.” Winter says. “I bet here’s back here somewhere.”

  We head back into the office area, finding a reception desk, although no reception. Down a side hall, we hear raised voices.

  “We need your store open as soon as possible.”

  “I won’t open until I’m assured that no one else will be hurt.” I’d recognize Ghastly anywhere.

  “No one has been hurt.”

  “Two contractors have quit because parts of their team ended up in a psychiatric facility.”

  “Yes, workers. Not customers.”

  We come across a glass office with the door wide open and see Ghastly arguing with the man with the slicked back hair. His suit is rumpled, looks a little threadbare.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Ghastly stares at the man in abject shock. “Ahh. You think workers are not people because they are not spending money in your stores.”

  “That is a flagship location and it’s been closed for far too long. The entire wing is dependent on a strong store to balance out all the rest. I thought Maulie’s was going to be that store, but it sounds like you don’t have the guts to do what it’s going to take to be successful.”

  The slick man crosses his arms in front of him.

  “Mr. Vexwell, I think you’re missing the point. No one wants the bad press associated with a store that risks loss of life,” Ghastly says desperately, seeing us through the glass and waves us in. “Ahh, here are two of my employees now. Kids, why don’t you tell Mr. Vexwell about the conditions at the store.” His eyes are wide and leading, trying to communicate subconsciously.

  Winter plays the part to perfection. “Of course, Grandpa. Things are still mysteriously going wrong in the stockroom. None of us have any idea of what’s going on, but it’s terribly scary.”

  Vexwell scoffs, giving Winter a single look up and down and discounting her opinion entirely. Now that we’re up close I can take a better look at him. He’s older, maybe in his forties or fifties, face and skin flushed an unnatural red, oily and shining. There’s something unhealthy about him that I can’t quite pinpoint. He looks like the before in a dermatology commercial in all the worst ways.

  “Tell him one of the contractors has a lawyer cousin,” Wrath whispers urgently.

  Vexwell turns a curious expression in my direction. “Did you say something?”

  I freeze. Winter freezes. Grandpa Ghastly hastily chuckles. “Nooooo,” I say slowly, now giving Vexwell a more focused look. “But I know one of the contractors was saying something about his cousin the lawyer. I don’t know if he was just sharing an anecdote or if he was actually planning to call him. But that might be important, right?”

  The building manager goes impossibly still, seeming to consider the implications involved. The lack of movement makes his features look more stonelike, craggy and dried out. “Well…” even his tone comes out harder and grating, though ground to a stop.

  “Oh, I don’t think it’s anything to worry about,” Grandpa Ghastly swoops in, now all smiles and relaxed posture. “You know how legal cases are. Once the media gets involved, everything slows to a crawl anyway.”

  Vexwell rubs a hand through his hair, though it barely affects the slick back look. If anything his hand slides across the surface without causing any waves. “I just…I just need this store open, okay? You don’t understand how important the flagship properties are, and it’s already been closed for so long.”

  There’s a level of desperation to his tone that seems more significant than a business deal, but I don’t say anything. I look to see if either Winter or Ghastly feel the same way, but they don’t notice.

  “Why is it so important?” I finally ask since no one else will.

  “What?” He doesn’t appear to understand what I’m asking. Maybe it’s a stupid question after all.

  “You said we don’t understand how important the store is. So why is it so important?”

  “A flagship property is one that attracts customers, one that other stores crowd around to get the same effect. The buzz from Ghastly’s store has been so great that it has our other properties reconsidering their plan to move when their leases end. It’s the same with all our flagship properties. They do well and it makes other stores do well at the same time.”

  “Yeah, I understand how money works,” I say slowly. “And capitalism. So why has the property been empty for so long already? Has there been something wrong with the space?”

  He flinches, and I know immediately that I’ve stumbled on to something. “Of course not,” he says, far too quickly. “That’s insane. A store like this is big investment. A lot of times the property sits empty until a larger store begins an expansion plan. And that doesn’t always happen on a normal timetable.”

  “But you wouldn’t have cared so much if it was one of the smaller properties?”

  “Well, no. Because the smaller properties don’t draw in new customers in the same way.”

  “Why are you so nervous?” Winter asks, and there’s an imperial tone to her question. Maybe someone like Vexwell responds to it well, because he doesn’t question her.

  “I already told him,” he thumbs at Ghastly, “that the space has been empty for too long. Our contract stated that the store would open in the summer, and we’re already past that.”

  “Okay, so he’s not paying rent yet or something?” she presses.

  If anything, the sweating on his forehead seems to increase. “It’s not about the rent,” he snaps.

  But it’s about something else. Winter and I share a look, once again on the same page. There’s something about the flagship store space that’s important, something that Vexwell isn’t disclosing.

  “We should get you home, Grandpa,” I say, reaching for Ghastly’s arm.

  “Wait, you’re not actually his grandson, are you?” the businessman asks, though he’s still looking at Winter when he does so.

  Winter, who is obviously black does not closely resemble either of us, but families these days are more complicated and diverse than they’ve ever been before, but she doesn’t shame him directly. “His grandfather,” she says, though she doesn’t acknowledge me directly. Her tone adds the obviously without her having to say it.

  The man flushes more, making him look more uncomfortable.

  We lead Ghastly from the room, and even he seems to be aware of the ruse, because he leans an arm on my shoulder and wavering a bit like he needs the support to walk away. It’s not until we’re back out on the concourse and heading to Maulie’s that he releases his arm and straightens.

  “I’m not crazy. That man is hiding something about the mall and my space.”

  “He is,” I agree. “Has he said anything particular about your store before? Are we sure it’s not built on top of some kind of Pilgrim burial ground or something?”

  “Hey guys,” Winter says.

  “Nothing specific,” Grandpa Ghastly offers. “He was in a rush to make the deal, but Maulie was hesitant. So we bickered about it for the longest time. I don’t think he had any other prospects, though. We needed the space that this shop would offer. All of the other options were too small for the horde of collectibles that we’d been stockpiling. We had the idea and started buying merchandise before we had the space, you realize.”

  “Guys,” Winter tries again.

  “I get that,” I nod. “You wanted to have merchandise before you had the storefront so you could start to plan it out.”

  “Exactly, my boy!” Ghastly thunders, smacking me on the forearm. “You get it.”

  Winter moves in front of the two of us and blocks our path.

  “Winter! What are you doing?” I demand.

  She looks me right in the eyes. “Where’s the store?”

  I look up, and then around us. The maul is… different.

  “What in the netherworld?” Ghastly murmurs. We look around, each wincing just a little bit at the sudden brightness of the world around us. The reds are redder. The neon lights somehow shearing through the darkness, instead of letting it coil around the corners.

  The stores around us are odd, in a way I can’t understand. Instead of 21 Forever, the vampire couture shop, it’s bright and shiny and called Forever 21. Instead of Build-a-Banshee, the storefront says something else entirely. Every store so familiar and then just slightly twisted.

  “What’s a ‘Build-a-Bear’?” Ghastly says, sounding positively befuddled.

  “I don’t feel safe here,” Winter says, her dark ensemble now standing out in comparison. She still looks high fashion, but now it’s in stark contrast, instead of in highlight.

  This shiny, bright world is saturated with color; fluorescent lights beam something other than unholy light. There’s a general comforting murk to the maul that is now missing, a calming film to the world that has been peeled away. The world left behind is raw, too bright to see clearly, and oh so painful.

  “I don’t think we’re in Dunwich anymore…”