Word on the street is there's a new market in town. The few people who were foolish enough to enter speak of horrors and delights that send shivers down one's spine and nightmares running through their mind. When they go back the next day, there is nothing but an empty alleyway. They say it comes when one is truly desperate. And you are, indeed, desperate.
You have spent day after day collecting everything there is to know about the market and now, at last, you are ready to go.
Under the cover of darkness, you make your journey down to the address you have messily scrawled onto a small sheet of paper. The closer you get, the fewer people you meet, until there is no one but you.
You reach the empty alleyway, hands trembling, as you go through the list of rules that you believe you have figured out.
1. The market only appears at night.
Midnight to be precise.2. The market closes at 3 A.M.
To stay any longer can mean you never make it out.3. Only offer what is in your possession.
If you cannot give what you promise, the fee will be taken in any way the market sees fit.4. Don't be stupid.
You take in a shuddering breath and close your eyes. The whistling of the wind and the scraping of dead leaves on the ground fill your senses. From a distance, you can hear a clock chime.
BONG. BONG. BONG. BONG. BONG. BONG. BONG. BONG.
As the twelfth chime rings through the air, there is a strange stillness. From behind your closed eyes, you can see there is light in front of you. Perhaps, if you focus, you can smell the scent of nutmeg wafting towards you.
You open your eyes. The market is there.
The stalls are alight in all their glory. You watch as customers slowly appear from seemingly nowhere, their arms already laden with bags. You catch a glimpse of a parsel sliding from one hand to the other in a movement so quick, no one would have seen if they weren't already looking. There is no hint of the empty alleyway from earlier.
You walk towards the market, your steps uncertain as you start and growing more confident as you get closer. The tall iron gates that bar the entrance groan and swing open on their own accord.
Without looking back, you step inside. You hear the gates shut behind you with a clang.
You've made it through the easy part. The rest is yet to come.
Welcome to the night market.
YOU ARE READING
The Twelfth Hour | Graphic Shop (CLOSED)
Random❝ 𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐟 𝐰𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐣𝐮𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦? ❞ Guys, quick question! Have you ever been to a library, online or offline? How do you choose which book...