Devil's Oasis

My eyes trace over the old worn leather cover, its deep brown color marred with wrinkles of use. The familiar smell of an old book greets me and I close my eyes. A smell that reminds me of my childhood; I spent weeks on end in this old bookshop. Every day after school, I’d come here and pick up a book I could only ever dream of purchasing. Old literature enthralls me; I’ve always been fascinated by the tales written by literature legends. Carefully my hand opens the cover, afraid that any quick movement could destroy what’s left of the age old masterpiece.

‘Grimms’ Fairy Tales’ will forever be a favorite of mine. I’ve read the book millions of times. The tales will forever keep me mesmerized; the good bargain is a favorite of mine. A countryman who’s portrayed as an imbecile, trumps everyone and comes out victorious. The simplicity behind the tale has always captivated my imagination. Mr. Walters, the previous owner of the shop, introduced me to the tales. I’ll never forget the day I came in with tears in my eyes, ashamed of what the others at school thought of me. I was eight, a ward of the state after my parents decided that they no longer wished to love me.

Kids in school picked on me mercilessly; every day, no matter who it was, harsh words were always thrown my way. I never spoke up, told them to stop; instead I accepted their words. The first day I came in here I was crying, I wanted nothing more than to hide from my tormentors in a fictional world. To be buried beneath another’s tragic tale of reality. Mr. Walters offered me a kind smile as he leaned on the counter heavily. ‘What can I do for you, young lady?’ His deep withered voice added to the warmth of the old antiqued store. For its age, it still holds a vitality that’s scarce.

Just like Mr. Walters did; some days I still hear the faint tap of his wooden cane as he moved around the store, working to put away fresh stock. For ten years, I’ve grown accustomed to his grandfatherly appearance, his kind and knowing smile. It always warmed my heart, made the tears that glistened in my eyes vanish. Three months ago his health declined, he had me running the store for him when his wife walked in. Her tears have seared holes into my heart; when I saw her, I knew he was gone. That he had finally passed on, his work on earth had finished.

She gave me the keys, crying as she relayed the news. ‘He wants you to have it; you love this place just as much as he does.’ My throat had constricted, blocking any sound from passing my lips. She nodded and smiled before she turned and vanished just as quickly as she came. This place held too many memories for her. It wasn’t long before she passed; when you’re with a person for seventy years, it’s only natural to be drawn to them after death. They were the grandparents I never had; the family that I had always dreamed of.

The small bell that hangs above the door chimes its greeting. “I’m sorry, but we’ve closed for the day,” my eyes are glued to the tale of Cat and Mouse in Partnership, a short tale that drives home its point simplistically.

“Then you should lock the door; how many times must I warn you to lock the door after dark? It’s not safe around here after nightfall.” I lift my head and blush at the cool and calculated stare of Dominic Walters, Mr. Walters’ grandson. His aluminum gray eyes create a piercing stare with sharp features that always carry a masked expression. Dominic is always careful to keep his expression blank, emotionless as he watches you like a hawk. It used to unsettle me to have him watch me, his eyes slightly narrowed on me as I’d move around the shop.

“It’s a bookstore, an old one; do you really think someone will waste their time trying to loot a cash register?” I pull the old worn jumper back up onto my shoulder; the hand me down has never fit me correctly. It’s deep gray color splotched with bleach; it was cheap and it was comfortable. A good bargain in my opinion; with a pair of skinny jeans that have had their fair share of repairs and my comfy slide on slippers. Every day after the store has closed I change from my sneakers into these to enjoy my reading.

I consider it sacrilege to not sit down and enjoy at least a few minutes of reading before I make the long walk to my loft apartment across town. “You know it doesn’t matter what kind of store it is, just as long as it’s easy to rob. This place screams it.” A sigh slips past my lips as I turn another page delicately.

“You see crime everywhere.” Dominic is always imagining criminals stalking the shop; evil doers ready to strike the place as if it’s a bank.

“It is everywhere; what is the tale you are reading today Embry?” Dominic sits down elegantly; everything he does is elegant. The dark gray suit he wears encases his body smoothly. His large frame fills it out; it’s probably been tailored for him. Long legs are crossed at the ankle as he reclines in the chair, lounging.

“Our Lady’s Child; have you read it?” He arches a thick brow as he stares at me.

“No, I don’t spare time to read tales.” I shrug, I’m sure most people my age wouldn’t enjoy sitting down and enjoy a fable before they head home for the day.

“It’s your loss I suppose,” my nostrils flare as I enjoy the smell of the pages; the nostalgia I’m met with makes me smile. Books will always be a hidden paradise for me; they can never judge me for the past, for things out of my control. Silence descends on the quaint store, the only sound to add to the atmosphere is the occasional sound of paper rubbing together before it is turned.

“What is it about?” I lift my eyes to stare at him for a moment, before looking back at the pages with a shrug.

“It’s about how lying is a sin; only the truth will ever set someone free.” It’s the basic rundown of the fascinating tale.

“A children’s tale?”

“It didn’t start out that way; some of the famous tales we have today started out for adults, the upper class who could enjoy the novel. These fables were enjoyed by children in the later editions; ones translated into more modern times with safer topics,” I answer as I finish the last line of the tale and lift my gaze to his.

“In other words they moderated the bits that were original; made the story what it was known for,” Dominic’s answer makes me nod as I turn my attention back towards the sepia pages.

“The brothers were pioneers in my opinion, their work has been disgraced with the modern versions.” If I was given the option I’d prefer to be entertained by these tales than those of Disney. These offer the reality of a brutal tale that offers small reprieves of happiness. Silence once more coats the store; the peaceful setting is an ideal ending to a long and busy day.

“What is the next tale?” Dominic’s strong and smoky voice breaks my train of thought. I glance at the page and read the title, smiling.

“The Story of the Youth Who Went Forth to Learn What Fear Was; it’s a good laugh at the end of the day. ‘If I could but shudder.’” The young man’s mantra slips past my lips in thought; the driving dialogue throughout the entire tale, his whole quest.

“What?” I look back at Dominic and shake my head waving my hand at him.

“The young man’s quest is to learn how to shudder; ‘If I could but shudder.’ He traverses the land in an attempt to learn what shuddering is; to learn something that’ll support him.” It’s interesting that in the end he winds up with a wife, in a kingdom that’s to be his and he learns how to shudder.

“Why does he want to know how to shudder?” Dominic’s head is slightly tilted, eyes narrowed as he tries to work out the reasoning.

“He wants to prove to people that he can learn and understand something.” He nods his head slowly, I look over to the clock and sigh. I should put down the book and get ready to head home. But I really want to finish this tale. One more couldn’t hurt. My eyes fall back to the page, quickly becoming entertained with the young man’s adventure to learn how to shudder.

“Does he?” Once again, Dominic’s voice breaks the silence and I nod mutely as I finish the page and turn it.

“In the end the young man ends up in a better place than he began. With a wife and new place on the throne; she helps him discover how to shudder, in a unique way.” The man isn’t taught to shudder in the way his older brother was mentioning, but nonetheless he learned a meaning to shuddering. I’d say in the end he won.

“How did she make it happen? If no one else could, what made her way unique?” His question makes me smile.

“Throughout the tale everyone says that they will make him shudder; they fail to do it through fear. They guide the young man to a frightful environment, letting him experience things that many fear. She instead throws a bucket of water with gudgeons on him. It wasn’t fear that made him shudder, but the fish that squirmed upon him; the cold water probably didn’t help any.” It’s a unique way that made him shudder without leaving him to someone’s guiles. It didn’t allow him to overthink the matter.

“Did she make him shudder or squirm; there is a difference,” his question makes me lift my head in thought.

“I think he shuddered from shock and squirmed from the fish. It’s a cycle that can coincide with both. If you shudder you tend to squirm because of some negative associations or even emotion,” with my peace being said I drop my gaze to finish the rest of the tale; I still have to make the long and cold walk home. Not something I’m looking forward to, especially with nightfall waiting to descend. My neighborhood doesn’t have many working streetlights; the lamp posts that remain have all been shot a time, or three. The bulbs were blown to bits ages ago.

It’s affordable given my situation, I may be a store owner but that doesn’t mean I make much of a profit. I have to ease the store into more modern times to keep previous customers happy and new ones coming in. To be honest, I’d prefer to keep the store as it was in all of its former glory. While the new changes will make my bank account happier I feel like I’m destroying a piece of beloved history. A change of carpet never seemed so serious until I made the decision to go from a deep brown to a deep merlot color. It pairs with the real walnut wood shelving.

The varnish glitters with the lighting; shining with elegance, the books that rest on their shelves always look more inviting. Maybe I’m too much of a book enthusiast; it might be time to focus on not being so weird. I close the book in my hands and release a soft sigh; I don’t dare try for another tale before leaving. I’ve already risked it enough; standing I fix the comfy bean bag chair I was using. This is one of the changes I enjoyed. Of course, I have a selection of seating, something for every person.