The Second Customer

This story was made using the solo RPG Caveat Emptor, by Exeunt Press.

The door-bell chimed.

This time, Ohog was ready. “Welcome,” they said, taking a bow. “Welcome to my curiosity shop. Are you looking for anything in particular, or just browsing?”

“Oh,” the customer blushed, straightening her dress in unconscious nervousness. “I am…just browsing. Thank you.”

Ohog gave a charming smile. “Well, if you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.” With that, they moved back behind the counter and studied their newest prey.

Ohog didn’t know much about mortal beauty standards. They never went in much for carnal temptations, they had always found it kinda weird that demons would go in for giving mortals joy, even if it ultimately resulted in their downfall. Wasn’t the whole point tormenting them? Well, if the monthly numbers were anything to go by, the experts knew how to make it work for them, so Ohog let them get on getting on. Ohog much preferred torments of a less charming nature. You knew where you stood with boils and needles. A saw across the chest was torture, there was no give-and-take about it.

All of that was to say, Ohog didn’t know if this woman — whose name was Waltraud Geizbart — was particularly attractive to humans or not. Sometimes, on a lark, they tried putting themselves in mortal shoes, and it never seemed to turn out right. Humans didn’t seem to care about pointiness of the forehead or hair on the feet, they cared about size of the chest in relation to size of the waist and neck, and in different proportions depending on whether they were male or female. They didn’t even have to measure like Ohog did, they just knew.

But it didn’t matter what Ohog thought. It didn’t even matter what humans thought; what mattered was what the customer thought, and she was filled with doubt. Ohog smiled a smoky grin. Doubt could be cultivated.

“Ah,” they interjected as Waltraud approached a raven in a cage. “Leopold is a lovely little charmer. Good to keep you company on lonely nights when your husband is out.”

Waltraud blushed again. “I am unmarried, good shopkeep.”

Ohog blinked. They had assumed it would take time before she offered such a personal detail, but there was no telling with humans… “Forgive me, I did not mean to offend.”

“You need not concern yourself,” she smiled shyly, “I am not ashamed of my status.”

How forward-thinking. “Might I assume your unattached nature is a choice, then? Have you forsaken the dream of a warm bed and a large, loving family?”

Her breath quickened and her face blushed again. That’s right, Ohog grinned internally, I know what you crave… “Forgive me,” they said, “I have become too personal. It isn’t polite to pry into your life like that. Please, accept my apologies.”

“That’s alright,” she said as her hand traced the corner of a well-seasoned cabinet. Her eyes were staring not at the fine woodwork and sturdy craftsmanship, but off into a future of many children and a doting spouse. “A large family…would be nice.”

“Well,” Ohog stepped out from behind the counter, “if you will permit me, I think there is an item here you will find most…helpful, in that regard. It is a…a cookbook of sorts, with recipies of a decidedly alchemical nature. Potions of love, of romance, of fertility…all abound in —”

“Oh my!” Waltraud cut them off, gasping in shock at the box they had just opened. “What is this?”

Ohog balked, staring at the open box. “That? Oh! Just a…a bit of a collection, I suppose. Please, do not concern yourself. This is a curiosity shop, after all, and some curios are of a decidedly sinister tone. Pay it no mind, and come take a look at — Oh, I wouldn’t…”

“Why, these are fingers!” Waltraud pulled one of the desiccated sticks out of the box and stared at it as if it were a fine cigar. “How macabre! Surely, this must be some black magic, yes?”

“I suppose it must be,” Ohog smiled. “Some box salvaged from a burned witch’s cottage, no doubt. Nothing a fine woman such as yourself would —”

“So many!” She stuck her hand in the small box and shifted the rattling bones about. “Do you suppose they are all from different people?”

“Well, I’m sure I don’t know,” Ohog lied. “I am but a humble shopkeeper. These charms and witchcrafts are beyond me. Besides, I don’t believe in such things, no matter their supposed power. Now, this book —”

“I have heard,” the woman lifted another finger out of the box and compared it to the one in her hand, “that the finger of a hanged man, cut off with silver pruning shears in the shadow of the full moon at midnight, and then boiled in frog-spit and dried by a fire of driftwood from a shipwreck where all hands were lost…that these corpsefingers can be used to curse someone who has wronged you.”

“I…” Ohog coughed. “I’m…sure I don’t pay attention to such folk-tales, but…you seem to know a lot about…are you…interested in the box?”

“Would they work for anyone, you suppose?” Waltraud carefully placed the fingers back in their box and closed the lid. “I mean, you don’t have to be a witch to use them?”

“Well,” Ohog thought quickly, pivoting on their heel, “The crucifix protects us all, after all, whether we are priests or not, and Saint’s charms do not discriminate. St. Andrew, for instance…”

“So, if I had my sights set on a man…” the woman’s fingers danced over the intricate box, “a perfect match for me, but he is wooed by many different women, some of whom are much…prettier than me…I could curse them with ill fortune?”

“A broken leg, perhaps?” Ohog was amazed. Sometimes, sales made themselves. “An unfortunate illness?”

“An angry cat,” Waltraud lifted the box to the light, “driven to a rage that claws and scratches the face, giving such unsightly scars…”

Amazed? Ohog was impressed. “Leaving you the obviously ideal choice…” They gave a small chuckle. “Such an amusing fantasy to think about, but I’m sure I don’t believe in such magics. I can tell this box has captured your fancy, and I can’t imagine anyone else who would appreciate its…novelty as much as you. I simply cannot let you leave without it…say at a twenty-five percent discount? Or free with the purchase of…” they cast about as quick as they could, “this silver hand-mirror? Such a bargain!”

As Waltraud made a show of appraising the mirror, Ohog snatched of the box and unwove the curse they had placed around it, swapping it for another. By the time Waltraud had made the decision Ohog knew she would make, a whole new curse was waiting her eager hands. The fingers could curse her competition for men’s affections, but every use would grow another pimple, another boil, another unsightly blemish on her face. She would cover them up at first, but before long she would be the ugliest woman in the town, beset with fear that her masking makeup might one day not be enough, that any ensnared husband would break their engagement, or even their marriage, should her real face be seen. They didn’t even need to curse the hand-mirror, just being able to see her own face would be enough. Again, simple was best.

Ohog heaved a relieved sigh as the door closed behind her. They pulled out a long black quill and a smoky ledger from the fires of a nearby candle, and marked the sale down. Things were definitely looking up. If all the sales they made were this easy, they’d have reached their quota in no-time.