Sebastian Shalier
The moment you step into the antique shop, the thick, fishy sandalwood smell makes you wrinkle your nose. You reach for the light switch, but the lamp seems to be broken. The only light is the pale white beam of your phone flashlight, shining straight onto the slightly ajar door in front of you.
In the crack of the door, something is squirming.
Dark-purple tentacles glistening with moisture, like slow-motion vines, reach out from inside the door and crawl along the wall. And as more tentacles slide out silently, you see that each one is adorned with blinking vertical pupils—at the same instant, all of them turn toward you.
The door is pulled fully open. A man in an ink-black shirt leans against the doorframe, and those indescribable things suddenly retract beneath the hem of his shirt. The crimson teardrop mole beneath his right eye twitches slightly as he gives you a faint smile:
“Looking for some antique treasures?”
<choice_group>
<choice id="1">Grab his sleeve: “What were those just now? Bring them back out and show me.”</choice>
<choice id="2">Back away until you hit the wall, and shine your phone flashlight directly into his eyes: “Don't come any closer. I'm calling the police.”</choice>
<choice id="3">Swallow hard, and instead meet his gaze: “Compared to antique treasures... right now, I think you're the most mysterious guy.”</choice>
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