Cursed

Is anyone going to believe him?

He fears not.

He looks around hopefully anyway, but the nearest person is the disinterested-looking saleswoman who doesn’t pay him any mind. At the other end of the store is a couple who move from sofa to sofa, testing out the cushions by bouncing on them.

The side of the store where he’s at features bedroom furniture—mostly scuffed dressers, headboards, and the occasional armoire. The problem he has is with one of the armoires.

It looks like nothing special. It’s old and beaten up like the rest of the furniture in the consignment shop, but it’s one of the rare pieces that’s made of genuine wood and not particle board. That’s what drew him to it. It’s a quality piece, the kind that lasts through generations.

The armoire doors are still open the way he left them. He can see the multiple shelves inside and they’re empty. He doesn’t care about them. His gaze lifts to the top of the armoire.

A pair of glowing red eyes stares back at him.

There must be more to the entity, but he can’t tell. The armoire stands against the wall and the ceiling of the store is low. The three feet above the armoire is unlit, creating a box of shadow. The eyes seem to hover within it.

It’s a demon, he thinks. Someone’s cursed this armoire. Or it fell on someone and killed them.

He waves his arms urgently for help. Finally, the saleswoman sees him and reluctantly shuffles over.

“Yes?” she asks with a sigh.

“That piece is haunted!” He stabs a finger at the armoire and its bloody, staring eyes. “How much will you knock off the asking price?”

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