Mundane Work (CHP 2) - The Price of Things

Transcript of recording- 105 GLB-JN-1107██-23:31

Mr. Seldfird: (voice cracking, clawing at the chains)“Please, June—Lady June—I’ll give you the deeds to the shop, the inventory, the—the bones under the floorboards! Just… just don’t take the rest of me. My daughter, she’s only six, she needs—!”

Lady June: (leafing through a ledger, her quill scratching corrections into reality)

“Ah, Mr. Seldfird. ‘Deeds,’ ‘inventory,’ ‘bones.’ How… quaint.”

(She snaps her fingers. The chains tighten, hissing as they burrow into his wrists. Blood pools, spelling DEFAULT in cursive.)

“You pledged twenty years of service. Not nineteen. Not nineteen and a half. Twenty. And yet here you are, begging to renegotiate… after squandering my generosity.”

Mr. Seldfird: (sobbing, a tooth clattering to the floor as his body decays)“I didn’t know—! The shop, it’s alive, it’s hungry—! I tried to feed it, I swear! I gave it the beggar from the alley, the taxman, the—!”

Lady June: (plucking his fallen tooth, examining it like a flawed gem)“You fed it scraps. Scraps. And now it hungers for… you.”

(She drops the tooth into a jar labeled PETTY CASH. It screams.)

“A deal’s a deal, Mr. Seldfird. You wanted prosperity. I delivered. Those ‘customers’ you miss so dearly? They paid triple for the privilege of being devoured. Triple.”

Mr. Seldfird: (collapsing, his remaining eye weeping black ichor)“I’ll do anything! Anything! Take my voice, my hands—!”

Lady June: (leaning forward, her veil parting to reveal a smile like a slit throat)

Lady June: “But I already have. Clause 7b: ‘In the event of default, the undersigned’s corporeal and incorporeal assets shall be forfeit.’”

(She taps the ledger. The floorboards splinter, revealing the Maw’s gullet—a kaleidoscope of teeth and cash registers.)

“Don’t fret. Your daughter will inherit the shop. Till then, I’ll hold it in trust. I’m sure she’ll make a lovely heir. Until her first… miscalculation.”

Mr. Seldfird: (screaming as the chains drag him toward the void)“MONSTER! YOU’RE A MONSTER!”

Lady June: (Waving as he’s consumed, her Chain clinking like coins. Crunching can be heard in the background.)

“Monster? No, Mr. Seldfird. It’s just good business.”

(The Maw belches. A receipt flutters down, stamped PAID IN FULL. June hums “Girl from Ipanema” and opens a new ledger page. She prepares a will to send for notarisation, addressed to a man named Aman.)

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Approximately 16 hours before Andrew nearly got erased from reality, he was working in a coffee shop, thinking of his grandmother. The earthy scent of roasting beans always reminded him of his grandmother’s signature coffee — the only way she’d ever take it. Two cubes of sugar, one and a half packs of creamer, stirred at 79 degrees celsius for exactly two minutes. His grandmother would say, “precision wards disorder.” Back then, that would have been considered a ludicrously complicated order, that’s why his grandmother always had to make it at home, but nowadays… not so much.

“Do you have a double-spiced macchiato with extra ice, two pumps of cream, half part almond milk, half part soy milk… actually cut the cream, I’m on a diet, just add a dollop from the left pitcher and… are you listening?”

Andrew was definitely not listening.

“Yes, of course, double spiced macchiato, extra ice, soy and almond milk half and half, right?”

“You forgot the dollop of cream, left pitcher!”

“Yes, of course,” Andrew said curtly. Listening but not paying attention was a skill he learnt in high school and perfected in his retail job. “Will that be all?”

“No, I wasn’t done. Get me one of those red velvet muffins too.”

“I thought you said you were on a diet, I would recommend the gluten-free muffins…?”

“It’s not for me, you idiot, it’s for my dog.” Andrew paused for a moment and wondered if the woman didn’t know that chocolate was toxic to dogs, or that red velvet contained cocoa powder. He decided it was probably both. While he did feel bad for the poor dog, there was little use arguing with people like her (he’d found out the hard way) and some things are best learnt through… personal experience. He rang up the lady and thought about his penance for indirectly causing the suffering of a poor dog. He decided he’d go down to the animal shelter after his shift and donate a little. Again.

Just as he finished with the expresso portion, he realised there was no left pitcher of cream. There was only one pitcher. There was always only ever one pitcher of cream... whatever, not his problem. He quickly handed the lady her abomination and dealt with the subsequent customers.

“Would you like a receipt with that?”Andrew asked, smiling as superficially as he could. The lady simply walked away. From the corner of his eye, he saw the lady take a sip of her coffee and make a face of absolute disgust. She eyed him suspiciously, probably wondering if he’d sabotaged her order somehow as payback. He didn’t, but Andrew liked the scowl on her face. He thought his grandmother would too. As she walked out the door, Andrew caught a whiff of her perfume. He had no clue what it was, but he didn’t like it - it made him dizzy.

Andrew always walked the same path home every day. Round the corner, cross the street and up to his apartment. It was always a blessing to live so close to his place of work, his rent definitely reflected that. The short walk back was surrounded by shops selling oddities and curios, it was that kind of neighbourhood. Andrew always did like them, and the owners liked him and he always got a good deal on knick knacks and second-hand furniture. One of the shops on the street closed a few weeks ago, a Mr Seldfird, closed the shop due to his old age, and that it was leaking money like a sieve.

Andrew always had liked Mr Seldfird and felt his heart sunk when he first saw the empty husk of the store. Compared to all the digitalised stores, it had an old-timey charm that Andrew had a soft spot for.

I wonder how Mr Seldfird’s doing now. I haven’t seen him in a while.

However, today, there was a new antique store in its place. Midnight Emporium, a rather tacky name for Andrew’s tastes, but it was par for the course for the type of store it was. It smelled faintly of burnt toast and ozone. His grandmother had always hated the smell of ozone, always brewing ever more coffee to cover up the smell. Well, it could wait. He had his penance to attend first. Turning his heels, he faced down the street, he couldn’t help but look back at the store. He found his feet felt just a little heavier as he tried to walk away, becoming lighter again when he was finally some distance away from the store… wait. The store was there again. Midnight Emporium, in gothic letters, emblazoned with stars that seemed to have been ripped straight from the night sky itself. On closer inspection, there were other things written in a language foreign to him, though his brain supplied “The World’s Okayest Apostle” for some reason. His grandmother’s voice hissed: “Precision wards disorder.”

Hook…

Andrew wondered if he’s somehow walked in one great big circle. Whatever. He walked down the familiar path again, round the corner, cross the street and straight back to the Midnight Emporium. That seemed off. Again, Andrew walked down the streets he knew like the back of his hand. For a single second, Andrew wondered if it were the shop, reeling him in. An angler, fishing for its next meal. It felt hungry, if a shop could even be that. Hungry for not just for profit, but for him, the sidewalk, for everything. Though, it seemed to avoid the moldy tuna sandwich in his bag. He really should get around to removing it. The thought was very quickly put down, he probably just subconsciously wanted to go in. He also thought he saw a very nice lamp that would look great in his living room, for an absolute steal as well. Penance could wait. However, just as his hand reached for the door, he thought he heard a growl. Probably his guilt for abandoning his holy mission, he chose not to think about how deep it had been, how no animal could have possibly made a sound so hollow, so voracious. He walked in.

…line…

Cling, the door chimed out Andrew’s entry. Andrew’s senses were immediately assaulted by a barrage of sights, sounds and smells. While the window displays were not particularly remarkable, the shop’s insides were filled with piles of stuff. There were teacups and lamp shades and rolls of duct tape, piles of someone’s tax returns and animal skulls and objects he couldn’t pick out from the mess — it all melted into itself. The ceilings of the shop seemed to stretch higher than Mr Seldfird’s old shop’s, yet all the excess space was swallowed up by what would’ve been an impressive collection of things — had it all not been strewn across the floor. The smell was the worst of all, the entire establishment reeked of ozone and mold. Andrew finally realised why his grandmother had hated the smell, it gave him vertigo, like he was high up in the air, like he was falling. Andrew stumbled, trying to find his balance and trying to hold his breath. He would get the lamp, then we would get out. That was the plan.

The plan, however, did not account for him getting lost in the store. Andrew knew the dimensions of Mr Seldfird’s shop well, 10.04 metres across, 20.13 metres in, three rooms, one bathroom, two leaky pipes, one key rack, and twenty seven patches in the carpet. He knew this because he was accidentally locked in once and had nothing else to do to pass the time until Mr Seldfird came back from lunch. This was not Mr Seldfird’s shop. It was labyrinthine and far more massive than it could've been, than it should’ve been. But no, the store just went on, and on, and on.

The window to the outside seemed to stretch forever and regardless of how fast Andrew tried to run, trying to escape this singular trapped moment, the scene outside refused to move. He could’ve left, but the lamp, that lamp, he wanted it. No, he needed it. He couldn’t turn back. He couldn’t. It would look so beautiful next to his oak bookshelf, or maybe next to his bed or maybe right in front of his window and become the envy of the neighbourhood. What a waste, for it to be rotting in this nowhere shop, or with some other nobody.

The hallway only seemed to get longer, as if space inside the shop had been stretched thin, like the hard candies his grandmother used to… just as the thought popped into his head, it seemed reality snapped back, one big rubber band smacking him in the face. The lamp was right there, in front of him. Like a moth to a flame, like a fish to the glow of an angler.

Andrew always fancied himself to have an appraiser’s eye. He had spent many afternoons on his days off in these antique shops. He prided himself on spotting a hidden gem among the clutter. It was a talent honed over countless weekend afternoons spent wandering through dusty aisles. Even an amateur could’ve discerned the lamp was worth far more than its listed price. He gently inspected the fine cloth, the mahogany stand and fell into his thoughts.

Twenty-five pounds? Are you kidding me? That beauty is worth at least two hundred and fifty! Look at those Victorian frills, the rich ultramarine pigment, true, blue Dhaka muslin fabric. And the details, the carvings on the stand. Honestly, someone who doesn’t immediately recognise its worth doesn’t deserve to have it.

No, his grandmother would’ve hated for him to have such pompous thoughts. Andrew leaned on a nearby wall, trying to breathe deeply and slow his racing heart. It wasn’t like him to get so… riled up. Andrew could just imagine it, his grandmother, scolding him. He didn’t hear it, but the shop started to creak even louder, and something deep inside stirred.

“Hello sir! It seems my lamp has attracted your interest,” teased a voice from behind him, sending a jolt down Andrew’s spine, “might I be of any assistance?”

…sinker

“Oh, I didn't mean to startle you darling. Please, please, take a closer look. Don’t let my presence make you uncomfortable.” Andrew spun back, to be greeted by a woman with unwieldy hair. Her Victorian gown rustled with moth-wing whispers, veiling a face with deep red lips and a knowing smile. On her wrist hung a chain, like half of a handcuff, a strange fashion piece and Andrew thought it was too tight. On the breast of her gown, a nametag hung on for dear life. It read “June”.

Of course, the owner had to appear now, and of course, she would look like that. Ugh

“I… was just looking around. I guess the lamp really caught my eye…uh, June.” Andrew offered a sheepish smile, scratching his head. The lady, June, did not reply for a few seconds, just long enough for an awkward void to settle in Andrew’s bones. Just as he was going to open his mouth to excuse himself, she beat him to it.

“I’m sorry, please, touch it. I insist. With how much you stared at it just now, you might as well have.” said Lady June, voice as sweet as honey even when making snide comments. Andrew felt himself blush and couldn't bring himself to say no. A jolt surged through him as his fingers brushed the divine cloth—not pain, but the sterile hum of a spreadsheet auto-correcting. The shop’s whispers stuttered. For a heartbeat, the walls solidified, the void above receding into a popcorn ceiling stained with watermarks. The strange bangle chain around June’s wrist visibly relaxed. He pulled his hand back quickly, pulling the void and the chain back with it.

Andrew panicked. What else was he supposed to do? His world had been shattered countless times today. The left pitcher, the new store, the endless hall and finally, the lamp. The scent of burning coffee filled the air. Elevator music drowned out the beating of his heart, the racing of his mind. The walls bled. Crimson ichor poured from the damp spots in the ceilings and the whole store shuddered. The chain around June’s hand glowed red hot, squeezing her wrist so tightly her hand turned white. The lamp’s frills floated like tentacles, wrapping around his limbs and torso. In that moment, Andrew heard a voice.

Andrew’s grandmother’s voice echoed—79°C, two sugar cubes, stir clockwise. The memory clamped onto the chaos, ironing it flat. The lamp’s frills dulled to mundane floral patterns; the chain around June’s wrist slackened. The shop breathed a sigh of relief.

“An excellent choice, sir. Now will you be paying upfront or through installments?” For a few seconds, all that could be heard was the chirping of birds outside and the heavy breathing.

“No, no, no! What was that, all of that! I… tell me what the hell just happened!”

“Calm down, sir. Now, sign here and here, initials here and the lamp is yours!” June smiled brightly, “I’ll give it to you thirty percent off, terms and conditions apply.”

“What? No, I don’t want the shitty lamp, I want to know what just happened! Stop fucking with me!”

“Language, boy.” June’s face immediately turned sour, “I’ll accept the mess as a side effect of your eagerness but I won’t take disrespect. Now, sign.” Andrew knew he shouldv’e felt afraid, but all he felt was anger. It simmered and sizzled and the smell of burning toast and printer tone filled the air again.

“No.” Andrew said sharply.

“I’m trying to grant you a mercy here. Believe me, you’re worth more to the shop dead than alive.”

“Pass! I’m not selling my soul or whatever else it is you want from me!” Andrew screamed.

“You stubborn little,” June cursed, “Pass? Darling, the shop already tasted your ambition. You bought the, as you called it, shitty lamp the moment you stepped in and touched it. Do you know what happened to the last person to owe me a debt and default? Poor, old Mr Seldfird. I assure you, you’d rather die.”

“You… you… freak! You monster!”

“Ouch, you’re really hurting my feelings here.” said Lady June, snickering. Suddenly, a fleshy, tooth lined and stinking pit appeared behind Andrew. He felt his heart drop as he fell into the hole of cash registers. Then, a strange thing happened. A hand held tightly to his own. In a voice that sounded almost sympathetic, almost earnest, June whispered, “Sign, and you get the lamp. Refuse, and it’ll take more. Last. Chance.” The chain around her wrist crackled. “I have need of you yet.”

There, cast into the bronze metal, glowing an unworldly white; Chiaty’s Law, precision wards disorder.

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