Dare!

The shop stood towards the end of Lyle Street, lurking behind the
old blacksmith's like a thief in the shadows. Hundreds of people passed
this way every day, oblivious to its existence. Indeed, only by a
chance recommendation did Samuel and his father trouble themselves to
find it, tracing their way along the alleyway that led to the shop
front.
Cautiously treading the frost-dusted cobblestones, they followed the
alley until it turned out into a tiny courtyard. The mill and bustle of
the street decayed behind them, the surrounding solid stone houses
shielding both sound and light to create an atmosphere that was hushed
and shadowy. Against the raging river of the main street, this was but
a tranquil pool. But the shop was indeed here, in dusty existence as if
untouched for a thousand years.
The two of them stopped to gaze; there was an intense aura about the
place. Samuel's eyes settled on the sign above the door, the decorated
gold letterwork aged but intact. It read:
"Peculiar Charms - Proprietor: M. J. Chiswick".
For a reason Samuel couldn't quite put his finger on, he felt
trepidation as they approached the shop. The sensation was that of
entering a hallowed place; it felt necessary to be silent and
dignified. He gingerly followed his father's sure footfall and,
together, they stepped inside. Only the soft shudder of the closing
door declared their arrival, a sound almost offensive in the stony
silence.
The shop extended perhaps thirty feet, though on all sides and across
the floor were items stacked and thrust into every nook so that the
room bore down oppressively upon the onlooker. Both sets of eyes
flickered about the room, touching upon item after item. From the far
wall a tiger's mounted head stood proud, teeth bared in wild animal
fury. To one side lay decorative cases randomly stacked, lined with
fine silks and inlaid with gold. Bronze statuettes and an amulet,
engraved with mysterious and disturbing symbols, caught Samuel's eye.
The scene was breathtaking.

"Good morning!" a voice declared from the shadows, startling them both.
As their eyes adjusted in the gloom, a slender figure became visible
behind the counter: a gaunt, middle-aged man with hands clasped peering
disconcertingly at them. Samuel wondered if the shopkeeper had been
there the whole time. As curious as his merchandise, he was surely
perfectly camouflaged.
"Can I be of assistance?" he asked, eyeing them warily.

Samuel was relieved to hear his father reply. "My good man, I hope so.
My name is Asquith. I am hoping to locate some furniture from the dark
continent and I am told your establishment is worthy of visit."

"Aah," the shopkeeper hissed, making a sound like a death rattle. He
crept out from around the counter in a smooth, almost serpentine
manner, a moist pink tongue peeping through his teeth to touch his
lips. Samuel felt the sensation of being stalked. "Certainly, I can
provide a service as befits your needs, Mr. Asquith. Are you looking
for a particular item?"

Samuel listened patiently for a while as the two became engrossed in
business. Then, growing bored of their talk, the shop's contents once
more caught his attention. He skulked into a corner where several
conspicuous items, peculiar trinkets and ornaments strewn across a
large carved wooden chest, lured him in. He bent lower, captivated by
the secret and ancient code of their mysterious runes and markings,
wondering which mysterious faraway island they had come from. One item
in particular took Samuel's fancy: a small human skull, eye-sockets
filled with molten swirls of emerald glass, enticed him with its
ghastliness. The manner in which it captured even the dim shop light
delighted him and he wondered at how those eyes would sparkle outside
in the sunlight. Nervously reaching forward, he dared himself to touch
it, sure that when he did so, an incredible mystical power would
transfer to his fingers.

He touched it.

Something jolted him hard and he gasped, but it was no voodoo magic.
Instead, the shopkeeper appeared from nowhere to snatch his wrist with
a surprisingly vice-like grip. Samuel's eyes opened wide in fear and he
shot a glance upwards into the eyes of his captor, immediately wishing
he hadn't. It was like staring at the devil himself: hypnotic eyes that
pierced him like hot skewers. The glare served its purpose, Samuel
mentally vowing never again to touch anything in this shop; in any
shop.
Unable to break the shopkeeper's stare, he could only listen
desperately to Father muttering in the background, absorbed in
catalogues and artefacts. "Fascinating! I particularly like the design
of this African table. I wonder - how long would it take to import it?"
Samuel wanted to scream so that Father would come running but he didn't
dare breathe. As the ever-tightening grip became so painful that Samuel
thought he must cry out, Father thankfully turned around and the
shopkeeper instantly released him, his face reverting to its charming
grin as if nothing had ever happened. Still shaking, Samuel knew he
must look as white as a sheet, but that would be disguised within the
shop's gloom.
"I would like to order the table and chairs and the items we discussed,
Mr. Chiswick," Father announced, oblivious to the fearful glances his
son was giving him.

"Excellent," the shopkeeper replied. "So, to the matter of payment
then? Perhaps the boy would rather.....wait outside?" He shot Samuel
another curiously malevolent glance.

"Yes, indeed. Samuel, wait outside. I won't be more than five
minutes."

"Yes, Father," Samuel answered, blinking away tears. He hurried out,
closing the door quickly behind him, and filled his lungs with the
cool, sweet air. His wrist was sore now; pulling back his sleeve it was
clearly bruised and raw. He winced at the pain then, remembering Father
was still inside, peered back through the murky window glass.
Everything seemed quite normal: he could see the two men were busy
finalising their business.
As he looked on, someone tapped him smartly on the shoulder. Still
disturbed by his encounter with the shopkeeper, he spun around too
quickly and slung himself against the wall, expecting to face a
pickpocket or cut-throat. He was right the first time - a pickpocket,
but a friendly face too. Father would have beaten him to within an inch
of his life had he known about Joseph, the local beggar boy who Samuel
often sneaked out of the house to play wild games with.

"Joseph! You scared the life out of me!"

The other boy grinned, yellowing teeth beaming out from a dirty face
and a crazy mop of tangled hair. "A'right, Sam?" he quizzed, providing
Samuel with a friendly slap. "What yer doing?"

"Oh, just locating furniture for the house with Father," Samuel replied
sheepishly, gesturing at the shop with his thumb. It didn't quite seem
a relevant topic of discussion with a homeless boy.

"Oh, very nice for you," came the expected reply. Then his face took on
a more sombre appearance. "You been in there, with 'im?" he whispered,
gesturing at the window.

"What, in the shop? Yes, but I don't care much for the shopkeeper.
Sinister gentleman." If Joseph had seen fit to mention him then it
wasn't only Samuel's imagination that he was as curious as his shop. No
sooner had he opened his mouth to pry more information than he heard
Father's voice and the approach of footsteps.
"Quick, get off with you! Father's coming!" Samuel barked, thrusting a
bright new penny into the other boy's hand. Joseph winked and scuttled
around the corner. As the shop door creaked open, Joseph stopped and
cried back, "Meet you on the main street tomorrow morning?", but before
Samuel could answer he was gone.
Walking side by side with his father, they strolled back along the
alley, Samuel already plotting his excuse to be out of the house next
morning.

*********

Samuel rose early and left soon after breakfast, under the guise of
playing in the woods. His parents, busy with their own affairs as
usual, suspected nothing.
Once out of sight of the house, he skipped along the street towards
town, taking rough kicks at loose pebbles to send them spinning into
the long grass. He grinned to himself and inhaled the warm spring air,
at last feeling alive. He longed to leave the clutches of his parents
and the constraints of his well-mannered life. It wasn't that he didn't
appreciate what he had, but there were times when he had to escape and
find some excitement. He was only truly happy roaming the alleyways
with Joseph, experiencing a taste of danger.
The walk into town took half an hour but in his eagerness, Samuel made
it in ten. Out of breath from running, he walked the last few yards to
the alleyway. Joseph was already there, of course; the white of his
eyes the only visible feature as he stood in the shadows. He waved in
recognition and Samuel jogged over to meet him.

"Thanks for the penny, Sam," Joseph grinned, cautiously holding up
yesterday's coin to watch it glint in the sunlight, as if it was a
magnificent gold doubloon. "I've still got it, see?" he beamed. Samuel
smiled in reply, feeling just a little satisfied with himself. He
watched as Joseph glanced about, then stashed the coin in a deep pocket
as if he expected it to be stolen at any moment. "So, what shall we do
then?"

Samuel always had something prepared for the time they spent together.
Dipping into his own pockets he produced a bag of marbles, always a
source of fascination for Joseph who found delight in the multitude of
colours and patterns. To him, they were precious stones, diamonds and
sapphires.
They spent the next hour competing in the side streets, Joseph
insisting on cleaning the marbles determinedly before they returned to
Samuel's pocket. There was an air of contentment, each boy dismissing
his own problems just for a while. But with the marbles collected up
and their enthusiasm drained, the time had come to find a better
game.

"What now?" Samuel asked.

Joseph shrugged. They stood and stared blankly at each other, until the
image of the alleyway behind them seemed to spark a thought, Joseph's
mouth widening into a beaming grin. "How 'bout a game of dare?" he
exclaimed.

Samuel pondered this. It sounded like adventure. "Okay then, dare it
is!"

"Right," Joseph said slyly. "I'll go first. It's got to be something
worth daring, and it's got to be something that'll test yer. So, you've
got to go into Chiswick's shop and bring something out, to prove you've
been inside, right?"

Samuel's face blanched in recollection of the sinister reptilian man
that lurked inside. It was the worst possible dare he could imagine,
yet it smacked of adrenaline and excitement. "Okay," he reluctantly
agreed, "but I won't steal anything. If Father found out, I'd get the
beating of my life."

"No, you don't have to steal nuffin' important, it only has to be a
piece of paper or something, just to prove you've done it. And I'll
keep a look out for you."
Joseph was insistent, his bright eyes wide and expression agitated in
anticipation of the danger. Samuel thought long and hard, then nodded,
and Joseph grinned again. "Come on, quick, up 'ere. No-one ever comes
down this alley anyway, so he won't be expecting us."
They scurried over the cobbles keeping to the shadows, Samuel following
close behind Joseph. Samuel's mind whirred as he moved, plotting a
likely defence should he be caught. If the shopkeeper spots me, he
thought, I'll tell him I'm bringing a message from Father about the
furniture. It seemed a reasonable idea, but didn't prevent his heart
from thumping his chest like a trapped wild animal.
Reaching the edge of the courtyard, Joseph stopped and put his finger
to his lip, issuing a shhh. He poked his head tentatively around the
corner-brick of the shop wall to ensure it was clear. Samuel watched in
admiration at the boy's skill. Father was right, he was a common thief,
but what choice did he have?
Joseph beckoned Samuel forward and they stood side by side, breathing
rapidly but silently. "What do I do now?" Samuel asked doubtfully.
Despite the excitement he was beginning to have second thoughts, but it
was too late to back out now. It was a test of their friendship and a
chance to show Joseph he wasn't just a spoilt rich boy.

"I'll stay here. Duck low under the window so he can't see you, then
peep through the pane to see where he is. If it's clear, push the door
and creep in quietly. Then make your move as quick as lightning but
don't knock anything over. I'll be waiting outside for you." Joseph
gave a sideways nod, urging him on. "Go on, then! What are you waiting
fer?"

Samuel gulped. Precariously poised, his heart urged him onward though
his mind was filled with images of his Father giving him a
belt-lashing. He might have remained a statue forever had Joseph not
given him a hefty shove in the back. Then he was off, the momentum of
the push carrying him forward past the point of no return.
His mind working furiously, he tried to remember Joseph's words as he
skidded into a kneeling position underneath the green painted
windowsill, his knees grazing the grimy cobbles. Breathless not through
running but blind terror, his heart providing drum-roll accompaniment,
he gingerly raised his head to the corner of the window, just enough to
peep inside.

Nothing.

The shop lay quiet as the grave, with no sign of the peculiar
shopkeeper nor any enquiring customers. Like Joseph said, no-one ever
came this way. He stole a glance back at his friend, whose wide urging
eyes said it all. Taking one last look through the window corner, he
scrambled to the door and cautiously twisted the handle.
Creeping inside, he meticulously closed the door, praying it would be
silent. It was. A feeling of dread washed over him and he gulped
nervously, having just closed off his exit. But this was no time to be
standing still - the sooner he took something, the sooner he could
leave again.
Eyes darting frantically around the shop, he attempted to select
something suitable. Something small and insignificant, something of
little value. Something the shopkeeper wouldn't notice.....like.....the
ink blot!
At the counter stood a quill and ink, and next to it an ink blotting
pad. Perfect. Sure that the shop was empty, he stalked on tip-toes
across the room, eyes fixed upon the counter and the office door behind
it. Surely if someone moved at the back of the shop, he would hear
their approach?
It seemed to take forever to reach the counter. If the shopkeeper
appeared now, he would have no more than a guilty conscience to contend
with. But once he'd taken the pad.....what possible excuse could he
have? He hadn't thought of that.
He reached out trembling fingers until they made contact with paper.
Gulping, he begged his heart to slow down. It was cold inside the shop,
but sweat had begun to form on his brow. He had the blot in his grasp
now and it terrified him - he felt, for the first time, like a
thief.

He had to move swiftly.

All thoughts of caution discarded in his desperation to escape, he
dashed almost carelessly across the shop floor, eyes fixed on the
welcoming sight of bright morning sunshine outside. It still seemed to
take forever, but he reached the door at a trot and neatly opened it.
Almost there. Once outside, he closed it perhaps carelessly and
breathed a sigh of relief, the same feeling of asphyxiation bearing
down upon him as he'd felt on his first visit. Being inside was like
being at the bottom of the ocean: it felt as if he'd held his breath
all the way to the counter and back.
Feeling enormously satisfied with himself now he'd calmed down, he took
a final glance through the window pane. He even allowed himself a wry
smile - he'd done it! Yet, just as he headed for Joseph at the corner,
something shifted in the corner of his eye and it stopped him dead. He
took a hesitant step backwards and peeped again. Nothing.

"What are yer waiting for?" Joseph hissed, making Samuel jump. Looking
flustered, he ran to join Joseph and thrust the ink blot into the boy's
eager hand.
"Ha, I'm impressed! You could 'ave nicked something worth a bit, mind -
I can't sell this for more 'n a penny."

"It's not about making a profit, Joseph. You dared me and I've proved
myself," Samuel replied, confident in himself now that he had escaped
in one piece. "And anyway, if you want something valuable, you can find
it yourself - when you go inside and take something."

"Eh?" Joseph replied, his face visibly paling despite the dirt.

"Yes, Joseph. I've done it and now you've got to. Or are you scared of
that shopkeeper after all?" He felt empowered now he could jeer rather
than be jeered at.

"Right, I'll do it," Joseph replied defiantly. He certainly wasn't
going to be upstaged by some privileged schoolboy. "I can do this with
me eyes closed. It's second nature to me, you'll see."
Then he was off. Whispering to Samuel to watch the alleyway, he found
the same hiding place under the window sill, only his movements were
far slicker - much more skilful. Samuel couldn't help but be impressed
and as a result he didn't pay much attention to the alleyway.
Joseph peered through the window too, ducking and bobbing from one side
to the other to ensure he could see every corner of the shop. Without
pause, he leapt to the shop door and prised it open without so much as
a creak, then he was inside and out of sight.
Samuel then remembered his duty and gave a fleeting glance at the
alleyway and the house behind the courtyard. All clear. Suddenly,
though, this didn't seem like such a bright idea. At his feet lay the
ink blot, which amounted to stolen goods. If Father ever found out, he
would get such a hiding that he wouldn't walk for a week, that was for
certain. Life wouldn't be worth living.

The minutes ticked by.

He glanced at his wristwatch nervously and tapped his foot on the
cobbles. Considering Joseph's adept thieving skills and his unobtrusive
entrance, he was taking a remarkably long time to steal something.
Samuel hoped he wasn't choosing something really valuable. After all,
it would be like a treasure trove to a beggar boy like Joseph. The
temptation would surely be there to take just a little too long,
finding an item that he could sell for more money than he'd made in his
entire short life.
"Come on," Samuel muttered under his breath. His turn in the shop had
been terrifying. Yet waiting anxiously here seemed far worse.

*********

Inside the shop, one particular item had drawn Joseph's attention. He
didn't know its true value, but this particular statuette was studded
with gemstones and that was good enough for him. Greedy eyes fixed on
its glitter as he snapped out rapid fingers to clasp it by the head and
pull it under his coat. Except, half-way to burying it within his
ragged overcoat, a pair of hands struck from nowhere to fix him to the
spot with a fearsome strength.
"How did you.....!" Joseph managed, his eyes ripe and wide in
astonishment that he hadn't heard the approach. The rest of his words
failed to emerge from his open mouth.
Instead, there came an agonising, petrifying scream that sent
shockwaves through Samuel as he stood at the street corner. He
shuddered, resonating at the sound, thoughts seesawing between
assisting and deserting Joseph. Finally, he started towards the shop
but the continued and agonising shrieking unsteadied him and he
stopped.
His train of thought terminated as the shop door exploded wide.
Simultaneously the scream ceased as if extinguished by the inrush of
air. Samuel staggered back towards the alley, still facing the shop,
still watching. Like a violent eruption, the shopkeeper burst onto the
courtyard, his face enraged and swollen, eyes bloody-veined and wide.
Gripped round the neck between his taut fingers was Joseph, his face
ripening with blood as his throat was squeezed. Had the grip been any
harder, the boy would surely have burst in a bloody, eye-popping
explosion.
In the shopkeeper's haste he managed to sprawl headlong, face-flat onto
the cobbles, hands and knees skidding painfully, though somehow he
managed to maintain a grasp of Joseph.
It was desperate. Samuel watched as the fearsome man looked the wrong
way as he searched for an accomplice. Any second now he would turn the
other way and Samuel would be frozen by that glare. Not waiting to see,
he turned and sprinted down the alleyway as fast as his legs would
carry him. Whether he'd been seen or not, he didn't know, but the
shopkeeper knew that Joseph hadn't been alone. Could that mean he saw
Samuel in the shop? Right now, he didn't care. He ran, not daring to
look back until, almost fit to vomit, he'd reached halfway home.

*********

At supper, Samuel barely touched his soup, only the clink of spoons
breaking the uneasy silence. Despite a disapproving glare from Father,
he escaped to his room where he dwelt all evening upon the day's
events. Try as he might, he only succeeded in feeling guilty at leaving
Joseph, yet he couldn't think what better course of action he might
have taken. And now, if he confessed to Father, he would never be
forgiven. There would be beatings to come, and worse than that, Father
would deem it good riddance that Joseph was in trouble.
No. Undoubtedly, the shopkeeper would have given the boy a hiding and
then hauled him straight to the constabulary by his ear, and Samuel
knew the code of conduct well enough to know that Joseph wouldn't tell
on a friend. He would probably end up in borstal, but that had never
stopped him before. And when he escaped, there might be opportunity to
make amends.

*********

The next morning Samuel passed the alley corner on his way to school.
Normally, Joseph would be stood there, just to thumb his nose or shout
hello. Today, the pavement was conspicuously empty and Samuel's heart
sank.
He stopped by on the way home too, and every morning and evening after
that for an entire month. Belief that Joseph had simply been locked up
and would soon reappear faded with each day's passing. As time passed
and the fear softened, he steeled himself to nip down the alley and
enter the shop once more, to ask the shopkeeper what had happened to
Joseph. But he could never bring himself to do it.
Then, six weeks after the incident and just as Samuel had managed to
sleep comfortably, he arrived home from school to discover Father
standing proudly by the closed study door, Mother stood eagerly by his
side.

"Ah, just in time!" he announced, his eyes wide like a child's on
Christmas morning. "I have a surprise for you both." With that, he
turned and opened the door to the study to reveal nothing but curtains
drawn to darkness. Guiding them in, he stood the intrigued pair to one
side of the room where they listened to him stumble across to the
curtains to fling them wide.
Mother gasped in astonishment, her hands flying to her face to cover
her open mouth. In the centre of the room stood a magnificent table and
six intricately carved chairs, the most beautiful and remarkable items
of furniture any of them had ever seen. Then to one side lay various
ornaments, carvings and pictures, stacked in crates. Samuel instantly
recognised them as the items Father had ordered from the shop. Having
managed to put it all to the back of his mind, he hadn't expected this
to be the surprise at all and it was difficult to disguise his
discomfort. His face simply paled, but Mother sauntered delightedly
about the room, examining the carvings and quizzing Father on such
matters as their origin and whether they could invite friends around to
flaunt their fancy new furniture.

"Not impressed, Samuel?" Father asked, vexed by the cool reaction.
Samuel shrugged. "Perhaps, then, this might stir you." Stepping around
the table, he moved over to a wooden crate pushed into the corner.
Then, bending down, he beckoned Samuel over. The reluctant boy
conceded, crossing the room to stand by the crate that stood almost as
tall as he.
It was clear Father had already prised open the crate, as the front
panel was only loosely fixed and he easily removed it with his fingers,
holding it deliberately in front of his son to prevent him from seeing
inside. "Mr Chiswick had this delivered as a little extra, especially
for you," Father stated proudly, winking.
Samuel's head seemed to be filling with blood, making his ears ring.
What was this - a trick? Had the shopkeeper really seen him that day,
or had he, ironically, sent a gift to the very boy who stole from
him?
He watched in trepidation as Father withdrew the wooden panel and as he
lifted it aside Samuel saw what it had concealed. At the base of the
crate lay a small wooden box, but more conspicuously there stood a
splendid carved wooden chair that appeared the ideal size for a boy of
Samuel's height.
"It's a chair, for you," Father said, as if he didn't think Samuel had
ever seen one before. "Very generous of him, I might add. You will go
and thank him tomorrow." Samuel stared at it. What was this? Nothing
sinister, but simply a chair, and rather a fine one at that. He watched
as Father removed it carefully and stood it in front of him, motioning
his son to try it. It couldn't do any harm to try it. Gently, he sat
down upon the chair. It was the perfect height for him and remarkably
comfortable. He ran his fingers across the leather, feeling its fine
texture, playing with the stitching.
"Apparently, it's calf leather - the finest!" Father said dramatically,
feeling too the back of the chair and its comfortable softness.

"You mean.....the skin of a calf?" Samuel questioned, a dark thought,
though not yet a conscious one, stirring in his soul. His hands ceased
their stroking.

"Yes, my son," Father laughed. "You might think it unpleasant, but what
a sensation to the touch! Fashioned from finest calf leather and arms
inlaid with ivory, slender stems polished to a lustre. Isn't it
stunning?" Unable to contain himself, Father demonstrated the detail to
both wife and son.

Samuel scrutinised both the chair and the slivers of bone that
decorated it. The dark and growing thought gnawed at the edge of his
consciousness but he denied it. It couldn't be.
He shifted on the chair and something pressed against the base of his
spine. A queasy, dreadful feeling rose in his gut and he swivelled his
weight off the chair, grasping at the stitching to trace the bulge
between his fingertips, its form hidden beneath the soft leather.

"Samuel, what are you doing? That chair is worth a great deal of
money!" Father protested, but the boy was already at the stitching, so
expertly and meticulously sewn. He tore at it frantically so that the
leather ripped enough for him to thrust his fingers beneath, to find
that item. And as his fingers grasped it, he hardly needed to see what
it was, it's shape alone identifying it instantly. Still, he removed it
and held it out with trembling fingers.
It couldn't be, but it was. Sinking to his knees, the gleaming new
penny slid from his fingers to bounce and spin across the floor and he
screamed, the anguish and pain of unimaginable nightmares.