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Something for Everyone – Part III

© Cederwyn Whitefurr

16th October, 2024

All Rights Reserved.

This Week's Writing Challenge: it was quite the find in a thrift store.

At least 1000 words, don't worry if you go over.

Tag all prompts with: WritingGroupChallenge.

Add all prompts to a separate folder.

Put the prompt description at the beginning of your story.

Evan squinted at the shop's name, one brow arched in confusion. The gold-lettered sign looked like it belonged to another era, with a faded, dignified script reading: Something for Everyone. Had he seen this shop before? It was tucked between a boarded-up pharmacy and a bakery that looked like it hadn't been open in a decade or more. Yet, here it was, grandly displaying a “Grand Opening” banner in velvet red, looking entirely out of place on this dingy side street. It was as if the shop had stepped out of another world, its banner crisp and velvety against the backdrop of the dreary, boarded-up pharmacy and abandoned bakery next door.

Around him, shoppers bustled, their conversations mingling and excited. Halloween was just around the corner, a few days in fact, and everyone was getting into the feel of it. Shops were decorated, parties were arranged and orange jack-o-lanterns and other decorations lined the streets, porches and gardens.

He adjusted the plastic bag on his arm, full of last-minute Halloween party supplies, and approached the shop. He hadn't yet settled on a costume and figured he could pick up something here on a whim—the store had lots of vintage-looking clothing and prop jewellery and such, so it might just be the ticket to another successful and enjoyable holiday party.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he ignored it, fixated on the antique-looking display windows full of items that seemed more authentic than the usual Halloween kitsch. Porcelain dolls with haunting eyes, beautifully detailed animal masks, even a set of old Victorian era gloves, faded and well-worn.

A small bell tickled as he pushed the heavy, brass-handled door. The air inside was thick with the scent of aged wood, dust, and something vaguely herbal, like sage, masking something deeper, sharper—a smell he couldn't quite place.

“Just a moment, dear,” came a voice from somewhere in the back, thin and reedy, with the soft gentle yet strangely eerie timbre that made the hairs on his arms prickle into goosebumps. The owner of the voice hadn't appeared, so he took the chance to look around. The store was dimly lit, with lamps in every corner casting a warm but shadow-filled glow over mismatched shelves crammed with curiosities and knickknacks. Books with cracked leather spines, intricate, beautifully carved boxes, and vintage trinkets of all kinds cluttered every available surface.

This place isn't a thrift store, Evan thought to himself. It's more of a junk store...

A small, enclosed rack of costumes caught his attention in the corner. As he approached, he noticed they weren't the typical Halloween fare. No generic witches, vampires or superheroes. Instead, they were detailed costumes resembling animals—wolves, cats, even a rather creepy and menacing-looking raven suit, replete with black eyes and ebony feathered wings. Each suit was incredible, highly detailed and handmade. They looked startlingly lifelike, made from material that looked too plush, too luxurious for a mere costume.

“Something catches your eye, dear?”

Evan jumped and spun around. The woman was ancient, almost as if she had stepped out of a sepia photograph. Her hair, wispy and silver, framed a face of deep lines and paper-thin skin, that had the colour of old parchment. Yet her eyes, her eyes were sharp, bright and unsettlingly observant. She smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes.

“I...I was just looking at the costumes,” he stammered, glancing back at the rack. “They're beautiful... I've never seen anything like them!”

“Ah, you have an eye for quality. Not many do these days,” She walked toward him, moving silently, her hands folded behind her back. “You have a certain... energy about you, if I may say so. Not quite like the other customers I've had.”

He didn't know how to respond to that, so he just politely nodded, trying not to look too easy. “I was looking for a Halloween costume. Nothing specific,” he added quickly, realising how vague he sounded.

“Halloween?” The old crone's voice rose in timbre and pitch. “Oh, child, it's Samhain—the time when the veil thins.... Now, a costume? Hmm...”

She looked him up and down, almost with an unnatural intensity, before she rifled through the suits, sliding the old iron coathangers with an unnerving squeal-like finger on a blackboard.

“Oh, I know just the thing,” she muttered, continuing to shove the costumes aside almost recklessly, her bony fingers quick and surprisingly dexterous. At last, she pulled one off the rack from the very back. “Ah, there you are my dear...”

It was a donkey costume, yet not like anyone he'd ever seen before. The head was delicately moulded, with large, expressive eyes, soft-looking fur, and ears that seemed almost lifelike in the way they tilted forward, as though listening.

“This one,” she said with an air of finality, holding it out for him to examine. “It's just perfect for you.”

He took it gingerly, surprised by how heavy and well-made it felt. The fabric was soft but durable, and there was something almost hypnotic about the glassy eyes staring up at him from the headpiece. It even had matching U-shaped hoof boots to go with it. The longer he looked, the more he could almost imagine those large, expressive eyes blinking, the ears twitching.

“How much is it?” he asked, trying to keep his voice casual.

The old woman cackled and waved a dismissive hand. “A simple exchange, dear. You brightened my day with your energy and life. No money is necessary. I'm an old spinster, living my last days.” Her gaze was intense, grandmotherly, unwavering, and he felt a sudden, inexplicable chill.

“What do you mean?” Evan asked her.

She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Let's just say... the costume will look good on you. It'll take care of itself. Tabhartas air son tabhartais... A gift for a gift.”

He wasn't sure what she meant, but he didn't want to ask and risk insulting her. The costume felt perfect, and a small thrill ran through him at the thought of showing up at the party as something unexpected, something a bit different.

“Alright,” he said, clutching the costume tighter to his chest. “Thank you, I'll take it!”

“Excellent choice,” she whispered, a glint of satisfaction in her eyes. “But remember, dear—once you put it on, it's yours.”

He frowned, thrown by the phrasing of her words. Before he could respond, she shuffled back behind the counter, disappearing behind the velvet curtain, leaving him alone in the dimly lit store. For a moment, he thought about calling out to ask if there was anything else he needed to know, but the words died in his throat. He felt an odd urge to leave, to step back into the sunlight as quickly as possible.

Stepping out onto the pavement, he looked down at the costume in his hands. It felt like it was made just for him, and he couldn't wait to try it on. He was sure it'd be a perfect fit. What were the odds?”

*

Evan arrived at the Halloween party a few hours late, ducking his head as he pushed through the crowded doorway. He'd slipped on the costume in his apartment, and though it was a snug fit, it moved with him like a second skin. The fur felt cool and soft against his skin, and as he tugged the headpiece on over his face, he was startled to feel like he had a wider vision than normal. He felt a strange thrill ripple through him. It was so lifelike, it almost felt real.

“Evan? That's... something,” His friend Rachel called out, raising her drink and laughing as he walked in. “You're a... donkey?”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he replied, giving an exaggerated bray and pawing at the ground with a foot, playing up the role.

The party was in full swing, people laughing and drinking, music thumping so loud it rattled his bones. But as the night wore on, he started to feel strange. The suit clung to him in a way that was almost... stifling. He tried to pull off the headpiece once or twice, but each time, his fingers seemed to fumble, unable to find a grip or purchase.

Evan stumbled outside for some fresh air, clawing at the collar of the costume, but the zipper wouldn't budge. A prickle of unease slithered down his spine. As he tugged, a chill seeped into his hands, numbing his fingers until they felt thick and clumsy. He pulled the gloves off the suit, panic flickered through him as he stared down in disbelief—his fingers were swelling, stiffening, skin darkening to an unnatural shade, and his nails... hardening, stretching into thick, rough keratin.

No, no, this isn't right, he thought, chest tight with mounting dread. His fingers curled, unresponsive, like they were no longer his own. He could feel his skin shifting, tightening over the bones beneath as a soft, bristly fur began to spread over his arms, crawling upward, engulfing him inch by inch. It felt as if he was being stitched into the suit from the inside out, his very flesh warping to match the costume.

A strange pressure built in his face, his jaw ached as his skull reshaped itself, elongating into something alien, something wrong. He tried to cry out, but the sound that escaped his throat was a guttural, animalistic bray, leaving his voice unrecognizable. His breaths came fast and shallow as the fur crept up his neck, his ears stretching, shifting upward, twitching to the sounds he wasn't used to hearing.

What's happening to me? His mind reeled, his thoughts spiralling into panic as he reached up to feel his face. His fingers—or what was left of them—touched a cool, damp surface, and his heart lurched. His nose, his entire face, was no longer human. It was longer, covered in coarse fur, his breath misting in the night air as it huffed through his new, unyielding snout.

He stumbled forward, his legs trembling beneath him as the transformation moved downward, his thighs thickening, knees buckling as bone reshaped, contorting painfully. His feet, once familiar, were now unrecognizable—hooves, solid and unfeeling, clattering against the concrete with each shaky step.

The worst was yet to come.

As the transformation completed its descent, he felt a strange, foreign warmth settle in his lower abdomen. With mounting horror, he reached between his legs, expecting to find the reassuring firmness of his masculinity. Instead, his fingers brushed against unfamiliar, soft flesh—warm and slick, an abhorrent betrayal of his former self. His mind froze, revolted by the stark absence of what made him...him.

No... please, no... A nauseating dread churned in his stomach, his whole body rebelling at the betrayal of everything he'd known. He wanted to scream, to somehow reverse whatever curse this was, but another mournful bray escaped him, high and trembling, as his hands clenched over the smooth, alien warmth. He was... different now, his body unmistakably feminine in a way that twisted his sense of self into something grotesque, something wrong.

In the moonlight, his reflection in a puddle confirmed his worst fears. He saw a jenny—a donkey with round, feminine features and long, elegant lashes. His face was not his own; it was hers. His hands released his groin in horror, trembling with disgust that surged up from the pit of his stomach.

He stumbled, a cold sweat breaking out as he felt a hand press down on the nape of his neck, stroking his bristly made. Evan brayed in terror, trying to twist away, but a halter snapped over his muzzle, and he found himself being led by a taut, insistent rope. Blinking through fear-clouded eyes, he looked up, only to see the same old crone who had gifted him the costume. Her gaze bore down on him, sharp and unyielding as she tightened her grip on the lead.

From behind her mask, he could hear the faint, sinister laughter—soft, almost melodic, yet bone-chilling. The crone's face rippled, her features shifting like melting wax before settling into a human, a young male human, a twisted mockery of what he had lost.

As the moon bore witness to his fate, he realised that he had not only lost his body but his very essence, becoming an unwilling part of the crone's twisted magicks.

The woman's voice echoed in his mind.

Something for everyone, her voice hung in the air, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. A gift for a gift...

As the town clock struck midnight, Evan knew with a sinking certainty that he would never be the same again.

As she stepped back into the darkness, drawing him in after her, the two of them vanished like wraiths beneath the cold, pitiless gaze of the moon.

“I've never had a jenny before... you, my sweet, shall be my first...” Came the last whispers, before silence settled over the backyard once more.

END