Everything shifted for a moment, losing sharpness. Andrew barely kept his footing. For a second the sitting room flashed before his eyes, wrapped in thick, living darkness. The vision snapped off, leaving only the heavy thud of his heart.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Veronica’s voice yanked him back.

  He turned. Veronica peered into the shadows between the shelves, where the stranger’s silhouette had just flickered.

  “Nothing…” Andrew muttered, rubbing his chest.

  He blinked, and the space before him shifted. From the depths of the shop emerged the shopkeeper: silver gleamed in his beard under the lamp light, and the ring on his hand stirred. The red stone breathed with inner heat. The old man stood motionless, studying the visitors with interest.

  “Good day, young explorers. How may I be of service?”

  Andrew fought the urge to step back. The man tugged at him — caught on invisible threads inside. It had happened before: when Grandfather crossed the threshold, or when something cracked in his father and became foreign. Then he had not understood, only doubled over in pain. Now the feeling did not strike — it pulsed deep and insistent.

  From the shopkeeper came a sense of otherness: too even a smile, too calm and piercing a gaze.

  Veronica narrowed her eyes.

  “We’re looking for something special.”

  The shopkeeper’s smile widened slightly.

  “Then you’ve come to the right place.”

  He flicked a switch. Copper light spread through the shop. It did not banish the dimness — it sharpened the thick shadows and forced the objects to reveal their secrets.

  Shelves stood packed with statuettes, books in worn bindings, boxes with unfamiliar patterns. Racks loomed like stone vaults. Andrew paused at an old compass: the needle jerked, changing direction without reason.

  “Take your time. I’ll be nearby,” the shopkeeper said and melted into the depths of the shop.

  They were alone. Andrew took the bird from his pocket and held it next to a similar figurine. The clay body in his palm quivered faintly.

  “Do you see this?” he whispered.

  Veronica ran her finger over the patterns.

  “She… reacts to these signs,” she replied. “But hers are different. Look.”

  They leaned closer. Two different drawings, but each seemed a piece of one shattered ornament.

  “We can’t leave her here,” Andrew said, staring at the elegant lines.

  “I see you’ve found what you were looking for,” a calm voice said behind them.

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  Andrew flinched. The shopkeeper stood close, as if he had never left.

  “We’ll take this bird,” Andrew breathed, holding out money.

  “Wait here,” the shopkeeper said. “I’ll prepare the purchase.”

  He smiled and vanished again among the tall cabinets.

  Minutes dragged. He did not return.

  “Where did he go?” Andrew frowned.

  “No idea… weird guy,” Veronica said. “Maybe we should just leave?”

  Andrew shook his head.

  “You really want to walk away? Where else will you see so much at once?”

  He gestured around the room.

  “No way! We should at least figure out where he went.”

  Veronica sighed heavily.

  They moved along the shelves, deeper into the shop. At every turn the gloom quivered faintly, as if the air listened to them.

  A brief gleam flashed on one shelf. Andrew stepped behind some crates and froze. Ahead stood a massive oak door with a snake-shaped handle, emerald eyes glinting. He touched the wood. Cold bit his fingers. From beyond the door came a rustle, like uneven breathing.

  “Veronica, come here,” he called.

  She approached, eyeing the door warily.

  “Probably the staff entrance,” she said. “Looks like it.”

  Andrew reached for the handle, but the door did not budge. He ran his palm over the carving, searching for a hidden lock. Nothing.

  “Let’s go,” Veronica breathed.

  Andrew lowered his hands and turned. They took a few steps back toward the main room, and at that moment the bird in his pocket scorched his skin. He stopped, rubbing his thigh. Behind them came a long creak.

  The heavy oak panel began to open slowly. The boards groaned, stretching the silence. Beyond the threshold lay thick darkness, nothing visible inside.

  “Could that be the shopkeeper?” Veronica whispered.

  “Only one way to find out,” Andrew said, staring into the black.

  They stepped closer. Cold poured from the opening. In the depths something rustled, but the sound slipped away the moment they breathed.

  Veronica brushed dust from a crooked sign above the frame.

  “‘No Admittance’,” she read.

  Andrew gave a crooked smile.

  “We were looking for something unusual. Looks like it found us first.”

  Veronica pressed her lips together. Every curve of the door felt like a trap. But she knew: if she backed out, Andrew would go in alone.

  “Fine,” she said. “Together.”

  They crossed the threshold. Darkness met them with silence. Soon dim lamps flickered overhead. A narrow corridor, streaked with tiny cracks, led them forward. The children moved without a word.

  A patch of light appeared ahead. A massive candelabrum cast wavering reflections on columns and ceiling. The air smelled of old paper and damp.

  The room opened suddenly. Shelves rose high, vanishing in the gloom. Book after book, spines whispering at the slightest draught.

  “Wow…” Andrew could only say.

  Veronica approached the oak table in the centre. On it lay a map covered in silver dashes. Lines flowed, rearranging, sketching strange lands. She stared: the drawing changed right before her eyes. The map did not show — it remembered.

  “This isn’t our world,” Veronica said. “There’s not one familiar place.”

  Andrew leaned in to look.

  The fire in the candelabrum tensed. Shadows stretched upward. At that moment something thin brushed his hand.

  “Do you feel that?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Veronica whispered. “But I don’t understand what.”

  The rustling grew stronger. The walls seemed to breathe, the air growing heavier. Behind them the door slammed with a dull thud. Dust sifted from the ceiling. One shelf swayed and nudged Veronica in the side. She cried out and dropped to her knees. Her fingers slid over spines. The books stirred and strained toward her palm.

  “We’re leaving,” she gasped.

  Andrew caught her elbow. His heart hammered in his throat, but beneath the fear another feeling rose: everything — the bird, the door, the room — had led him here.

  “If we run now,” he said, “we’ll never know why we were brought here.”

  Veronica wanted to argue, but the words would not come.

  The rustling suddenly stopped. Dust hanging in the candelabrum’s beams froze, then began to flow slowly into one point.

  Shadows detached themselves from the book spines. Grey ash gathered into tall, faceless figures. The silhouettes glided forward silently, closing the circle.

  The space contracted. The exit behind them dissolved into silver mist.