(ZANE)
This is the very reason why I hate dating. The thought crosses my mind as I sit across from Adrian, a guy I met on a dating app.
In his profile, it said he wanted a real connection, and somebody with whom he could laugh and be himself with.
Well, I caught him staring at the waiter's ass for the sixth time in a span of twenty minutes. I assume that he is nothing but a pig in disguise. And that 'real connection' he supposedly wanted, he can shove it up his ass.
"You're alright?" Adrian finally asks when he remembers I―his date, exists.
"Actually," I say, pulling out my wallet and tossing just about enough bills on the table to pay for my portion of the meal. "I'm gonna head home. I think I'm getting a migraine."
"Oh," he says, not sounding too upset about it. His gaze is already trailing the waiter's bubble butt as he adds, "I hope you feel better soon."
"Thanks." Asshole.
I shiver as I walk out of the restaurant and head for the car in the parking lot. The April night has a slight chill, and for a moment, I regret not wearing more than just a light sweater. I can't wait for the summer.
Once I get into my car, I crank up the heater and pull out my phone, blocking Adrian's number. I end up deleting the dating app too. There is no point in trying so much anymore.
Today is the seventh bad date that I have had in the past three months. And that doesn't include the dozen or so other guys who I have talked to online and never met. They all turn out to be jerks who are just thirsty for a piece of ass. Any attempts to have a deeper conversation with them only ended up with them asking for dick pics.
I had barely eaten anything at the restaurant and now, I am practically starving. Over the past one month, I have been on a diet in an attempt to shed a few pounds. But as I leave the parking lot, I say fuck it and stop for salty fries and a cheeseburger.
Bad dates call for me to eat my feelings up. Completely justifiable. My emergency tub if the mint chocolate ice cream in my freezer is calling me too.
CGA antiques sits on the edge of the town, the brick building dating back to the early 1900s. Some people say it is haunted. However the only thing haunting the shop is me. I own the shop, and I live in the loft above it.
For generations, the antique store has been in my family. At one time, it became more than just an antique shop and more of a curiosities shop with supposed cursed items and all manner of strange and unusual things. My grandfather switched gears however, and started collecting antique furniture and jewellery.
But once I took over, I went back to our original roots, venturing back into the strange objects. I still sell high quality items, but the weird ones which are insanely popular right now. It pulls in the younger crowds and keeps the store going.
I park in the lot behind the shop and enter through the backdoor. As I trudge up the stairs to my loft, I shove some of the fries into my mouth, groaning at the crispy salty taste of them.
Oh, how I missed carbs.
My house is nothing fancy, but at least, it is a home. The big open room has high windows and ceilings lining up one wall. The kitchen is to the left, small but functional with a refrigerator and a stove. Instead of a table, I have an island with a barstool. My bed is tight on the far end with a curtain that separates it from the living room area. The only room with a door is the bathroom.
I kick off my shoes as I head to the couch to eat while I watch a documentary on the history channel about angels and demons. After a while, I zone out and my mind begins to replay the events of my stupid date with Adrian.
Why couldn't he give me half the attention he gave the water?
I may not have a perfectly toned body, but I know I am a decent looking guy. My best feature is my smile, and my hazel eyes. And while I am a bit introverted when I first meet somebody, I have a good personality once I get comfortable.
But I doubt guys like Adrian give two shits about personality.
I sleep at around ten then wake up hours later with a crick in my neck. An episode of ancient aliens is now on. I leave the TV on fir background noise then crawl onto my bed before passing out again.
My alarm goes off at six thirty in the morning. I take a quick shower and brush my teeth before heading downstairs to sign a shipment of inventory. The delivery guy helps me to carry the crates to the storage room at the back and as soon as he leaves, I begin to go through them.
When I bought them from the auction, I went pretty much blind, receiving just a little bit of information before the bids were placed. They had come from some huge mansion a few miles outside of town. All of the high dollar items were already auctioned off and the rest of the crates were all lumped together in a sort of everything must go type of deal.
Each of the crates came with an inventory list and a basic description. I pull out a lamp and a collection of depression glass bowls, along with a nineteenth century oval mirror that looks creepy as hell. It fits the spooky atmosphere of my shop. I'm sure that it will sell quickly.
"Anything good?"
I turn around and meet Dante. He has a red beanie pulled over his black hair, and he is wearing a pair of blue contacts. Black liner surrounds the rim of his eyes, and part of his tattoo can be seen jutting from the collar of his shirt, curving around the base of his neck. I have never seen the whole tattoo, but it looks like some kind of a tree.
"This is cool." I hold up the creepy mirror before leaning it against the wall. "Still going through the rest."
"I'm sure you're going to find good stuff in there." Dante says, eyeing the gargoyle figure I pull out from the crate. "This all came from the Lockwood mansion. Rumour has it that the old lady is a witch or something. You want me to help you check what's inside?"
"No, I got it for now. You can help me log it all in later."
"Oh, fun."
I smile then toss him the keys. "Go open up the shop and take care of the front while I handle stuff back here."
"Alright. Let me know if you need any help."
"Sure thing."
Dante is my only employee who comes in five days a week. We close on Sundays, and he has his Mondays off. Despite his young age, he has been a huge asset to the shop. He always brings in new customers and even helped to design my website. He runs it too and deals with online buyers for the most part. But most of all, he is kind of my best friend. My only friend, really."
I would be lost without him.
I move to the second crate and find an eighteenth century lantern, a wall clock that I debate on keeping for myself, and a terrifying cloth doll that I hope and pray will sell because I don't want that thing near me.
Then I come across a small wooden box.
It has symbols etched to the sides. A weird sensation lands in the pit of my stomach as I turn it over in my hands. I hold the box up to my ear and shake it and I hear a faint thud from the inside. Something is definitely in there. I jiggle the lock on it before searching for a key.mid there is one, it didn't come with the box.
I check the inventory sheet that I found at the bottom listed as a mahogany box. No other details.
"Damn it." I put the box down and get up, stretching my arms out. I have been hunched over for a while and I could really use a break. I give the mysterious box one last glare before I head out of the room.
Dante is speaking to some old woman about a Victorian chair near the window, telling her how old it is and where we got it. I walk to the small break room at the back of the store where I keep the snacks and drinks stocked, and I grab a bottle from the mini fridge.
I can break the lock on the box. Or smash the whole damn thing if it doesn't work. The box itself doesn't seem that valuable. But what the hell is inside it? And what are all those strange symbols?
When I return to the storage room, I head over to the box with bolt cutters and I nearly piss myself.
The lock is open!
"Fuck no." I say, shoving the box away from me. "I have seen this movie. I know what happens, you little demonic box. Go right back to hell where you belong."