It was the early evening, the sun slowly slipping beyond the city skyline that looms over the crowded market I had found myself in. This time of year, the cold months, meant one thing around my home, that the night markets would be in full swing.
Rugged up in a heavy woolen jacket and wearing a thick pair of gloves I wander between te plethora of stores. Many are welcome sights, pop-up restaurants that are here each and every year for the night markets as well as those that simply never leave. Large crowds jostle around the the front counters and tall standing heaters, vying for space in the limited warm areas.
As I wander the market I keep my eye out for more than just the comforting regulars. One of the best parts of these winter time events was finding what small artists, craftspeople, and emerging chefs had set up shop. Shuffling through the crowds I can spot a few as I pass, tiny tables and carts crammed in between the larger established stalls. While there was technically a place for these home sellers on the far side of the market many knew that here was where the money was to be made.
With no small amount of effort I manage to push my way to the right side of the main causeway, ducking and diving through the queues of customers as they eagerly peruse the food and random miscellania available.
My eyes dart across stall after stall, my stride only ever slowing but never stopping at any of the small stores. Small wooden carvings, homemade jewelry, artisanal chocolates and fudge all pass me by as I simply enjoy my window shopping.
As I pass between two of the large burger trucks I pause, taking a step back and looking down between the large vehicles. Squeezed between the two busy burger joints is a small stall, the shelves stacked in a haphazard manner which makes it seem the proprietor had expected more space. All manner of curios litter the handmade wooden shelving, small gemstones litter the space with no rhyme or reason and strange-looking amulets hand from bent nails in a manner that can only be described as unsafe.
Intrigued by the stall I slip between the trucks, sidling my way down to get a closer look at the wares.
"Good evening" croaks a voice, a hacking cough ringing out as they clear their throat.
"Hello there" I respond, squinting a little as I try to see the source of the voice in the rapidly fading sunlight.
Obscured behind the rampart ephemera stands a woman in her late forties or potentially early fifties. Her hair is wild and frizzy, what would have been a wild fiery mane of red hair having become mostly grey up from the roots. A small pair of rounded glasses sit at the end of a long pointed nose, causing her to often raise a tanned hand to push the frames back into a more useful position. She is quite a bit shorter than me, probably only around 5'5" at best. Whatever assets she has are hidden beneath what appears to be a small collection of sweaters and scarves, the woman obviously dressing for the weather.
"Sorry..." she murmurs, patting her chest lightly as the creaky voice of an old crone quickly abates. "Had something in my throat" she explains, her voice turning to a soothing tone with an ever so slight Scottish accent.
"That's...uh...So what are these?" I ask, reaching out to pick up one of the small stones.
Suddenly the woman holds out her hand, stopping me from picking up the stone.
"Please sir, don't touch anything you don't plan to buy" she says sweetly, flashing a coffee and red wine-stained smile.
"Oh...um...why's that?" I ask, stepping a little closer to get a better look at the range of items without touching any of them.
"Well you'll waste them" she says in a matter-of-fact tone, a look of confusion spreading across her face as if what she said was obvious.
"Waste...alright..." I mutter, watching as the woman begins to slowly unload more of her wares from behind the ramshackle stall.
As I inspect the items from a close-up perspective I can't help but find myself getting lost in them. The tiny colorful stones appear to shimmer in the low light, radiating a dim ever-shifting light of their own. The amulets and necklaces look to be made of all manner of materials and in a variety of disparate styles, as though each and every one was unique and made with extreme care. Dice and rune stone sit in a small bowl, the numbers and letters on them not being from any set I could recognize. Dowels made from a variety of gorgeous woods litter the spaces in between the other item, each one being perfect for some witch or wizard costume.
With the store owner looking away, fetching some bundles of herbs from a large container she had been using as a seat, I glance up at one of the hanging amulets. It hung in a cocked manner, the face of the silver medallion at the end hidden from my sight as it pins itself against the homemade wooden shelf.
With a swift motion I reach up, hoping to poke and turn the amulet so that I can see the face. However, the moment my fingertips come into contact with the small metal object it quickly whips around as the once hidden face presses into my gloved hand. A searing pain radiates through my hand, a yelp and hiss of surprise and discomfort escaping my lips before the amulet suddenly drops from my hand and hangs just like the others.
"What was that?" the woman asks, adjusting her glasses as she looks at me and my raised hand. Her face sours as she notices how close I was to touching the amulet, her eyes narrowing as she snatches it from the shelf.
"I...uh..." I mutter, snapping my aching hand back to my side and taking a step back.
"What did I say about touching?" she grumbles, looking down at the object which had only moments ago forced itself into my palm. The silvery metal appears to be in the shape of a clock face, though the numbers appear to be incorrect and only going from one to ten.
Not wanting to deal with her ire if she found out I touched that stupid thing I begin to back up, quickly reaching the crowded waiting area for the two burger trucks. I clutch at my aching hand, the pain still pulsing through me where the silver medallion had pressed into my glove.
"I told you that you'll use them up if you..." she mutters in a disappointed manner, trailing off as her face twists into a look of shock. "Wait...this one's missing. You didn't..." she shouts, looking up at me with wild eyes as I back further into the crowd.
"Get back here!" she cries out, looking for a way to get past her own stall "I needed that one. Get back here so I can fix it"
Not wanting to deal with the madwoman, and also wanting to get some first aid for my aching hand, I decide not to stick around. Pushing my way out into the main causeway I quickly manage to make myself scarce, slipping my way through the crowd and to the outskirts of the market.
I quickly try to find a seat amongst all the people entering the now brightly lit market and those exiting with their nightly haul. Dropping myself down on a crowded bench I hold up my hand to investigate what the hell had happened to it. My glove was still fully intact, the fuzzy material appearing no worse for wear from the painful encounter. With a low groan I tug the glove off, wincing a little as I feel it rub against my sensitive skin.
My eyes go wide as I stare at my palm, my heart skipping a beat as my hands begin to shake. Burnt into the center of my right hand is the same clock face as that on the amulet itself. The intricate flourishes and designs around the face and the hands appear to be far more pronounced now that I can see it up close and in half-decent lighting. Starting from the one and moving around to the erroneously labeled ten is an extremely floral design displaying dying and ugly flowers blossoming backwards into perfect beautiful blooms.
I choke back tears as I look down at the design imprinted into my flesh. Slowly but surely I begin to flex my fingers and move my hand, testing to see if the damage was more than skin deep. The pain, already far less than it was back at the stall, rapidly begins to dissipate as I let the wound breathe in the open air.
"What...the fuck..." I whimper, slipping my glove back on as I begin to stand up.
Looking around I try to spy a first aid tent, or at least someone I can talk to about the dangerous woman in the market. However, after a few minutes of aimless searching I give up and begin to head home.
The walk back to my apartment is a short, albeit hungry, one. In all my window shopping I had failed to get even a single piece of food from the market. Sighing to myself I resolve to go back tomorrow, before shuddering at the thought of running into that woman again.
"Maybe...a little later" I mumble, reaching my apartment building as heading up the stairs.
As I step out onto the landing for my floor I decide to just order something in, figuring it would give me a chance to tend to this...burn? I glance back down at my glove, wondering how that design got onto my hand without even so much as singeing my glove.
I'm pulled from my train of thought as I turn into the main hallway of my apartment, finding myself sharing the space with...
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