Page 16 of A Hexcellent Chance to Fall in Love

“You know this store is actually run by demons, don’t you?” Eli asks as he drags another bag his way.

“Oh, you saw Harper’s post, too, huh?” Hallee says. “At first I was skeptical, but I have to be honest, they make some good points.”

“What are you kids talking about?” After leaving my last job and now that I’m a teacher, I don’t go on social media much.

Aside from the fact that we’re scrutinized by parents and administrators about what we post, seeing everyone have these curated versions of themselves feels unauthentic—and completely unattainable.

Occasionally I’ll still save or bookmark a recipe I don’t have time to make, but that’s about it for me as far as any kind of social media is concerned.

“There’s this account, Harper’s Happenings, and they investigate ghost stories and conspiracies and then rate how plausible they are,” Treyvon explains.

That would be another reason why I’ve never heard of it before.

Ghosts and conspiracies involving ghosts are definitely not my jam sandwich.

There are enough real-world horrors; I don’t need to know about the ones I can’t see, too.

“They reported on this theory a while ago…god, it was like at least five years,” Treyvon says, and Hallee nods.

“And since it’s about Clover Creek, pretty much everyone here watched it when it came out. But it’s totally not real.”

“How can you say that?” Eli acts as though he’s been injured—crossing his arms over his chest and clenching it as though he’s been stabbed. “Harper rated it four skulls—which means it’s more likely than not.” He says the last part to me.

“More likely than not that a store is run by demons?” I ask.

“Now, this I have to hear.” I’ve been to that store more than any other in this town, and the people who work there all seem nice—normal—and then, of course, there’s Pepper.

She’s so easy to talk to, and for whatever reason, she just gets me.

Eli might have a flair for the dramatic, and I’m generally not one to fall for a conspiracy theory, but what if there really is something more here?

I’ve never felt as comfortable around anyone as quickly as I have with Pepper—but her being a demon does feel a little extreme.

And then, what would her end goal be? To eat my soul? What is it that demons do anyway?

“Well then, my good lady, allow me to pique your curiosity.” Eli sits up like he’s preparing for a monologue and points his flashlight so that it shines on his face.

“I was once a skeptic like our good friend here, but when I started looking at the facts, I couldn’t ignore what was right in front of me.

The story goes like this…Years ago there was a man who wanted to be the richest man in the world.

He thought if he were, people would respect and even worship him.

That they would look at him and want to be just like him.

But no matter what he tried, nothing worked and he was miserable. ”

“He shouldn’t’ve tried to compare himself to others,” Treyvon interrupts.

“Shhh,” Hallee says.

“The story goes,” Eli continues, “that one day he was approached by a demon. Of course, he didn’t know it was one, but it offered the man whatever he wanted and in return he would have to provide a favor.

The man thought he would finally get what he dreamed, so he wished to be rich, and the demon made it so.

“The man lived this way for years, flaunting his wealth and gaining respect from some and disgust from others. He didn’t care.

People knew who he was—they talked about him, and that was truly what he had wanted.

However, he forgot what he’d bargained to get there. The demon didn’t and came collecting.”

“Yeah, yeah. And the rich guy lost his freedom because he thought money and power were more important, but in the end, money can’t buy you everything.”

“You’re ruining the story,” Hallee says.

“It’s a metaphor for capitalism and how it’s destroying the world.” Treyvon shakes his head like the whole idea of demons and this story are ridiculous.

“You’re missing the point,” Eli says.

“And what’s the point, man?” Treyvon asks.

“You know how it’s the same workers there year after year? That’s because they made a deal and are waiting for the demon to come collecting—unless…”

“Unless what?” Treyvon asks. “Someone destroys their master?” He rolls his eyes.

“Unless they can get someone to take their place. If they can sucker someone else into taking on their debt and adding a debt of their own.”

Treyvon cocks his head to one side. “Really? And why would people do that?”

“Because they are greedy AF, man,” Eli responds.

“So capitalism. Gotcha.” Treyvon spreads his arms out in a “ta-da”-type style.

“Then how do you explain it when you buy something there and when you go to look for it, it’s gone?

You know you bought it, but it doesn’t matter—you still can’t find it until the next year, when you just stumble upon the thing you couldn’t find the year before.

” He holds up an old Dead of Night bag like it’s proving his point for him—and I have to admit it’s pretty convincing.

There are a lot of bags here, although I’m not sure they are all here because of some kind of magic—more like disorganization.

“There were a number of unused items in the closet,” I say.

“Yes, but were they there because someone stored them there or because that’s just where they appeared? There’s no way to know for sure, is there?”

Okay, he has a point—and a chill worms its way up my spine.

“I still don’t think that means demons,” Treyvon says.

“Maybe not, but it doesn’t mean there isn’t some kind of dark magic happening. They need you to have to come back into the store over and over.”

“Still capitalism,” Treyvon says. “Or maybe Dr.W just bought too much crap.”

“Fine,” Eli chimes in. “But it’s pretty mysterious how the store randomly shows up one day and then, weeks later, it’s gone.”

“Just because no one’s paying attention doesn’t mean something nefarious is behind it,” Treyvon says.

“And the fact that all the same people work there year after year. Demons. All of them.” Eli nods.

Treyvon laughs. “You’re reaching. They probably just like Halloween. I would’ve applied if my parents didn’t want me to also do debate club. It would probably be cool to get to be around all the costumes and stuff. And I bet they work closely with the haunted house, too, right, Ms.L?”

“Yes, they do,” I say. “They’ve been more than generous.” And I don’t think that has anything to do with them having nefarious reasons.

“See? Demons aren’t generous.” Treyvon crosses his arms like this is the end of it.

“That’s just because they want you to trust them,” Hallee says. “It makes sense to me. You don’t have to believe it if you don’t want to.”

“I’m not going to,” Treyvon says.

“Okay now,” I try to redirect, “that was a fun story, but maybe we can focus on getting this all done so it’s sorted when the lights come back on.

” Something about the tale tickles the back of my mind.

Not that I think there are really demons working there—that’s silly, isn’t it?

But I can see how someone could believe it.

It’s just realistic enough and at the same time has that little extra piece that could make a person feel smart for being able to figure it out.

That’s what makes conspiracies so enticing.

But there is something else here—something I can’t quite put my finger on—and I don’t think it’s the howling wind or the pattering of rain outside that has me feeling this way.

My fingers find that special place on my arm and run over the scar.

“ If the lights come back on,” Eli says.

“We could tell ghost stories,” Hallee suggests.

I bite my lip. Conspiracy theories, I can handle; monsters in the dark, not so much. That serial killer could be showing up here any moment, and the only things we have to defend ourselves are fairy wings, some makeup, and a magenta wig. We’re all totally going to die. “I’m not—”

The lights flicker back on, and the three of them cheer. Thank goodness. I let out the longest breath. Not today, Zodiac Killer. Maybe I should look into taking some kind of martial arts class.

Eli jumps to his feet and shoves a piece of paper at me. “You don’t have to believe me, but all I’m saying is don’t be in this store at midnight on Halloween.” He grabs an armful of things to distribute and he’s off.

Treyvon leans my way. “Don’t listen to him.” He grabs a couple of items and goes back to his job from before as well. “Race you back,” he calls to Eli.

Hallee’s phone rings. “I have to take this.” She presses it to her ear. “Mom? Yes, I’m fine.” And then she switches to speaking in Hindi and walks from the room.

The paper Eli gave me is a receipt from The Dead of Night.

I fold it in half and my heart stops. On the back are a bunch of little flowers—simple, five petals, a swirl in the middle.

I’ve seen them before. Gooseflesh ripples up my arms. I check the receipt again.

This is from three years ago. A crash of thunder rattles in the distance and I drop the paper—those little flowers staring up at me.