Best Manners Only

In which the shop behaves (mostly), a drawer misbehaves (loudly), and a very determined lady wants frog-shaped teacups

Wedged between two stores, the Four Fourty-Four had settled itself quite nicely this time.

The lanterns flickered a little softer than they usually would, and the wooden front of the shop had taken on a nice, new coating of wood polish. The sign overhead, which normally spelled the shop’s name in increasingly unhinged cursive, now glowed in a warm, reassuring neon pink.

Only the display window gave away the chaos that was going on inside: Just behind the glass, a porcelain figurine appeared to be mid-duel with a wind-up frog holding a sword. A stack of newspapers fluttered ominously without wind, becoming prey to the floating lanterns and their long strings, and a collection of jars kept twitching, trying to sneak its way off the shelf.

Through the window, anyone lingering outside had a good view on the round entry nook, from which the many aisles twisted into corridors no architect would own up to. Shelves loomed on either side, leaning in like eavesdropping aunts. They seemed to avoid settling in the entry, which, perhaps, was due to the grandfather clock that stood beside the old counter. It had a preference for space, after all. Enough of it to swing its pendulum with something other than minutes and seconds.

It occasionally coughed, but when it came to the Four Fourty-Four, it was best to ignore these little details.

Just to the left of the window, looking like a warning sign in front of the aisle next to it, sat a red, British payphone booth, and on top of it, perched innocently on a book titled ‘How to Keep a Plant Happy (And Yourself Alive)’, sat Lord Stranglewood. A small tag hung from its pot:

Lord Stranglewood

He loves to hug. He just doesn’t know when to stop.

Fenner skirted around him carefully and Orrin watched from his spot near another aisle entry, amused.

“You could trim him, you know,” Fenner said, directing a glare toward the plant.

“I could,” Orrin replied. “But how would he learn restraint then?”

Behind them, the grandfather clock coughed again. A drawer rattled. The lanterns above the payphone swayed gently, as if nodding to a tune only they could hear. Fenner gritted his teeth, eyeing every object that made a noise with utmost suspicion.

“Why again do I need to be down here? The apartment is bad enough but this? This is a minefield of ways to die.”

Orrin chuckled. “You’ll be fine.”

He glanced outside, eying the place the store had picked for today. From what he could see, it was some sort of mall, and considering that it was past 3 AM in the morning, it was rather lively.

Fenner, who had watched Orrin observe the handful of busy people outside, stepped closer to the window. “What’s on your mind? You look like you’ve never seen a mall.”

Orrin gave a hum, stepping closer to the window as well. “Not in a long time. It gets rather busy, you know. There’s the shop, the apartment, the attic, the garden. Sometimes I get deliveries, other times something is being relocated. There’s letters I receive and have to reply to, things to file and log.”

For a while, no one said anything. Occasionally, Orrin glanced at Fenner.

Surely, the boy must be missing contact to other humans, and the world a human was settled in due to its easily manipulated nature. They were fragile and far too confused to live in a world such as Orrin’s.

“Would you like to take a stroll outside? Just be back before 6 AM.” Orrin said without thinking. It simply left his lips the moment the thought had come up. To his surprise, Fenner squinted at him with more suspicion than he had eyed Lord Stranglewood with earlier.

“Absolutely not. You’ll forget I’m out there and leave without me. And then I am homeless, without any documents to show them who I am, no money, and probably in a country I don’t speak the language of.”

Orrin nodded. “Makes sense. You know, it could also be a different time from the one you were born in. The shop does not abide to the rules of human travel. It goes wherever it is needed or pleases to be. If that is 2025 or 1950 doesn’t matter much.”

Fenner nodded. “Perfect. I’ll never leave this place without you then. I have better things to do than getting lost in 1802 or some shitty medieval place where I’ll get burned at the stake for carrying a book in an unknown language with me.”

And with that, Fenner turned away from the window, grabbed a box of small things, and gave them a good, slightly furious shake. “Wake up you little shits and tell me where you want to go because I won’t clean you away another time. And I know you can speak. I heard you yap about my fried egg toast.”

Orrin gave a soft, amused exhale. “You’re learning.”

Fenner didn’t respond and continued to shake the small box. Something inside gave a muffled yelp. One particularly odd-looking earring tried to bite his finger. Immediately, he turned and glared at Orrin.

“See! This place is feral.” Fenner hissed, rubbing his hand, “You’re lucky I haven’t unionized yet and—”

A low thunk echoed from the far corner of the third aisle, followed by the distinct sound of a drawer sliding open, interrupting Fenner. His head snapped up.

“Oh no,” he said, backing away from the sound. “Absolutely not. I remember that noise.”

Orrin gave a lazy nodd. “Drawer Seventeen. I suppose someone bothered it before it got fed.”

“You don’t feed drawers! This is exactly what I mean!” Fenner whisper-hissed, already moving quietly toward the counter like a man trying not to alert a predator.

From the gloom of aisle three, the low creaking groans grew louder. A scent of burning paper drifted into the air, followed by a shimmer of glitter—which was either confetti (best case) or fragments of reality (also best case, but only if you weren’t human).

Then the voice came.

“DO SNAILS DREAM?” it thundered from the shadows, followed a second later by a high-pitched whisper: “Do I?”

“Oh for—!” Fenner spun around, spotting the open cabinet drawer bolting toward him with unnatural speed. Its carved label glowed faintly in the low light, warning anyone smart enough to give it a quick read:

DO NOT OPEN BEFORE BREAKFAST.

“I DIDN’T OPEN YOU!” Fenner shouted at the blinking label, jumping on the counter, still clutching the small box. The drawer lunged forward on unseen wheels, smoke spilling from within. A sliver of paper flitted out and zipped around Fenner’s head before vanishing into the ceiling.

Orrin, as calm as always, watched from his spot by the window. Tilting his head, he snapped his fingers, summoning a cup of tea.

“Oh my.” he said, looking at the drawer. “You look good. Have you gotten polished recently? Aisle three seems to be just perfect for you.”

Fenner, who had left the counter, bolted toward another aisle. “Don’t compliment it! Do something!”

The drawer followed with an eager screech, almost hitting him, but he managed to cut the curve and hurled himself across a table of teacups.

“You could try reasoning with it,” Orrin offered, adding some sugar to his tea.

“I did reason with it. Last time!” Fenner hissed. “I offered it the rest of my chocolate bar. It tried tearing off my arm instead, and asked me if gravity had feelings!”

Orrin made a thoughtful noise. “Well, yes. I do remember that it does prefer charred food. Chocolate probably upset it a little. But that’s okay. It’s okay to make mistakes. You’re still new here.”

“THAT’S NOT THE POINT I AM TRYING TO MAKE!”

Fenner grabbed a broom to vault over a waist-high stack of books. The drawer whirled after him, rumpling over the stack, belching smoke and riddles as it went.

“THERE ARE MORE UNIVERSES THAN STARS,” the voice shrieked. “DOES THAT MEAN YOU’RE LATE OR JUST EXISTENTIALLY IRRELEVANT?”

“I am so not qualified for this job!” Fenner shouted back.

The drawer veered right, clipped a stack of haunted picture frames, and kept going. That was, until the grandfather clock struck its tone, announcing that the time to open the shop had come.

The drawer settled itself with a wave of Orrin’s hand, and once that was done, Orrin turned to look at Fenner, who had jumped up into a leaning shelf and grasped it so tightly that his knuckles were showing a new level of white.

“Don’t do the thing where you woosh me away! That feels terri—“

Orrin blinked, lowering his hand after whisking Fenner up into the apartment.

“Oh well.” He said. “That came a little late.”

On the counter, the little box rattled faintly as something inside began rummaging with the confidence of a creature that knew it wasn’t being watched. Orrin chuckled, walking over, only to find Little Sir Menace waist deep in earrings, papers, pens, and other small things.

“Now there. What are we doing here, mh?”

Little Sir Menace perked up, his hollow sockets briefly focusing on Orrin before they returned to the contents of the box. His tiny clay hands shuffled and rummaged almost furiously for a moment before he stopped, reached for his small clay-lance, and began stabbing into the contents.

Orrin raised a brow, immediately lifting him out of it. “My, my. Aren’t we a handful today, mh? Sometimes I wish you were crafted with speech, little one. I’m dying to know what is going on in that little head of yours.”

Little Sir Menace struggled and kicked in his grasp. Orrin adjusted his grip as Little Sir Menace kicked harder, his clay boots thumping against the air with maximum miniature-fury.

“Enough of that,” Orrin murmured, cradling the tiny knight in one palm like a wayward marble. His other hand hovered over the box on the counter, which still gave the occasional twitch.

Then he noticed it, just beneath the clutter of pens and trinkets, and a very confused beetle in a thimble. His brow wandered a little higher.

“And what are you doing here, mh? You’re very out of place.” Orrin said, slowly understanding that Little Sir Menace had been digging for what he was looking at right now.

He gave him a proud pat on his helmet. “Very good. I’m sorry I misunderstood your effort, little one.”

With that, he sat him back down on the counter and grabbed for the smaller box within the box Fenner had been carrying before the incident with drawer seventeen. When he opened it, the contents shimmered faintly: slips of cards, each glowing just slightly, etched with shifting symbols that refused to sit still.

Instantly, Little Sir Menace had his tiny hands rummaging in that box as well. Chuckling, Orrin watched him bite and gnaw on some, ignoring a few, and gently poking the rest of them.

He crouched down on eye level, looking for some sort of emotion in the hollow sockets but they remained mysteriously untelling.

With a sigh, he rose back to a stand.

“Those are soul tickets, little one.” Orrin explained, although he wasn’t sure Little Sir Menace wanted to know. Perhaps it was just about being destructively chaotic, but then again, the little one was always curious, so maybe he did want to know.

“They’re... threads,” Orrin went on, lifting one between his fingers. It looked silver at first, then blue, then like frost on glass. “Before entering a life, a soul picks a ticket. Not a life, not a name—but a why. A seed of longing. A curiosity. Something small that grows into the skin it will wear for a couple decades.”

He held the ticket into the light. “Of course, the human, which the soul ticket will shape in these decades, forgets about what the soul has chosen. That’s the point. The forgetting makes the finding sweeter.”

The symbols on the card writhed briefly. Orrin smiled, and just for a second, it was too sharp. He placed the ticket back into the box.

“I wonder what it is doing down here. It lives in the attic, you know. Where Fenner and you are not supposed to go. It’s a dangerous place. I would not want you two to get hurt, do you understand?”

Little Sir Menace gave a quiet nod and watched as Orrin slipped the box into one of his cloak pockets. A moment later, the pocket was just cloth again—no bulge, no shape, as if the box had never been there.

“Now then.” Orrin said cheerfully, whisking the bigger box on the counter into the depth of the shop. “It’s about time, don’t you think? Tonight’s customer is a bit older, you know. So I ask of you to be on your best behavior only. Can you do that?”

Little Sir Menace gave a mechanical little salute. He didn’t move from the counter, but his head tilted ever so slightly—watching the pocket, not Orrin.

“Good,” Orrin said, voice light as spun sugar. “Let’s make a good impression.”

At the door, the bell gave a sound it had never made before—low, reverent, like someone knocking on the lid of a coffin from the inside.

Orrin smiled again. “There she is. Now, best manners,” he reminded the shop in general. “There will be no fussing today.”

A moment later, the door swung open with all the grace of a stage curtain yanked aside. Orrin couldn’t help but smile when he spotted Dagny. She wasn’t the tallest, had hunched herself over the walking stick more than she used it to walk, and her hat—a monstrous thing covered in plastic fruits—kept slipping into her eyes.

“Dear me, what a dark place.” She huffed, only to giggle and push the hat back up. “But that is entirely my fault, isn’t it? My niece, Joy, she gave me that hat in return for the cake I made yesterday. I can’t possibly let it gather dust on a coat rack, can I?”

Orrin shook his head. “Of course not, Ma’am.”

Dagny looked around like a hawk hunting for the next meal. He observed the way she scanned she shelf with a quick, knowing gaze.

“You’re new here, aren’t you? I come by here a lot, but your store wasn’t here before. It’s easier, you know, to shop when barely anyone is out and about. And the cashier at the grocery store down at the other end of the mall is much nicer than the one working there at daytime. He even helps me pack up.”

She slapped her squeaking trolley. “Well. If I am here anyway,” she said, her voice lilting with bright, breezy authority—the kind of tone that turned strangers into personal assistants. “I can as well see if you can help me out. Do you have any alarm clocks that remind me to enjoy my tea at the right time? My niece, Emeris, she’s such a dear thing. Always so worried about me. I want to make sure she has one task off her list, you know. She has to think about so many things, she doesn’t need to worry about my tea time.” Dagny inched closer to the counter, pulling her trolley behind her.

“She’s a bit too fond of cucumbers, but I forgive her. Everyone has got to have something weird, right? Makes it special.”

As she moved around in little steps, her moth-shaped brooch, easily the size of a sandwich plate, twitched. Orrin couldn’t help but stare.

“May I ask where you got the brooch? It’s… breathtaking.”

Quite literally so, Orrin thought. For it was one of Death’s little helpers. Those who guided one gently and slowly, softly even. It was something not every human had the honor to experience, and that Dagny had the privilege to… well, it was safe to say it did make him feel a little soft.

Dagny, blissfully unaware, chuckled. “Oh, I found it in my late husbands things. It was wrapped up nicely, for my ninety-fifth birthday. He passed shortly before that, but as all his life long, he made sure I was taken care of in every way. Even got me a gift before he passed. He never missed a single chance to gift me something.”

Orrin appeared beside her before she’d taken another three steps, velvet footstool in hand, his smile effortless. “How lovely, dear madam. Please—sit.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Dagny said and plopped down with a giggle, holding on to her trolley for balance.

Her eyes beamed as her gaze wandered deeper into the aisles. “My goodness. So many things… I wish I was better on foot to have a look myself. Perhaps another time, when my nieces are visiting. You know, they always come by as often as they can. I can do much better with them around. I just don’t feel as tired then.”

Orrin nodded, knowing fully well that Death respected the woman so much, he granted her extra time whenever her loved ones were around. And truly, outside the window, a cloaked figure leaned against a nearby wall, nodding to greet him—as friends did when they passed each other in the mall.

Orrin looked away, focusing on the elderly woman. “Well then, let me do the gazing for you, yes? I’ll be right back. I’m quite certain I have all the things you are looking for.”

Dagny beamed even more. “Oh that would be lovely! They visit next Sunday. I can’t wait to give them their little gifts!” she said, listing a few more things she wanted for her nieces.

Orrin kept his soft smile but once he had turned towards the closest aisle, it fell off his face.

Dagny would not make it to Sunday, but perhaps, in a way, Death had granted her just enough time on her own to leave gifts for her nieces. Just as he had allowed the husband to do for Dagny.

It was a shame that most humans did not see him as the kind thing he was.

As Orrin stepped into the aisles, the shadows folded around him. He passed a row of self-sorting cups, each etched with a different kind of laughter, and a snow globe that showed different memories depending on who looked into it. None of these would do. Not for this situation.

He selected a gramophone first—deep green, shaped like a flower caught mid-bloom. It played music softly when no one was listening, and changed tune the moment someone paid attention. It would suit Uranie perfectly.

Next, a tea set of ceramic frogs, each one painted with an expression of mild surprise and reluctant agreement. The sugar bowl croaked if overfilled. Ideal for the goose niece.

Then, with a pause, he reached for the last item: an alarm clock. Every five hours, it gave off a faint puff of bergamot and reminded its owner, in a gentle whisper, “Time for a breath, dear. And maybe a little joy.”

He lingered there a moment too long, the item in his hand, the scent of bergamot rising. He needed another present for Emeris since the alarm clock was meant for Dagny.

Behind him, the soft tap-tap of a cane on old wood echoed faintly. He glanced back, only to see that Dagny hadn’t moved.

But someone else had.

The cloaked figure was now inside, sitting right next to Dagny, as if guarding her last errand. Not waiting. Just present. It explained how she had found the Four Fourty-Four but failed to see what it was in its true essence.

This time, Orrin inclined his head, greeting Death. A little bit later, after picking a gift for the other niece, Orrin returned to Dagny with his arms full of oddities, ignoring the unseen visitor by her side.

“I was thinking,” he said brightly, setting the kettle down first. “If the alarm clock is for you, you definitely need another gift for Emeris, don’t you? Don’t worry, it’s on the house. I made sure to find only the most well-behaved nonsense.”

At that, Dagny let out a hearty laugh. “Oh! Wonderful! Silly me would have gone and found myself empty-handed on Sunday… my, I’m glad you prevented that. My poor Emeris.” Dagny clapped her hands softly. “You’re a marvel!”

She picked up the kettle and pressed it to her ear. It hummed the first few notes of ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’. Dagny giggled, glowing with satisfaction. “Love would do her good, certainly. All she does is work work work.”

Orrin said nothing. There was no need. Instead, he handed her the other items she had requested and watched as she stuffed them into the trolley. For such an average-sized thing, it sure could stomach a lot of goods but—

He glanced at Death, who was now holding part of the groceries and the grammophon. Briefly, Orrin’s smile became real. “That is very kind of you.” He whispered only for Death to hear, and Death gave a nod, his hood slipping down deeper.

Orrin turned his attention back to Dagny, who had just closed up her trolley. She gave it a hearty pat. “I’m surprised how much it can fit. They don’t make things so sturdy anymore nowadays, you know. My husband got it for me so many years ago.”

She continued to babble for a while and Orrin let her. Mid-stream of words, he had conjured himself a chair as well, but the act had gone completely unnoticed by the old lady.

When the clock finally struck six, Dagny interrupted her monologue about the stubborn peonies in her garden and how Uranie—the youngest niece—had encountered the worst spiders in them they had ever had in the garden.

“Dear me! That late already… I better get on my way. How much do I owe you again?” she said, huffing a little as she got up. Orrin helped her along to the door.

“Oh, have you forgotten? You already paid, dearest Madam. The receipt is in your trolley. You put it in your purse after we packed away your items of choice.” He lied, enjoying her embarrassed, little giggle.

“The troubles of an old mind, my goodness. I apologize. Now then, I’ll return with my nieces soon. They have to pick some more things. It was wonderful here. I did not notice the time going by so fast. I’m sorry I kept you from work for so long.”

But Orrin, holding the door open, shook his head. “It was a pleasure, madam. Don’t worry about it. Greetings to your nieces, I hope they will find joy and comfort in your gifts.”

Dagny nodded proudly. “I know my girls. They certainly will. Have a great day.”

Orrin bowed, watching Death—and his skeleton arms full of groceries and trinkets—walk beside Dagny, keeping her safe on her last errand.

“Safe travels, dearest, little Dagny. I’m honored to see how well you lived your life for Death to accompany you like a friend.” He whispered, but no one heard.

He closed the door, whisked away the two chairs, and remained by the window, watching the humans walk up and down the mall, going about their silly, little lives.

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