Page 3 of Presence

This place… it has a vibe. A very interesting one. But despite being here for at least fifteen minutes, I haven’t seen a clerk. The cashier’s spot at the end of a book-lined corridor, semi-hidden by a bead curtain, is just... empty.

“Okay, let’s go pay,” says, her voice taking on a smooth edge. It feels wrong to speak loudly here. It has the same feeling as libraries, or yoga studios, or massage places. Calm, quiet. Scholastic.

“You know, even though I appreciate you doing this for me,” I whisper, standing up and following her through the corridor, “it feels like I’m doing a lot of work just by coming here.”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure you deserve an award for all that sitting around and breathing you’ve done, Claire,” she replies.

I snort. “Okay, I might be a lazy piece of shit, but if you were as tired as me, you’d be too.”

I don’t need to see her to know she’s rolling her eyes. It’s all in good faith, though. We get each other.

The world isn’t kind to insomniacs. Actually, the world isn’t kind, period. It doesn’t matter why you’re not at your best. If you can’t adapt, it’s your problem. Thankfully, I have a friend who drags me to an herbal shop called ‘Esoteric Cat’ to help me fight my battles. Not everyone gets that.

We reach the end of the corridor—me with my shoulders slumped, with her head held high—and enter a round space divided by bookshelves. There’s a cash register, an empty chair, and glass display cases filled with rings, bracelets, necklaces, and other items fit for ancient royalty rather than your average lunch guest. Skulls are scattered around. And there’s a black cat.

“What the hell,” I mutter, feeling a bit unnerved as the cat fixes its yellow eyes on me. It’s perched next to a skull on the bookshelf, looking more like a stuffed animal than a living creature. Honestly, if it hadn’t blinked, I would’ve sworn it wasn’t alive, given how motionless it is.

“Ready to make a purchase?” someone calls out. The voice seems to echo through the wooden bookshelves, almost like it’s coming from the wall behind the cash register.

I’m not gonna lie, this herbal shop gets creepier by the minute. And that goddamn cat is still staring at me.

“Yes,” calls out, taking the basket from me and putting it on the counter. There’s almost no space, most of it cluttered with random trinkets. As she manages to squeeze it in, the cat suddenly leaps down, landing gracefully on the counter. Its yellow eyes remain fixed on me, unnerving in their intensity.

“Oh look, it seems to like you,” my friend says with a smile. I can’t help but let out a nervous laugh, which earns me a squint from the cat.

I’ve never been a fan of cats; they always seem to know more than they should, and it creeps me out. But fuck it. I really shouldn’t let my silly fears get the best of me. I’m already letting them win most the time anyway.

I move closer and reach out, trying to pet its pitch-black fur.

But the moment my hand is about to touch it, the cat’s pupils narrow, whiskers twitching. Before I know it, it lets out the most ‘leave me alone’ hiss I’ve ever heard and its claws swipe at my skin.

“Shit!” I curse, pulling my hand back and clutching it as crimson liquid pools at my fingertips. “It scratched me.”

“Wow, okay. I guess it doesn’t like you,” quips, frowning as she examines my hand. “Are you okay? That looks pretty deep.”

I wince, feeling the sting of the scratch. “Yeah, I’ll survive. Just didn’t expect the shop’s cat to be so... hostile. My fault for touching it, I guess.”

At that moment, the mysterious voice materializes into the figure of a clerk. She’s dressed in a long, flowing gray dress decorated with celestial patterns, and her waist-length dreadlocks frame her face adorned with rune-like tattoos. Or maybe it’s just make-up? I wouldn’t know.

“Oh man, I’m so sorry about Artemis,” she says, referring to the cat. “She’s usually not this temperamental. Do you want me to take care of your wound?”

She reaches below the counter and produces a small bottle of antiseptic and a bandage, but I’m too out of it to appreciate it. My stomach twists, and everything in me suddenly screams that I should not let this woman touch me.

Call it the crankiness of someone who hasn’t slept well in weeks, I guess.

“Um, no thank you,” I mutter, my face wrinkling. “I’ll manage.”

“You sure?” the woman asks. “It would certainly help disinfect the wound.”

The twisting feeling in my gut intensifies.

“No, really,” I say, forcing a smile. It probably comes out lopsided and doesn’t reach my eyes, but I’m doing my best. “It’s my fault for trying to touch her, really.”

“Well, Artemis can be a bit unpredictable at times,” she says. “Some say she has a sixth sense for people’s energies.”

I glance skeptically at Artemis, who now glares at me from the counter.

“Well, her sixth sense isn’t very friendly.”

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