It’s tough being a reporter these days. Breaking stories are hard to come by, and when they come, you’re not necessarily assigned to it. When you
scrounge for smaller stories on the streets, it just all comes down to luck – which hasn’t been on your side much as of late. At your wit’s end, you decide to make a visit to the mysterious mannequin shop that opened up a few blocks down. Rumour has it that the string of disappearances lately is linked to that shop somehow. Any story will do for you at this point.
A small bell announces your entrance, but nobody comes to welcome you. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you realize you’re not alone. There are figures frozen in place all around you. “Well duh, it’s a mannequin shop,” you reassure yourself. But something feels off, and the place is giving you the chills. You approach one of the figures and marvel at the realism and detail of the mannequin. But what’s that dripping out from the corner of its mouth? Is that…blood? You touch its body, which was hard but not rigid like plastic should be. Is it flesh? Stumbling back, you decide it’s high time you got going. You reach out for the door, and only then do you realize you are locked in.The hair on your neck bristles as you feel an ominous presence behind you. You gulp as you slowly turn your head around. Someone… or something, is getting closer…
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