Chapter 30: The Devious Shopkeeper
This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation
Miles endured a restless night in his home, his eyes weighed down and red from the continuous strain of staying awake and alert. He had left his front door slightly open, ensuring he’d be the first to notice if the ghost were to approach. Yet, the night didn’t unfold the way he had anticipated.
“I cannot afford the luxury of waiting endlessly for a ghost that may never reappear,” he pondered, rubbing his weary eyes and trying to calm the anxiety that had been building up. The toll of staying awake for such an extended period was threatening to fracture his mental stability.
“If the ghost doesn’t appear soon, I’ll need to look at other options,” Miles resolved, rising from the couch where he had been seated. He proceeded to freshen up, gather his essentials, and plan his next move.
His primary objective was to find a way to ensure his own safety. But, if the worst came to pass and he couldn’t avoid his fate, he wanted to ensure his mom would have financial stability in his absence.
With his backpack slung over his shoulder, Miles stepped out of the aging apartment building. The intense brightness of the morning sun momentarily dazzled him.
“It appears that daylight doesn’t deter ghosts,” he pondered, touching the back of his hand where an eye was bizarrely embedded. The eye remained unresponsive.
This observation hinted that the ghost could possibly make an appearance during daylight hours, contradicting the widespread notion that spirits were exclusively nocturnal entities. Maybe the light of day could provide some comfort, lessening the dread such apparitions might bring.
…..
“Excuse me, do you purchase second-hand phones?” Miles inquired as he walked into a modest mobile phone repair store.
The store owner glanced at him and replied, “I mainly buy the latest models, preferably ones released in the last two years.”
“I’m not looking to sell my own phone. It’s these,” Miles clarified, producing a pile of unused phones he had accumulated from friends like William, Coral, Peter, and a few others.
The shopkeeper, raising an eyebrow, asked suspiciously, “How did you get your hands on these? Did you swipe them?”
“They were handed to me by friends who no longer needed them. Honestly, who would go about stealing phones as new as these? Just give me a reasonable quote, and if it’s acceptable, they’re all yours,” Miles retorted.
After assessing the phones, the shopkeeper seemed to recognize their worth. Each phone was fairly recent and could easily be sold for a handsome sum. A few could even command a premium price.
Beginning the negotiation, the shopkeeper started, “I can offer three hundred for this one. This other one looks in good condition, I’ll offer a thousand. This particular one, maybe thirteen hundred.”
As they continued, one of the phones unexpectedly rang.
Miles took a cursory glance at the screen. The caller ID flashed: Dad.
He couldn’t help but wonder whose friend’s father it might be.
The shopkeeper shot Miles a sly grin. “Looks like the rightful owner’s found you. If word gets around that I’m in possession of this phone, it won’t bode well for me. I’m willing to part with five hundred for this one.”
He reached over to power down the ringing phone.
Miles was quick, snatching the device before the shopkeeper could touch it. “Relax, it’s not the owner; it’s the dad of a friend,” he reassured.
He answered the call, “Hello?”
A concerned voice, heavy with age, inquired, “Is this Miles?”
“It is. Who am I speaking to?” Miles questioned.
“I’m Mr. Beach, Coral’s father,” he replied, sounding agitated. “It seems you have my daughter’s phone. I need to talk to you about something important. Can we meet face-to-face?”
Miles hesitated, “Mr. Beach, I’ve been rather preoccupied lately. Meeting might be difficult.”
“It’s crucial,” Mr. Beach pressed. “I won’t take up much of your time. Just tell me where you are, and I’ll come straight to you.”
“If it’s really pressing, please share it over the phone,” Miles countered, unwilling to commit to an in-person meeting. “Currently, my schedule is rather tight.”
There was a weighty silence before Mr. Beach resumed, “This concerns my daughter. Are you aware of the… disturbance at the school?”
“Coral mentioned the ghost occurrence?” Miles’s voice displayed his growing concern.
Mr. Beach paused, evidently surprised. “Ghost stories at the school? Are teenagers still entertaining such fantasies?”
Miles responded with gravity, “I was once skeptical too, but recent events have shifted my beliefs. Did something happen to Coral? Another ghostly experience perhaps?”
Mr. Beach exhaled deeply, “Lately, she’s been incredibly jittery, constantly looking over her shoulder as if expecting someone—or something—to emerge. She implied that you might have insights or even a solution.”
Miles felt a cold shiver. “Is someone or something tailing her? Maybe a juvenile ghost?”
The phrase ‘juvenile ghost’ sparked a memory in Mr. Beach. He recalled the mysterious infantile handprints on the tiles of their bathroom.
“Haunted? My own house?” He pondered aloud.
Mr. Beach’s voice then carried an edge of impatience. “I’m not interested in fairy tales or supernatural speculations. Coral’s mental well-being is deteriorating. If you possess genuine knowledge, then it’s paramount you share it. I’m prepared to offer compensation.”
He was a man of stature in the business world and wasn’t one to indulge in baseless myths.
Miles, however, was deep in thought. The urgency in Mr. Beach’s voice indicated that Coral’s encounter wasn’t merely a figment of her imagination. Was it the same infantile ghost that had been reported at the school?
But something didn’t sit right with him.
While this ghost wasn’t as terrifying as the ghost old man who haunted the corridors, it still was a force to be reckoned with. Coral, being a regular teenager, wouldn’t stand a chance if she truly crossed its path. Ghosts didn’t typically give their victims a reprieve.
Miles’s internal debate was interrupted by Mr. Beach, “Are you still with me? Miles?”
Miles cleared his throat, grounding himself back to the present, “Mr. Beach, I genuinely want to help Coral, but the situation is far from straightforward. The last encounter I had at the school was a brush with death while trying to assist your daughter, and I did so out of goodwill without expecting anything in return. This time, given the escalated danger, I can’t extend my services as a mere favor. What are you proposing in terms of compensation for this risk?”
After a short pause, Mr. Beach responded, “Look, if you can genuinely help Coral reclaim her peace of mind, I’m willing to offer you a private fee of twenty thousand dollars. But, if your efforts prove fruitless, you won’t get a single cent.”
Miles, who normally exhibited the innocence of youth, showcased an unexpected shrewdness in this situation, demanding remuneration for his unique expertise. This sudden shift in demeanor made Mr. Beach’s stance more rigid.
“Twenty thousand? Honestly, I had in mind a sum closer to two hundred,” Miles countered, “The stakes here are higher than you may realize. It isn’t just Coral who stands in harm’s way. Your whole family could potentially be under threat. The entity we’re dealing with isn’t choosy about its victims.”
Miles continued, emphasizing the gravity of the situation, “To counter this ghost, I might need to employ forces that come with their own set of dangers. By stepping in, I’m essentially putting my life on the line.”
Understanding the affluence of Coral’s family and the magnitude of the situation, Miles felt justified in asking for a more substantial fee.
“How does fifty thousand sound?” Mr. Beach proposed, attempting to bridge the gap.
Miles countered, “I don’t think you’re entirely grasping the industry standards for these specialized services. In other countries, professionals charge upwards of five million dollars for similar cases. Yet, considering Coral and I share a classroom, and I genuinely want to help, I’d be willing to settle at five hundred thousand.”
Mr. Beach, usually composed, felt his blood boil, “Half a million? Have you lost your senses? And you dare to use the classmate card as justification?”
With a chuckle, Miles responded, “Mr. Beach, emotions aside, you should realize that while the amount might seem steep, it’s pocket change when you consider the value of your assets, like your house, which I believe is estimated at over four million. I suggest you ponder my offer and reach out to me when you’ve decided. I would, however, urge you to make it sooner rather than later.”
Regaining his composure, Miles continued, “Mr. Beach, I must emphasize the urgency here. Delaying our course of action might have irreparable consequences for both Coral and me. The clock is ticking for me, and with a mother who depends on me, I need to secure her future. This is not me merely selling a service; I’d be risking my very life. If we wait too long, even a vast fortune wouldn’t be able to turn back time. For our next conversation, please reach out on my alternate number — it won’t cost you for the call.”
Miles quickly relayed his other contact number before ending the conversation.
As the call concluded, the shopkeeper, sensing an opportunity to finalize their prior negotiation, pitched, “For this batch of phones, I’ll offer you a sum of five thousand dollars.”
Only five thousand?
Miles’s eyebrows knitted together in disbelief, “Is that your final offer? Are you trying to lowball me?”
“These devices don’t carry much value. And this latest model,” the shopkeeper said, pointing to the phone bearing a recognizable fruit logo, “is a fake. If you don’t believe me, watch.”
Without waiting for Miles’s approval, he started to dismantle the phone, revealing that it wasn’t genuine.
Miles was taken aback. A counterfeit? How could that be? He was confident in the authenticity of William’s phone.
Suspicion clouded his expression as he challenged, “Did you pull a fast one while I was distracted on the call?”
The shopkeeper bristled, “I operate a legitimate business here. I don’t indulge in cheap tricks. This phone you brought is a knockoff. If you’re not satisfied with my offer, take your phones and leave. I won’t bother with the others either.”
As he spoke, his tone shifted from defensive to dismissive, trying to end the conversation.
Miles’s patience, already worn thin, snapped. Rising from his seat, he grasped the shopkeeper’s collar, pulling him close. Miles’s eyes, which were now bloodshot and tinged with an eerie red, locked onto the shopkeeper’s with a cold, unyielding stare. “You dare try to cheat me? Do you have a death wish? If you’re so eager to meet your end, just admit it. You’ve crossed a line, thinking you can take me for a fool.”
The shopkeeper, confronted by Miles’s intense gaze, felt a wave of primal fear wash over him.
Were these the eyes of a mere human?
The depths of those eyes seemed almost otherworldly, devoid of warmth, exuding an unsettling presence.