First Time Here – 2025 Spooktastic 4th Place

“How much can I get for this?” a man asks from behind. The shopkeeper turns around in
surprise.
“Oh, didn’t see you there. Let me see…” A red ball lies motionless on the glass
countertop. He glances at the mirror and is startled to see the man’s reflection smiling back.
“It’s a stress ball, try it.” The shopkeeper gives it a squeeze. His hand tightens around the ball as a shiver runs down his spine. This has happened before…but it hasn’t. Not really. He slams the ball back onto the table,
“You selling or pawning?”
“Selling.”
“Three dollars take it or leave it.” The man pockets the cash and exits without a word. Sighing, the shopkeeper stuffs the ball in his drawer and flexes his hand. The feeling is still there.
“I must be tired,” he mumbles, turning off the lights and closing the store.
The next morning, the shop opens like usual. Dust flies through the air, the radio buzzes softly, and on the countertop is a faint, sticky imprint about the size of a palm. The shopkeeper wipes it off with his sleeve. But that strange feeling from yesterday lingers. He looks around at the endless shelves decorated with little trinkets, posters, and jewelry. Everything’s fine. He glances at the mirror and sees someone standing behind him.
“Can I help you?” He turns and sees a man with light freckled skin wearing a burgundy
jacket. His eyes are close together with one eye larger than the other. He digs through his pocket and places a red ball onto the table. The shopkeeper eyes him warily,
“Have I seen you before?” The man looks puzzled.
“This is my first time here.”

“Ok then…how about three bucks.”
“Perfect.” They exchange items. The shopkeeper holds the ball cautiously. It squishes in
his palm with an awful give. Too soft. Too warm. Like something alive that shouldn’t be. He quickly shoves it in the drawer before closing the shop.
The next day drags on like wet wool. It’s the middle of the day, and he receives no
customers, no calls. Just silence and dust. He taps his feet on the checkered floor, bored and impatient. Until he sees a man wearing a dark red hoodie walk through the door. Upon closer inspection, the shopkeeper realizes it’s the same person from yesterday.
“Welcome back. Take a look around, we’ve got tons of stuff.”
“I’m here to sell this.” The same red ball hits the counter. Staring at the man, the
shopkeeper asks,
“You again?”
“This is my first time here.” He says it almost robotically.
“Three dollars,” the shopkeeper says, already pulling out the cash. It’s probably some
sort of prank he thought. He opens the drawer to put the toy away and finds it overflowing with red stress balls. That can’t be. He only bought two. He’s sure he’s only bought two. His stomach twists as he slams the drawer shut and scrambles to open the pawn log, a battered spiral notebook next to the register. Pages crumple under his fingers as he flips to yesterday’s entrees.
Red ball-$3
Flip.
Red ball-$3
Flip
The list only continues. He stops breathing. The dates—

November 1st.
November 2nd.
November 3rd.
Today is October 31st.
The notebook trembles in his hands and sets it down onto the table. The fluorescent light above him flickers, the buzzing drills into his ears. Outside, the sky has gone gray. He rubs his eyes. Maybe he misread it. He goes to make a cup of coffee from the back room, just to do something. But the kettle won’t boil. The time on the microwave blinks: 0:00. He walks back out and freezes.
“Hello there.” Trembling, the shopkeeper looks up to see the man in front of him. “I’d
like to sell,” he says, oblivious to the mess of papers on the countertop. He wears a gold watch on each wrist. Both are ticking, but neither show the right time. The ball sits there. Still. Too still. He reaches for it but his fingers just hover, shaking.
“You don’t have to take it,” the man says gently. The shopkeeper jerks his hand away.
“I-I don’t want your ball! Just leave.” The man pauses. For the first time, he smiles. It
wasn’t the too-wide, dead-eyed smile from before, but a real one.
“Thank you,” he whispers. Then turns and walks out, leaving the ball on the counter. He doesn’t ask for the ball back. No footsteps. No sound. The bell above the door doesn’t even ring.
A thick silence fills the room. So silent he doesn’t hear his own breath. Suddenly, the countertop rattles—no not the counter, the drawer. He yanks it open. Empty. He looks at the countertop. Nothing. He checks the pawn log. A page is missing. And all of a sudden, he can’t remember what he was so afraid of.