In recent years I have become increasingly fond of op shops. Often I’ll enter one not knowing what I’m even looking for, only that I have the urge to “rummage”.
Sometimes I leave with nothing, sometimes I pick up a cheap toy, book or item of clothing for The Master.
It’s rare that I buy anything that’s actually “good”. I often have to stop myself from buying something silly like a pair of iceskates that aren’t my size (also, I haven’t been iceskating in years) or a delightfully retro piece of kitchenalia because the fact is, I do not need a cruet set. Especially a bright orange one.
There are several charity shops within walking distance of my home so I regularly wander out for a bit of a fossik.
My favourite of the shops in our neighbourhood is the Cats’ Protection League Shop. For one thing there’s a sign outside that forbids the presence of dogs in the shop. Of course. Because people generally are in the habit of taking their dogs on shopping expeditions with them, especially into a Cat Person shop.
But let’s not take any chances! If it were the Catholics Protection League Shop the sign would probably say “Begone Proddies! And take your Satan worship with ye!”. The Cats Protection League Shop is obviously hallowed ground, like a cat church, therefore natural enemies of the cat shall not cross the threshold.
As a librarian, I am of course welcomed with open paws. I glide effortlessly through the door. Do I fancy the bell on the door jingles more happily when I enter? No, probably not.
Naturally they have a shop cat. A tabby that looks very much like his every wish is indulged. I expect he’s actually the manager.
And of course the place is staffed with nice old ladies who are clearly rabid cat-fanciers. As I flick through the racks I like to listen in on their conversations. I once overheard two of them discussing a lady who had been taking in quake cats at her suburban home. One of the shop ladies was actually trying to argue that 100 cats wasn’t too many…
But the really compelling thing about the Cats Protection League Shop is the stock, most of which is both extremely cheap (10 glasses for $1!) and underwhelming, however occasionally your eye is drawn to something outstanding.
I repeatedly find things in this shop that are so hideously ugly they haunt my dreams.
Take, for instance, this monstrosity of a salt shaker that I bought last year for 20 cents, mainly as a public service so that young children and the mentally fragile would not have to gaze upon its awfulness. I should really have taken a hammer to it, just to be sure.
The truly terrifying thing about this object is that there must be another one somewhere. Sometimes in the dark of the night when I cannot sleep I fancy I hear it scratching at the window, seeking out its diabolical twin (it’s probably just mice, but still …).
And then the other day I was browsing amongst the toys when I saw this thing.
I was almost too afraid to touch it. It was about a foot long with badly glued-on fuzz for hair. Although it has the features of a severely traumatised ventriloquist’s dummy, it actually is just a doll. JUST A DOLL THAT WILL EAT YOUR SOUL.
Brrr.
I don’t know what happened to the fingers on its right hand but I wouldn’t be surprised if the injury were suffered as a result of trying to claw somebody’s eyes out, or possibly the hand got slammed in a door as its quarry fled in fear.
And all this is giving me flashbacks to the late ’80s and the Friday the 13th TV series. In it a woman with hair so big it looked like it was trying to eat her teamed up with her cousin to retrieve cursed items that their uncle used to sell from his Antiques Shop of The Damned.
I kind of wanted to ask how much the doll cost but I was afraid the answer would be “your immortal soul”.
So I kind of think the Linwood Cats Protection League Shop might be a front for a coven of Satan worshippers? But I’m not really sure what to do about that. I’ll probably just keep an eye on them and “document” any of the stock that seems like it might be demonically possessed.
Do you have a favourite op shop haunt? Do they all house cursed brick-a-brack? What the hell (and I mean that literally) is Evil Six-finger Grandpa’s back story?
Originally published on Stuff, 26/02/2015
(Featured image, The Scream by Edvard Munch. Public domain image from Wikipedia)