The Peculiarity Emporium – Part II of III

Welcome back to The Peculiarity Emporium. In this second installment, Barry’s curiosity sharpens. The box he spies may be perfect for Carol — but the shopkeeper who appears behind him is anything but ordinary. As we step into a new year and deeper into the Emporium’s shadows, it’s time to meet Earl Dibble…

But before we crack open the box — Happy New Year! Thanks for wandering back into the Emporium with me. Here’s to a year filled with good stories, warm company, unexpected twists, and the kind of peculiar surprises that make life interesting. May your 2026 be brighter than a freshly polished curiosity, luckier than Barry’s timing, and only half as strange as whatever Earl keeps tucked under his counter. I’m glad you’re here — trouble is always more entertaining with company.

It shimmered like a misplaced treasure…

Picking the box off the table, I examined it further. Blowing a little dust off, I discovered that it was much lighter than I expected it to be. The box fit comfortably in my hands.

“This looks like it would be the perfect size for Carol’s trinkets and baubles.” I blurted out.

“What’s that, Mr.?”

Startled by a voice coming from immediately behind me, I jumped. My heart leapt into my throat. Dropping the box, I turned as fast as I could. I wasn’t alone as I first believed. I found myself standing nose to nose with an unusually looking pock marked young man.

Behind the counter, a pale kid with white tufts of hair and thick glasses stared at me, unblinking. He looked like he’d stepped out of an old photo album from a time when children were seen and definitely not heard. His white hair stuck out like tufts of cotton under a ragged cap.

For such a young man to have such shocking white hair and a pronounced widow’s peak, he looked a contradiction. His voice was cracked but earnest, like an old radio that still worked when you kicked it.

Beady owl-like eyes stared right into my eyes as he gawked at me over a pair of outdated purple John Lennon glasses. For a brief moment the thought of an owl stalking his prey came to mind but then realized he was just simply a awkward looking, gangly sixteen or seventeen year old kid.

“Damn it, kid! Didn’t your mama ever teach you not to sneak up on people like that?”

“Mr., don’t have no mama.” he replied as he continued to keep his unblinking eyes trained upon me.

“Mr, how’s that again, Mr.?”

“How’s what?”

“What you said, Mr. ‘bout that there box you was lookin’ at. You like, Mr.?”

“Oh, I don’t know kid, looks pretty ordinary to me,” I said lying through my teeth. “What do you want for it?” I asked trying to sound as disinterested as possible so “Oscar, the owl boy,” the young clerk wouldn’t try to stick it to me on the price.

The kid shrugged two bony shoulders. He didn’t blink as he kept his piercing eyes staring intensely at me. I began to believe he was trying to creep into my soul and steal my thoughts. He didn’t answer the question.

“C’mon kid, ya gotta have an idea on what ya want for the box?”

“No, Mr., really—I don’t know how much. Ya see I ain’t seen that box in here before. Sure is purty though. Right, Mr.? Anyways, Damien, that’s my boss Mr., he owns this place, anyways; he musta picked it up on his last buying trip. He just come back this past weekend.”

Looking around at the clutter in the place, I figured most of the junk in the shop could have been gotten free of charge at the local landfill. The box was the only thing in the shop that interested me in the least.

“O.K. kid, where is this Mr. Damien . . . “

“No, Mr, his name isn’t Mr. Damien. Damien is his first name.”

“First name, last name, doesn’t matter kid. What matters is the price. Where is your Damien so I can ask him what the price is?”

“He isn’t here. He just drops things off and goes on more buying trips.”

“He probably doesn’t want to be caught dead in a place like this does he?” With those words, I thought I caught a glimpse of emotion out of the kid, but on a closer look, I could have been wrong. “Anyway kid, since Mr. Damien, er, just Damien, isn’t here, what do you think the price should be?”

He stared, owl like. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. Finally the silence broke. He squeaked, “Mr. I really don’t know. It sure is purty though, Mr., what d’ya figure the price should be, Mr?”

Looking around at all the mishmash in the shop, I took a deep breath before I spoke. I didn’t want to sound too excited. Sighing, I droned, “Oh, come on kid, there isn’t a thing in this ‘Peculiarity Emporium’ as you call it, that’s worth more than five cents let alone five dollars.”

If this place had a fire, it would do the city a favor, I was actually going to say, but wanted to remain courteous.

“I tell you what kid, today’s my tenth wedding anniversary and I am out of work and I don’t have much money to spend on a present for my wife. I’ll spring five bucks for it!”

“Mr., no can do, Mr., my boss Damien will have my butt, Mr.” The kid’s stare hadn’t softened. Still locked on me like a hawk watching a mouse with a limp.

“Come on kid, I’ll make it worth your while. Your Mr. Damien, oops, just Damien, won’t have to know anything. You can’t be making much of a living working in this dive. I’ll pay you ten bucks for the box.”

“You give me a receipt for five bucks, got it? You will make a quick and easy five bucks. Keep it for yourself. You’ll get paid your usual commission or salary or what-ever Damien pays you and you will still get to pocket five bucks!”

“No Mr., that’s not honest, Mr. I don’t think my boss, Damien would like that I sell the box fer only five dollars. He just might get upset if I sell it at all,” the pockmarked kid began to whine.

“What? It’s not honest??? What kid? You Abe Lincoln or what?”

“Ha, gosh no Mr, that’s a good one.” He chuckled. “My name’s not Abe Lincoln, he was president.” Only, he pronounced it pres-E-dent. “My name’s Earl, Mr.—Earl Dipple.”

“Well Earl, Mr. Earl Dipple, you sure don’t make much sense at all. What’s the purpose of having a store if you can’t sell anything? Besides, if the box were important to your boss, would he have left it on display? Maybe he just forgot to add the price tag. What do you think kid, er, Earl?”

Bespectacled Earl just continued to stare at me; he still hadn’t blinked. I couldn’t tell if he even had a thought on his mind. Some people you can read like an open book, but this Earl kid, not only was his book closed, but I don’t think it was ever opened to begin with. Even if it were, there probably would only be blank pages inside.

“O.K., O.K. kid. How about ten dollars then? Do you think the full ten will satisfy your boss?” I said thinking this kid is either very stupid or very honest.

Peeking over the top of his spectacles and continuing to pierce me with his beady eyes, I felt a cold shiver run down my spine.

“Hows ‘bout fifteen bucks, Mr.? Yep, I do think Damien will be happy with fifteen, Mr.!”

“I don’t know kid. Fifteen is a lot of dough kid, ‘specially ‘cause I’m out of work right now.”

I was still trying to dicker with “owl boy”. Spending the fifteen bucks would take my last red cent, but if I could have afforded it, I wouldn’t have dickered at all. I would have paid double, triple, or more if I had to. Carol deserved to have something nice like this for our anniversary. After all, she had to put up with the likes of me for ten years.

Owl boy must have surely been psychic and he must have been reading my mind because he blurted out, “What’s-a-matter, Mr.? Ain’t the Mrs. worth it, Mr.?”

“God, kid!” This kid had all the angles down all right. “O.K. kid, O.K. Stop with the guilt trip already, will ya? You sure your name isn’t Shylock?”

“Shylock, heck no Mr., that’s a good one. First, it’s Abe Lincoln, now it’s Shylock. You come up with some good ones Mr.” The irony flew right over his shock of white hair. He answered like he never even heard of Shylock.

“Remember, I told you my name was Earl Dipple, Mr.?”

“Well Mr. Earl Dipple, you got yourself a deal!” I said reaching into my back pants pocket for my wallet. “It looks like you got me over a barrel. I guess we will have to go for the fifteen dollars now won’t we son?” Pulling the bills out of my wallet and handing them to him, I said, “Here’s the fifteen.” and I handed him three crumpled five-dollar bills.

“Thanks Mr.” he said as he pulled a pad of receipts out from behind his shirt’s pocket protector. I continued watching his eyes carefully. Under my breath, I was begging him to blink – just once! His dark eyes were still. They never closed.

I noticed his hands as he wrote on the paper. They looked much older than his years. They looked scarred and leathery as if they been burned years ago and had healed some over the years. I felt like asking him about them, but by now, I just wanted to get the box and get out of there before he raised the price on the box even higher.

✍️ Author’s Note — Part II (Jan 6)

The Emporium grows stranger with each turn, and Barry’s anniversary gift is no ordinary box. Thank you for following along as the mystery deepens — your presence makes the journey worthwhile. Stay with us for the final chapter, coming January 20, when the box reveals its deepest secret and a vow kept across fifty years comes full circle.

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