The Little Shop That Sold Yesterday

The Little Shop That Sold Yesterday

At the end of a crooked cobblestone street, squeezed between a bakery and an abandoned clock tower, stood a little shop with a peculiar sign.

YESTERDAY'S TREASURES
We Sell Things You Didn't Know You Lost.

Nobody in town knew who owned the shop. It appeared one rainy Tuesday morning, complete with dusty windows, a crooked wooden door, and a brass bell that rang even when nobody entered.

Naturally, this made everyone suspicious.

But curiosity eventually defeated common sense, as it usually does.

One afternoon, a twelve-year-old boy named Oliver pushed open the door.

Inside, hundreds of strange objects filled the shelves. There were single shoes, broken umbrellas, empty picture frames, old birthday candles, and jars containing what appeared to be tiny thunderstorms.

An elderly woman sat behind the counter, knitting something that looked suspiciously like a spaghetti noodle.

"Welcome," she said. "What have you lost?"

Oliver shrugged. "Nothing, really."

"Everyone has lost something."

"I haven't."

The woman raised an eyebrow. "Have you ever lost your temper?"

"Yesterday."

"Your courage?"

Oliver thought about it. "Last week, when I had to speak in front of my class."

"Your imagination?"

Oliver looked around. "Possibly."

"Ah!" She clapped her hands. "I have just the thing."

She disappeared behind a curtain and returned carrying a small wooden box.

Inside was a tiny silver key.

"What does it open?" Oliver asked.

"Something you've forgotten."

Oliver turned the key over in his palm. It felt strangely warm.

"How much?"

"One honest memory."

"That's a ridiculous price."

"Most valuable things are."

Oliver thought for a moment. Then he remembered something.

"When I was little, my grandfather used to tell me stories about flying ships and invisible islands. I believed every word. I used to spend hours imagining adventures. I haven't done that in years."

The old woman smiled.

"That's the one."

She took the memory from him—not literally, of course—and placed it inside a glass jar. The jar glowed softly.

"Now," she said, "take your key."

Oliver hurried outside, wondering what sort of trickery he'd just experienced.

At the end of the street stood the old clock tower. Its enormous wooden door had been locked for decades. Nobody had ever managed to open it.

Oliver approached.

The silver key fit perfectly.

The door creaked open.

Inside was a staircase spiraling upward. At the top sat a magnificent wooden ship, suspended in midair, its sails shimmering like moonlight.

Oliver gasped.

A small brass plaque on the ship read:

FOR THOSE WHO STILL BELIEVE THE WORLD IS BIGGER THAN IT LOOKS.

He climbed aboard.

A voice behind him said, "About time. I've been waiting twelve years."

Oliver spun around.

Standing beside the steering wheel was his grandfather.

Only it couldn't be.

His grandfather had been gone for three years.

The old man smiled, his eyes twinkling.

"Well, Captain," he said, "are we going to stand here all day?"

Oliver laughed, then cried, then laughed again.

Outside, the clock tower began chiming for the first time in decades.

The ship's sails filled with wind, although every window was closed.

And as the ship lifted into the air, Oliver looked down at the little shop.

The elderly woman stood in the doorway, waving.

She turned the sign around.

It now read:

TOMORROW'S ADVENTURES
No Refunds. No Guarantees. Wonderful Surprises.

Oliver grinned.

For the first time in years, he had absolutely no idea what would happen next.

And that, he decided, was the most wonderful feeling in the world.

Short Story Written By: Tonya R. Bennett