Beware the Night

A nowhere can be a somewhere. It’s all about perspective.

The Hodge Podge was a legend, a myth, a story, a secret, a riddle, the beginning of a song you only half remembered when you were drunk, and a bit of a conundrum that everyone who was anyone knew about. Stumbling over a bit of arcane knowledge or ancient lore with a dash of hope and a smidge of belief did wonders too.

It was a place that witches and wizards talked about over terrible watered down drinks during 3am arguments at seedy bars, and other hidden places in shadowy corners. Its existence was disputed, refuted, proven, and dismissed as much as the Loch Ness monster, who was really quite offended by the comparison. He had the decency to stay in one place at least.

Truth of the matter be told, the shop was just problematic to find even on a good day. One had to be the right person at the right time with a mighty need weighing on their mind to even see the shop’s door. It was about the only thing about the shop that ever remained the same. The Hodge Podge looked like whatever it wanted to be, though people tended to object to the gingerbread house snuggled up deep in a dark wood image.

With a nature as capricious as its appearance, the Hodge Podge also had a bad tendency to change locations when it got bored. Thankfully for anyone who wanted to wander its many aisles, and buy the shop’s highly specialized wares, the Hodge Podge preferring a couple of places in particular to linger for a time, gravitating toward them like a drunk moth to a flame.

During the spring in Japan, there was spot for it on a humble temple’s grounds, between the cherry trees when they were blossoming. In New Orleans, there was an older street paved with cobblestones that the shop would creep along, liking how its foundation sounded as it moved over the unevenness of crooked stone. During long nights, a Russian hill that overlooked an abandoned town would have at least one citizen to keep it company. The mountain gorillas of Uganda would quietly contemplate the shop when it came to look in on them, though they were smart enough to never go inside.

When the Hodge Podge was feeling quite morose with itself, it would sit in the corner of an ancient graveyard in the Germany’s Black Forest, remembering all the names worn off the smooth faces of crumbling stone and rotting wood. Sometimes, it would pretend it was an oasis, showing up in the Sahara desert, much to the surprise of nomads and their camels alike. The Hodge Podge also liked to show up under the ocean from time to time, visiting to reminisce with the ancient submerging pyramids and palaces there. The crystal pyramid in the Bermuda Triangle was one of its favorites.

Most regular patrons found that the best way to find the wayward shop was to count the houses in the row on any convenient street and then the mailboxes. If there was an extra mailbox, and they were properly paying attention, the shop was open to the general public. There were other ways as well though.

If one were in a truly desperate need for the shop‘s contents, they could find it wherever and whenever just by looking for it in the corner of their eyes, the Shadow Paths of the Thorn Labyrinth, and Night Doors of the Bramble bringing that person right to the front door.

There were ways to it through the Shoal and the Limbo as well, but those methods are always best left to angels, demons, and others. The less said about those means of travel, the better. Those paths exist for the fearlessly desperate and the eternal wanderers.

A lesser known trick was this- bribery was perfectly acceptable. The building would appear if offered a coffee. It had to be brewed dark as the moon’s own night and sweet as a waking dream. Pouring and presenting the coffee in a large mug with kittens on it never hurt either.

Finding the Hodge Podge was one thing. Getting past the front door was another matter entirely though, but faint hearts never won fair favors. Sometimes, a word could be uttered into its lock, a clever turn of phrase working better than any password or key. People who could make the door laugh would find themselves exactly where they needed to be within the shop. An offering of blood and bone were the keys needed to be used by others. Secrets had merit as well, and that would often work, but only if they belonged to the person seeking entry and no other. Truths worked as well, but were much harder to come by. A little known quirk that worked was tapping out the melody to ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ upon its surface, though ‘Shave and a Haircut’ could be used as well.

The door was the only thing about the shop that remained a constant in appearance. It was a broad old thing made of heavy wood that had been blackened dark and fine by flames hotter than dragon’s fire. It was banded and studded with solid iron that never rusted, the metal of it always remaining oddly cold.

The only other decoration on the door had a small grate that opened so that someone could peek out, but no one could peek in. It was guarded by the knocker, a strange little creature who resembled a white imp of sorts with horns and a pointed tail. This kind of Fae was generally known for their love of jumping the moon, but for whatever reason, this little one seemed permanently spelled to door. It amused itself greatly by being a nuisance, the former Moon Jumper refusing to do its job as a knocker properly. Perhaps it had annoyed the door too often for its own good. Teasing magical doors never boded well for anyone. Many a shop patron learned this the hard way, often answering pointless riddles through mime, or having to chase after the naughty imp knocker.

Of course, this was all a complete waste of time if one was not in good favor with the shop. People who found themselves in poor graces yet still persistent would discover themselves delivered into odd places. More than a few found themselves suddenly knee-deep in a tiny flooded bathroom in New Zealand.

Once in and past the door, one discovered the inner workings a mess of sorts. Orderly chaos was as close as anyone could call it. There were suggestions of pathways between the ever shifting mazes of aisles to which there seemed to be no end in sight. Though many had tried, no one as of yet had found the back of the shop, though the bathrooms were surprisingly easy enough to find. No one, not even the building itself, liked to clean up those type of messes.

The few and far between regular patrons have attempted to make sense of the space at some point, the random signage put up here and there. It all sort of led patrons to certain commonly sought after items, like swords of destiny and the real sort of skeleton keys, the ones that could literally open anything. The dead knew all the best twists and tricks that the living forgot.

Graffiti was painted on the floors as well, and should always be read if one wanted to keep their toes in place. The inattentive tended to have them eaten off by random tile alligators. Not all the flooring in the shop were real, and the floorboards could get peckish from time to time, sampling parts and articles of clothing from some unwary travelers. Shoes were the preferred food, but if some meat got mixed up into it, the various things living in and under the floors weren’t going to complain.

One particularly helpful sign warned wanderers off of a certain corner (when there were corners) that was inhabited by a sentient raccoon tribe that would steal anything shiny off a body. The tribe also had a nasty sense of humor. Apparently, a previous shopkeeper had left a door open, some poor woodland creatures wandering in. The result was that the raccoons had evolving in leaps and bounds, purely out of survival. Being aided by the unique properties of the shop didn’t hurt either. They were now an adorable yet fierce tribe of talking raccoons, but still very practical. They could be hired out as guides, their asking price for services rendered could be a sandwich, or pieces of tin foil, or the buttons off your shirt.

Once one found the item or items they were looking for by skill, fate, destiny, serendipity, or just pure dumb luck, they could then proceed toward the Front. It was laughingly called that because all compasses refused to work in the space that defiantly changed size and directionality on pure whim. Tools of navigation and such had the bad tendency to explode if pushed for an answer. Thankfully, the sparrows who lived in the shop’s rafters were particularly helpful in matters of navigation, having the view for it, though one had to sing to them first, and then be subjected to the birds’ running commentary about their performance.

If one could make it to the Front, the owners could typically be found there, though it was never guaranteed. For the time being, the shop was tended to by two witches who may or not have been the original proprietors of the cosmic retail space. They also very well could have been two patrons who had simply gotten lost while shopping, deciding at some point to never leave.

The term ‘tended to’ was also more accurate than ‘owned or operated’ since the building did that very well all on its own, thank you very much. Products and other items on the shelves just seemed to turn up in the shop from whereabouts and payments unknown. The Hodge Podge’s merchandise also had the horrible habit of disappearing the very same way. The two witches were the ones who had been there the longest though, so many saw them as the owners of the Hodge Podge, for lack of a better word.

The witch most knew on sight or by name was Rose, a young pretty woman who had shoulder length blonde hair that was tinged with pink. Her wise blue eyes were usually hidden behind the wire spectacles that perched on the end of her nose, giving her an owlish appearance. Rose had a quiet, helpful demeanor about her, but the witch also had the peculiar habit of becoming nervous in odd moments, wandering off if someone wasn’t paying enough attention to her.

A romantic at heart, Rose wore long scarves that fluttered about to trail behind her, her personal style modern Victorian. She could often be seen wandering about the Front, muttering at a book in hand, or curled up on a stool behind the counter with a pen and paper.

Regulars to the shop learned well enough not to bother Rose while she was in the later position. If they insisted on bothering her, the things she drew on that paper would come to life, and try to eat them.

Rose was often accompanied by a small barn owl who liked to snooze on her shoulder, offering little tidbits of advice when he deigned to wake up long enough to do so. The owl’s name was Franklin, and was in actuality Rose’s older brother. The man had made the mistake of being in exactly the right place at the absolute worst time while looking for some toast. Due to his moment of inattention, Franklin had ended up an owl, but such is life when your sister is a witch of earth, air, and fate. It was not known if any efforts were being made to restore him, or if he simply preferred to remain an owl. Franklin said very little to nothing at all on the matter when asked, so it was really anyone’s guess.

The other shopkeeper of the Hodge Podge was much harder to find. It should be noted that she was only ever sought out as a last resort, meaning the shop’s patrons preferred the owl over her. Sebella would meander down half-dressed and still mostly asleep around noonish, because it was that time somewhere, to curl up behind the counter. She often refused to be tolerable until a cup of coffee was shoved into her hand, usually by Rose who was quite used to Sebella’s grumpy post waking behavior by now.

The dark haired witch of fire, creation, and fate would stare down any customer with her cold grey green eyes if they dared to bother her before coffee occurred. Anyone who continued to annoy Sebella before she was thoroughly caffeinated would find themselves turned into toads for a while. Rose was kind enough to place those people into a large terrarium until they felt better or more human.

Sebella also had the bad habit of enthusiastically trying to marry Rose off to any wizard or witch, whether they was available, interested, human, or not. In self-defense to this matchmaking, Rose had a wide array of hiding places around the Hodge Podge, all of which were cozily stocked with tea.

Sebella’s husband lived with them as well, but had the terrible inclination to forget to be human. On a good day, Jay spent most of his time as a fox, though it didn’t seem to bother Sebella, Rose, or Franklin much so no one did much about it. No one was sure if he was a wizard or a warlock, but Jay seemed happy enough as a fox so most let it be.

There was to be a third witch of Fate, because three is the proper number of witches, but she had yet to arrive on the Moon’s tide of secrets. The other two waited for her, and the change she would herald to the realms.

If one could find it, all were welcome to the Hodge Podge, but buyer beware. Just because you’ve found what you are looking for doesn’t mean you should have it