Luna_Blossom2
It begins in a dusty pawn shop. The kind of place where the air smells faintly of rust and old carpet cleaner, where the shelves sag under the weight of forgotten electronics, cracked radios, and VHS tapes with peeling labels. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, flickering in uneven rhythm, as though the shop itself is breathing.
Behind the counter, a man leans forward. His face is shadowed, his eyes unreadable. He is the VCR seller, and his voice is low, almost rehearsed, as though he has told this story before-perhaps too many times.
Three boys stand before him. They are restless, curious, the kind of kids who wander into places like this on a dare. Their sneakers squeak against the linoleum as they spot a cardboard box tucked beneath the counter. Inside: a stack of old tapes, their spines marked with faded ink.
The seller clears his throat.
"These came from a woman named Cassy," he says. "She made them... but she went missing years ago. All they found were these tapes. They sold them to me. Now, they're yours."
The boys exchange nervous grins. One of them laughs, trying to shake off the unease. Another hesitates, staring at the box as though it might bite. But curiosity wins. They hand over crumpled bills, the kind saved from allowance or odd jobs, and the seller slides the box across the counter.
The boys carry it home..