Night Gallery: The Hauntings of Eagle Eye

        Good evening, and welcome to a private showing of three artistic objects, revealed here to the public for the first time. Each is a collector’s item in its own way—not because of any special artistic quality, but because each captures in its own story, suspended in time and space, a page in the book of Eagle Eye's tales from the darkside.

The Haunted Baby

I can remember the day that Finn, a humble clerk and scholar of literature, processed his first large donation—two storage totes full of old children’s books that had been left at our door.*  As he unpacked the second tote, his hand caught on the corner of a wooden frame. He carefully lifted the dusty hardbacks off of it, revealing an old photograph of a baby. But this was not just any baby. He was the most photogenic baby Finn had ever seen. Looking to be around 14 months old, he struck a sassy pose in light blue overalls and had thin, curly hair, in the style of most boomer babies. Finn showed us the baby and he dazzled us all. He placed the picture in the front corner of the store, for any lucky customers who happened to be shopping for socks to see.

            The trouble started almost immediately. Customers began complaining that the sock area was freezing cold. When they tried to select a pair to look at, sometimes they would fly violently onto the floor. These customers swore that they heard a high-pitched voice yell “NO!” in their heads as the socks hit the ground. When I came in to open the store the next day, boxes of tea situated near the photograph were stacked in a small tower.

            After some trial and error, we figured out that serenading the photo with one of our music boxes first thing in the morning works to put an end to these happenings…mostly. If you come by and walk past the photograph, some say you just might hear the faint sound of baby laughter.

*please don't leave boxes at our door overnight.

The Red Shirt         

Last year, Jamille designed t-shirts with our store logo on them. But they aren’t the first shirts on our shelves that sport our name. You may have noticed, perched above the travel books, a red, long-sleeved collared shirt with “Eagle Eye Book Shop” printed on it in tiny letters. Legend has it that this shirt appeared in a shipment that came in ten years ago. It was nowhere to be found on the packing list, and nobody remembered putting it on order at all.

One night after close, I went to pull a travel book someone had ordered off the shelf when I felt something drip on top of my head. Then something dripped onto my hand. It was thick, red, and disconcertingly warm. Frantically looking up, I saw nothing but the red shirt—and it was leaking blood! I ran up front to get away. But when I looked at my hand again, there was no trace of it. Everything around the travel section looked normal. Nobody believes me, and they refuse to move the shirt because it’s a very convenient way to show customers where the travel books are.

It is worth noting that one of our most storied employees has an identical red shirt. We have no idea where he even got it. This is just another piece of evidence supporting our theory that he is a vampire.

Large Marge

It never ceases to surprise me how many longtime customers don't know about our reading room. In the liminal space where mystery/thriller ends and children's picture books begin, there is a door to a warmly-lit room with well-stocked wall shelves and some cozy places to sit. Here live the Westerns, dozens of hardback sci-fi titles, and a ragtag assortment of overflow books that cannot fit on the main floor shelves. Last year, these unassuming residents found themselves with a strange new neighbor, threatening the entire vibe of their home.

        "Don't ask me how much this cost." Doug, the proud owner of Eagle Eye, stood with his hands on his hips in front of a looming mechanical eagle, mounted on a wheeled wooden platform. We stood open-mouthed as he made the contraption come alive by nudging a sphere suspended beneath the eagle's body. In an impressive illusion of flight, her wings began to flap. Jamille christened her Large Marge in tribute to one of our favorite films, Pee Wee's Big Adventure. She was given a place of honor, next to the cooking station, ready to welcome customers on their way in with a steady, determined gaze.

        Things went smoothly for a few weeks, until the day a beloved former employee, Foster Lewis, came searching for a book by some dead charlatan who devised a new method of prayer by smooching mossy rocks in the woods. As Foster walked alongside Large Marge, all of us watched in horror as her wings began to flap violently. Foster had the misfortune of being the exact height for one of her wings to slice clean through his neck, sending his head flying at the feet of some poor soul who had just walked in the door.

        Dispatching Large Marge to the dumpster would have required dragging her all the way past the parking lot and down a bumpy slope to the dumpster area. Nobody was particularly eager to do that. So it was decided that we would banish her to another realm. Doug tied a rope around the feet of Large Marge--a safe distance from her wingspan--and carefully pulled her through the threshold of the reading room.

        And so Large Marge has been caged, in a way, between a cabinet and the wall. With her wings lowered, she doesn't take up much space. She still holds her head high, with dignity, her gaze exuding power and pride. Her indomitable spirit persists, and she stands as a worthy, if not morally ambiguous, guardian of her territory.

Bonus tale: The Boo-comer

Mary Kay Andrews is a werewolf.