The former charity shop was a Grade II Tudor building, a little crumbled and generally crumpled. Old Bible verses painted onto the walls in burgundy paint by people who meant well but failed to see how closely it resembled blood, or noticed and failed to care.
As such small, unheard of charities do, they remained for a year and then vanished overnight leaving their wares behind. They never sold anything of value, only donated junk with prices scrawled on in red biro and never worth even a fraction of whatever the labels said. It's a miracle they lasted for as long as they did and of no surprise when they left it all behind in search of more profitable trade.
It was almost three years before the council got the permissions to clear and renovate it all, having to hire an expensive private company who specialised in listed buildings and the like. As they were clearing out the junk they made little discoveries, remnants of the building's Tudor past tucked away under tattered romance novels and between clothes that stank of mothballs and urine.
Mostly they found mummified rats stuffed with lavender and rosemary - wards against misfortune.
Clearly these hadn't worked but there were so many of them that people began to worry about their removal, after all theirs was the fastest growing town in all of England and they wanted to keep it prosperous. Meetings were held in every pub that would have them until a decision was made.
The rats had to stay, for the greater good. Now while most people took to protesting outside of the old shop while the renovators ignored them in favour of digging up yet more rats, smaller groups with stronger opinions formed much harsher plans that were carried out overnight.
Come the following morning the renovation crew was witnessed choking to death on some kind of gas, blood pouring from their noses and mouths as they slowly collapsed to the floor in puddles of their own liquid life. Their hair seemed to fall from their falling bodies in great clouds, their skin blackening with intense internal bleeding as they drowned in front of the protesting crowd.
Work ceased as the shop was cordoned off for a full investigation though the forensics teams soon suffered the exact same symptoms, all dying within a week of each other until the shop was sealed for good, thick sheets of metal covering every known exit.
It's almost a same they never found the original blueprints or checked for the basement where powdered rat poison covered everything with a fine white layer, several dust masks lying innocently beside it as though they there purely by coincidence.
As such small, unheard of charities do, they remained for a year and then vanished overnight leaving their wares behind. They never sold anything of value, only donated junk with prices scrawled on in red biro and never worth even a fraction of whatever the labels said. It's a miracle they lasted for as long as they did and of no surprise when they left it all behind in search of more profitable trade.
It was almost three years before the council got the permissions to clear and renovate it all, having to hire an expensive private company who specialised in listed buildings and the like. As they were clearing out the junk they made little discoveries, remnants of the building's Tudor past tucked away under tattered romance novels and between clothes that stank of mothballs and urine.
Mostly they found mummified rats stuffed with lavender and rosemary - wards against misfortune.
Clearly these hadn't worked but there were so many of them that people began to worry about their removal, after all theirs was the fastest growing town in all of England and they wanted to keep it prosperous. Meetings were held in every pub that would have them until a decision was made.
The rats had to stay, for the greater good. Now while most people took to protesting outside of the old shop while the renovators ignored them in favour of digging up yet more rats, smaller groups with stronger opinions formed much harsher plans that were carried out overnight.
Come the following morning the renovation crew was witnessed choking to death on some kind of gas, blood pouring from their noses and mouths as they slowly collapsed to the floor in puddles of their own liquid life. Their hair seemed to fall from their falling bodies in great clouds, their skin blackening with intense internal bleeding as they drowned in front of the protesting crowd.
Work ceased as the shop was cordoned off for a full investigation though the forensics teams soon suffered the exact same symptoms, all dying within a week of each other until the shop was sealed for good, thick sheets of metal covering every known exit.
It's almost a same they never found the original blueprints or checked for the basement where powdered rat poison covered everything with a fine white layer, several dust masks lying innocently beside it as though they there purely by coincidence.
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