I happened upon an old antique store, somewhere lost beneath the waves of new market towns. It was surrounded by them. Greggs on one side, Costa on another. A burger king lay directly opposite it, located within some gorgeous georgian townhouse, now filled with adverts and takeaway menus.
But yet it stood there, standing tall.
It was one of those places that didn’t even need a sign or a banner displaying what it was. It didn’t have times of opening or adverts announcing it’s arrival. Just two windows, on either side of an open door. Within the windows were little bits, and little bobs. Each one marked by a little brown sign marking it’s price in a black pen.
It didn’t belong there. It shouldn’t have existed.
I entered out of curiosity. I half expected to find rabbit’s foots and monkey paws. Thought that the prices would be souls. But no. They where normal, if not slightly expensive.
An old glass commemorating some dead monarch, £5.
A statue of a dog, beautiful, yet somehow slightly repulsive. £5
A doll-house, filled with people of all shapes and sizes. £5
A camera. A small camera. Hand-held. £5.
It was a curious camera. A boxy thing, a single little pinhole of light, blocked off by a spring mechanism, that opened and shut, and let the light inside. A small lever opened.. Or should’ve opened the mechanism, to let a new roll of film through.
“Careful” said the shopkeeper in a playful tone.
“That’s a camera obscura. Very rare. Look at the lens.”
I peered an eye through the lens. Projected back into my eyeball was an image of the place, slightly blurry and in a little off-yellow.
“Go on. Try the switch.”
I pointed instinctively at the shop keeper, his playful smile seeming monstrous in the tint and bluriness of the thing. A person but not really. He batted my hand away before I could press it.
“Not at me silly! I’m far too old for seeing pictures of myself. Point it at the boat”
He took a little boat in a bottle off the shelf, a small little clipper ship, painted with the detail only someone really interested in clipper ships could paint.
I pointed, and pressed.
Click.
In the lens, I could have sworn I saw the ship then, swaying back and forth amongst an invisible tide, the breeze blasting the sails. I thought I heard shanties sung, and ropes being tied to riggings.
I looked up then, and the ship was it’s normal boat in a bottle. Nothing special.
“It’s not real.” The shopkeeper laughed. “It’s just a reflection.”
“A reflection?” I asked.
“Of the thing it really is. It reflects it. Projects it, and then you think you see it move, but it can’t move anymore.”
I laughed him off. It was obviously some old magic trick, a little wobbling that happens when you press the shutter. I thanked him for his time and I left.
But that night as I slept, I couldn’t shake a thought. And then I couldn’t sleep at all.
It was a simple thought that came to me, and woke me from my dream.
I’ve never seen a dolls-house so filled with dolls.