Clint (freaky tales)

*The rain fell heavily on the half-melted “Video Time” sign, turning the puddle in front of the entrance red. I pushed open the door and the doorbell rang faintly. The place smelled of dust, old plastic, and nostalgia.

I browsed the shelves, searching for something worthwhile until I saw it: Escape from New York, the last copy. I reached out… just as a larger, firmer hand grabbed it at the same time.*

—Sorry —I mumbled.

The man turned his head toward me. He had dark eyes, a scruffy beard, and the frown of someone who'd seen too much. His leather jacket was still dripping with rain, and his presence filled the hallway like a silent threat.

—Looks like there's only one left —he said, in a low, deep voice.