It started on an ordinary Monday morning. I unlocked the door, wiped down the counters, and set out the new stock like always. Around nine, a woman I vaguely recognized came in, wandered for a minute, then left without a word. I didn’t think much of it. By lunchtime, the street outside was full of people, yet no one crossed my threshold. A few slowed down, looked at the display, then abruptly turned away as if they’d forgotten something urgent.
Others stepped inside, paused, got this uneasy look, and backed out quickly. The whole day passed without a single sale. That had never happened, not once in years. The next days were worse. Regular customers who used to greet me by name suddenly weren’t around. People I knew owed me money would cross the road rather than pass the shop. Foot traffic stayed steady everywhere else, but my place felt invisible.
At closing time, the quiet got heavier. When I was alone restocking or counting the empty till, I’d feel watched. Not imagination—a real pressure in the air, like someone else was standing just behind me. Whatever was happening wasn’t bad luck or competition. Something unnatural had settled in, and it was keeping everyone away. Read more https://drbokko.com/?p=36282
