Book Five, Chapter 63: The Flea Market

“Nothing has walked in the bowling alley in the last forty minutes,” Michael said. “Are we even sure that this stuff happens when players aren’t around? Maybe if we went in there—”

“It happens whether players are there or not,” Andrew said. “You know that. I know you want to find that omen as much as I do, but you have to be patient. This is a large undertaking.”

We waited at the corner of the street across from the bowling alley, in a place where there was very little activity of any kind, whether it be NPCs or omens. I sat under a tree and scanned around, looking for danger. Kimberly had brought the baby doll along, but it hadn’t screamed even once.

Antoine came over and sat next to me.

“So, you got any ideas?” he asked. “People are getting a little antsy.”

Truthfully, I wasn’t sure, and if I was being honest, I was starting to believe that the omen we were looking for might not be in the bowling alley.

“When we talked to Sal, he said that Stray Dawn was set at a mansion in southern Carousel and that the town footage would be southeast Carousel,” I said. Like eastern Carousel, there were other sections of Carousel that acted as separate towns in storylines.

“Right,” Antoine said. “You think we need to go look over there? In southern Carousel?”

I shook my head. “No,” I said. “I like our theory. The bowlers played basically every storyline within their level range that existed in this area.”

“So, do we need to fan out?” he asked. “Figure out where the omen is? Maybe they left the bowling alley in search of new storylines?”

“Yes, but it’s more than that,” I said. “If the story is mostly set in south and southeast Carousel, I imagine it doesn’t start here because this is basically central, west-central Carousel.”

“Yeah, nowhere near where the movie is set,” he said. “So what does that mean?”

“Well, if the omen is found here as we theorized, but the story is not triggered here, it could be like those in the library, where as soon as you trigger it, a bunch of NPCs start pushing you toward wherever the setting is, one way or another, through bits of dialogue or some sort of narrative device. Or…”

I paused to think.

“Or?” Antoine asked.

“Or… you could just purchase the omen over here and run it somewhere else,” I said.

He nodded enthusiastically.

“A purchasable omen,” he repeated. “So we need to look for a shop.”

“That’s what I’m thinking,” I said. “But again, it could just be an omen that is placed in a silly area. Places like the library or even the hospital sometimes had a bunch of omens that weren’t set in those places, but that was kind of their gimmick. That was not the norm necessarily.”

Antoine stood up and quickly raised his voice. “Everybody, gather up. We’ve got a plan.”

Everyone was eager to do something other than wait and watch a bowling alley, so they came from where they had been waiting.

“Riley thinks that the omen might be a purchasable omen, so we need to find stores nearby where the bowlers might have found the omen we’re looking for.”

We didn’t even have to look.

“What about the For Your Life Flea Market?” Kimberly said. “A block over, there’s a whole lot with a bunch of different booths selling clothes and furniture. We could get some more chairs.”

Of course, Kimberly knew where the nearest shopping venue was.

“We’ll start there,” Antoine said. “But we’re not buying chairs from a flea market. We’re going to steal them from storylines like proper players.”

Interior decorating was a high-risk, low-reward pastime in Carousel.

It didn’t take long to find the flea market that Kimberly was talking about.

I barely even remembered it being there because the last time we had seen it was when we were loaded into a bus, running away from the black snow, and all the omens were deactivating like bubble wrap popping in a microwave.

“Alright, stay with me,” I said, and I must have said it with some intensity because they all got really close to me. When I moved, they moved.

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That was a good thing because the flea market was filled with omens, cursed and haunted objects, as well as lots of trope items. It also had tons of old-looking props and vintage clothes.

“Alright, at first glance, it looks like the omens are constrained to the shelves and the tables, so don’t touch anything unless you’ve really given it a good look,” I said. “Even then, don’t touch anything.”

There were probably lots of items that we could have bought there, but I wasn’t looking for them, and frankly, we were running low on cash from our recent shopping spree.

The flea market was one of my favorite types of places in Carousel, in its own way, because a lot of the omens had NPCs interacting with them and adding little narrative flair.

A woman was haggling to purchase an old desk, claiming that it was her father’s but that it was sold in an estate sale without her knowledge. She didn’t have enough for the purchase. The storyline was called The Bureau of Investigation, and it was a pretty difficult one. It was triggered by bringing the desk to your base and unlocking its clues, whatever that meant. I liked it because I thought it was a fine name for a storyline and a beautiful desk.

“This is where we need to take Cassie,” Kimberly said.

I nodded. “Yeah, there are lots of cursed and haunted things here that she could use for her Curios and Trinkets trope.”

“Well, that and the clothes here are just her style,” she said, eyeing a clothing rack that looked like it was taken from the set of an early ’90s counterculture movie.

There were plants for sale, including one that was clearly moving under its own power—an omen for a movie called Gorticulture.

As I looked around with a mix of panic (because I was surrounded by dangerous omens) and amazement (because I was also surrounded by really cool omens), I started to hear a conversation getting heated.

“I told you,” one of the voices said, “I am not here to purchase paintings. I am here to sell paintings; I buy mine from estate auctions and other events where I can check their provenance. I do not have anyone here to authenticate this specimen. If you would like to take it six blocks that way, there is an antique shop that might have more interest.”

As if someone selling paintings at a flea market would care about provenance.

“Just 60 bucks,” another voice said. “Come on, you’re already set up to sell paintings. Just look at it. You don’t need it authenticated; it’s beautiful, it’s an antique. It has to be. It was in an ancient house.”

“If you’ve stolen this painting, do you think that makes me more likely to purchase it?” the first voice asked.