The bell on the door was a signal and a wave of ease washed over Janice. At the sound of it, she put the world behind her, left it outside as the door closed, and she was free to roam the aisles of the antique and curioso shop at her leisure. She rarely bought anything except the occasional trinket – a matchbook from a bygone era, a hairpin that at one point had been someone’s prized possession – but she still found herself there a couple of times a week. She liked to touch the objects and feel like she was touching a piece of history. She liked to breathe in their smells and imagine herself transported back in time. She liked to listen to their whispers as they told her their stories, their secrets.

           The shopkeeper was a tall, pale, gaunt-looking man; the type who looked more likely to trade in souls and favours than old dusty furniture and collections of sports cards, stamp collections. They hadn’t exchanged many words, but he always greeted her with a smile and nod and never made a fuss about her wandering around but not purchasing anything.

           The day had been particularly rough. She had received a call that morning from a collection agency. She was late on the pay-day loan she had taken out six months before. She had needed it to make rent that month and figured she would pay it back – as was the idea – on her next payday. The next month she blew out a tire and had to get them all replaced, so she could not make a payment. The next month her refrigerator died and had to scramble to find a decent used one. Month after month there always seemed to be some miscellaneous payment that she had to make that kept her from making a payment. The phone call was to tell her that they were going to start garnishing her wages to pay back the loan.

           She was going to talk to her boss about getting an advancement on her next paycheck when she got another phone call. It was from her son’s school; Tommy had been suspended after starting a fight and someone had to pick him up. She had called her ex-husband but all he did was remind her that it was her week with him, so it was her responsibility. She would have to figure something out.

           Instead of asking for an advance, she had to ask to leave early.

           But all that washed away when she walked through the door and heard that bell. She nodded to Mr. Travino and began walking down the aisles. She had picked up her son on her lunch break, and only sacrificed fifteen minutes of work dropping him off at home. They would talk tonight. For now, this was her time.

           She was rounding the back end of the shop and ready to head home when something caught her eye. The normally dark colours of antique wood and wrought iron were punctured by bright red. It was deep, looked like she could have dipped her hand in it. Her interest was piqued. Whatever it was, it was stacked with various wooden boxes, a lamp, and some large dusty paintings. Compelled, she began taking everything off and stacking it all in the aisle. Underneath she uncovered two red leather wingback chairs. They were stunning, beautiful. She was captivated by the deep red, how it darkened into the folds and shadows, the way it seems to flow like water, or like blood.

           Blood? Where did that thought come from? It didn’t matter, she was too entranced by the chair. She reached out to touch it, the leather was soft, supple; it would glide under her hand as she moved it along the contours. Shining gold studs fastened the leather together, held everything in place. She was never one to worry about interior design, her finances dictated that; most of her furniture was second-hand, purchased at thrift stores, or donated to her from friends or family. She could never afford something like these two chairs, but she could not pull herself away. She wondered how it would feel to sit in it; to put her feet up, curl up inside it. She tried to step away. She reminded herself that she was about to have her wages garnished; no matter the cost, she couldn’t afford it. She turned away but turned back for another look; the red seemed to glow and pulsate with her heartbeat. It called to her, tied itself to her.

           “A fine pair, aren’t they?” Mr. Travino appeared behind her, his voice oozed out of him, dripped from his lips “Most leather is collected from a variety of sources, but this all comes from the same… um… donor. It’s not artificially dyed, that’s a natural color that comes out from the oil they use, or so they say.” He had never spoken to her this much before. He had barely said more than ‘have a good afternoon’ as she walked out the door. What was he so excited for?

           “Or so they say?”

           “The pair of them came to me from the Estate sale of a wealthy artist,” he continued. “And the rumour is that he had a great interest in the occult. That the red hue is a sign of their origin, gifted to the artist by the Devil itself.”

           “How much are they?” She was entranced.

           He told her the price for the pair, but it was out of her budget. Everything was out of her budget. She questioned if she was going to be able to afford groceries for the week, there was no way that she could afford furniture. She made excuses to Mr. Travino that she did not really need them, that she had enough chairs at home.

           “No, no, this is not about need, this is about want. About desire. It’s about giving yourself something; not only this material item but also giving yourself a space. A space that is just yours. And would you look at that, seems there is a tear in one of these,” he reached out tore a piece of the leather off the chair. “Can’t sell that one, so the one chair is only a third of the price.”

           Even as it was happening, she could not explain it. She could not put the thoughts together, the trail that led her to suddenly be up at the counter swiping her card. She knew she could not afford it. Even marked down it would make groceries lean that week, even more than they already were, and she still owed her sister for helping her with the hydro bill last month; but there was an energy to the chair, she felt it difficult to physically pull herself away.

           Then she was home with it sitting in the corner of her bedroom, the dresser shoved over to one side to make room. Had she driven it home in the back of her hatchback? No, it wouldn’t have fit, she must have had it delivered. How had she made the space? Did movers bring it in? She couldn’t remember any of it. She had been at the store paying, and suddenly she was back here in her apartment.

           It was beautiful. It called to her with the promise of comfort and safety. She ran her hand along it again, felt the contours of the arms, the little gold studs. There was a whisper in her head beckoning her to sit down. She obliged and eased herself into the seat.

           As she settled in, she was not sure if she had ever truly been relaxed before. The chair hugged her body, supported every part of her, making it feel like she was floating. She felt everything wash away in that chair. The money didn’t matter, she would find a way to make it work. The food wasn’t a concern, she would find some when she was hungry. Her relationship with her ex-husband slipped from her mind, how did they even become embattled in this competitive feud? None of it mattered. She felt she could just be.

           – It feels good, doesn’t it?

           She bolted upright and looked around the room for the voice. “Who’s there? Tommy, is that you?” She went and checked on him in his room, he was sprawled on his bed with headphones on and playing games on his phone. A constant source of contention, he always complained that at his dads’ place he had real video games to play – a whole room dedicated to it. Here all he had was his phone which was ‘totally embarrassing’. But she barely had the money to cover the necessities, let alone a new video game system.

           She went back to her room where the chair was. She must have been hearing things.

           There was a growing sense of dread rising in her. If they were so tight on money then why did she make such an impulsive purchase? A chair, of all things. It was not as if she had space to comfortably house it, she had resorted to stuffing it in the corner of her bedroom. The phone call from the collection’s agency echoed in her head and her blood ran cold. There was no way they could afford this, what was she thinking? Maybe tomorrow she would call the shop and see if she could return it.

           – I do not think that is a particularly good idea, Janice.

           What? It was the chair; the voice came from the chair. She walked over and inspected it for any wires or speakers. It didn’t make sense, but what else could it be?

           – I saw you in the shop today and thought we would be a good fit. I called out to you to purchase me. I can see the stress and tension in your body, and I want to help. Come, sit down, talk to me.

           It was right though, she felt unhinged like she was just waiting for the tension to break and finally snap. Never being able to get a single moment of rest. Living in a state of constant worry and anxiety. So, she sat down, and it felt good. The soft leather was smooth against her skin, her body sank into it and was hugged on all sides by the chair. It was big enough that she could curl her legs up underneath her and rest her head in the crook of one of the wings.

           – Tell me, what are you stressed about.

           “How much time do you have?”

           – As much time as you need.

           “Well, I’m a single mom living in a two-bedroom apartment that I can barely afford, living less than paycheck to paycheck; meanwhile my ex-husband is living with the woman he left me for, in her mansion uptown. Their garage is bigger than my apartment.” She continued, talking about the messy divorce, and how hard it was only seeing her son every other week; but also, how hard it was feeling like she was failing him. At his father’s he had everything he could ever want, the clothes, the videogames, the food. Apparently, they were planning a trip to Greece later that year. And when he was here, she worried about what they would be doing for dinner. They were just scraping by, and she couldn’t create the important memories of childhood that would help him grow. “It feels like it’s all just hanging by a loose thread and I’m waiting for it to break.”

           “Mom, what’s for dinner?” The room had become dark, and her son was silhouetted in the doorway.  How much time had passed? She’d completely lost track.

           “Sorry honey, I must have dozed off.”

           She made him some boxed macaroni and cheese and cut up some hotdogs in it. It wasn’t much, but the best she had in the house right now. She would have to go to the grocery store tomorrow and pick up some essentials for the week. She hoped the nostalgia of eating macaroni and cheese on weekend afternoons when he was a child would make the meal more palatable.

           “Gross,” he said as he looked down into the bowl of neon orange noodles. “What is this? Are those hot dogs?”

           “Gross? You used to love this, you had it every weekend while watching cartoons.”

           “Whatever.” He took the bowl and retreated back into his bedroom.

           “Hey,” she called out to him. “We still have to talk about the incident at school today.”

           “Whatever,” he called out as his bedroom door closed behind him.

           Tomorrow would be different, she told herself. Tomorrow maybe they would go on a hike to get some fresh air and spend some time together. She could talk to him about his suspension then. Then they could go grocery shopping together, and she’d let him pick out a treat for the night. They could try and find a movie on TV that they could watch together or pick one of the DVDs she still had in the house. Yes, tomorrow would be different.

           But the next day wasn’t different. She tried to convince him to go for a hike with her, but he didn’t want to; made the excuse that he didn’t have proper clothes and it was supposed to rain anyway. Instead, he spent the morning in his room with the door closed, only emerging around noon for lunch, a dry noodle pack. She offered to cook it, but he said why bother, and retreated to his room. Later she suggested they go pick up some groceries together; they could find something for dinner, and maybe a fun snack for the evening. He didn’t seem too thrilled by the idea but relented.

           “So, what were you thinking for dinner?” she asked as they wandered down the aisles of the grocery store. “We could get another box of macaroni and cheese?” She meant it as a joke, but he just soured his face. She tried to change the subject and bring up the suspension, “How’s school going?”

           “Fine.”

           “Really, then why did you get suspended yesterday? I missed some work because of that.”

           “Oh no, did you miss filing some papers? I’m sure everything will be chaos now.”

           “Hey,” she stopped the cart. “That’s my career, and I work hard to try and provide for you.”

           “Probably should try and work a little harder,” he mumbled under his breath.

           She pretended not to hear it, hoping her face hadn’t gone red. She was trying, she really was trying the best she could. Instead, she turned her focus back to her list and grabbing the sparse items she could afford. A loaf of bread, some canned soup. She saw out of the corner of her eye Tommy grab a bag of chips and throw them into the cart. That would make a good treat for later. Maybe that would open him up, and he would tell her what was going on at school.

           “All right, I’m going to go look for some deli meats, why don’t you get some lettuce and tomatoes, and we can make sandwiches for dinner. Take the cart with you.”

           In the deli, she found a package of meat that was fifty percent off as it was expiring soon. They were going to eat it that evening, so it was perfect. She made her way to the produce section to meet Tommy, but he wasn’t there. He probably went the other way and was looking for her in the deli, they must have passed each other on different sides of the store. She retraced her steps back to the deli, but he wasn’t there either. Her heart skipped a moment, but she reminded herself it wasn’t a big store and he’s got to be here somewhere. She started at one end and walked to the other, looking down each aisle for their cart and the sight of his shaggy blond hair.

           “There you are, I’ve been looking for you.” She found him in the second last aisle, with all the snacks and soda. She looked in the cart but did not see any lettuce or tomato, instead, he had piled two cases of soda, five more bags of chips, and a bag of candy. “What’s all this, where are the vegetables?”

           “I wanted some snacks for tonight.”

           “You picked the bag of chips earlier. We don’t need all this.”

           “So, I want it. Dad lets me get all the junk food I want.”

           “I’m not your father, and we can’t afford all of this.”

           “Gawd, maybe if you hadn’t pushed Dad away you wouldn’t be so poor.”

           “Is that what you think happened?”

           “Whatever, it doesn’t matter, I’ll get the snacks.” He pulled out a fold of bills from his pocket and started wheeling the cart to the cash register.

           Back at the apartment Tommy grabbed a case of soda and two bags of chips and disappeared into his room. Guess that was going to be his dinner. “Don’t think we’re not going to talk about what happened at the store today,” she called as the door closed. As she used some of the deli meat to make a sandwich, she looked down the hall at Tommy’s closed door. Feeling secure he would be in there a while, she secretly poured herself a drink from a bottle of vodka she had hidden away and been nursing for a few months. She felt deserved it after the grocery store. Then she went to her room and sat in the chair. She sunk in and it hugged her close again, a feeling of comfort and security she had not felt in a long time.

           “I was conflicted at the grocery store. Tommy pulled out his allowance to pay for the groceries, his father gives him an allowance of fifty dollars a week, can you believe that? I should not have let him; I feel terrible having to have my kid buy me stuff. But at the same time, it was the break I needed. Well, one of many at least.”

           – Where do you think this all began?

           “It began with my divorce. John had this great support system, hell he was already with another woman who loves Tommy and can help provide for him. It’s like he just jumped into another stable family. Then I’m left here struggling on my own, providing for a kid, trying to make ends meet, and barely getting there. Seriously, it seems every time I get one little break, something comes along to knock me back down.”

           It was a few hours, and a few drinks later. She could feel the warmth in her face, and her body feeling loose.

           – Do you regret it? Starting a family.

           “Sometimes I do, and I feel terrible for saying that, but yes, sometimes I do. I guess I regret it only because of how it turned out. But maybe that’s the case with a lot of things, if things had turned out how they were supposed to I’d be saying something completely different.” She took a healthy swig from her drink, finishing it. “I just wish I didn’t have this one large expense hanging over me, ya know? If I were on my own, I could survive on cheap meals for a few months while I got back on my feet. But that’s not good enough for him. He wants the clothes, and the video games, and the junk food, and it’s all perpetrated by his father. He has got the means and gives him all of it. Just another way for him to beat me like this is a game. I don’t know, I’m rambling. Either I drank too much, or I need another. And because I rarely get this opportunity, I’m going to opt for another.”

           She stood up and had to steady herself, made her way to the kitchen to mix herself another drink. This was it, this would be the last one for the night; it was dark outside, when did that happen? She would bitch and moan some more, get it out, and tomorrow she would wake up feeling better, ready to face it if only a little hungover.

           “Mom, did you say something?” she heard Tommy down the hall open his door.

           She quickly mixed her drink and put the alcohol away. She turned to greet him and ask if he wanted to watch a movie together, but he wasn’t there. She took a few steps down the hall and called out his name. Maybe he was in the bathroom? She walked towards the bedrooms, maybe he went back into his room.

           Then a blood-curdling scream from her bedroom cut through the apartment.

           She ran down the hall and threw the door open. There was the chair, with Tommy’s struggling body underneath the cushion, his arms flailing, struggling to pull himself out. He let out a faint cry before his body went limp. The cushion moved up and down like it was chewing the body. Bones broke and crunched; blood poured over the sides pooling on the floor in an ever-expanding puddle. The body slowly disappeared inside the chair.

           Her glass smashed on the floor.

           “Ahhh!”