Episode Details

The shop was tucked between a pawnbroker and a boarded-up café, its window dusty, its sign faded. Inside, shelves of shoes lined the walls—hundreds of pairs, all slightly worn, all with names written inside the tongues. The old man behind the counter said they belonged to the dead. I laughed. I bought three pairs. That night, I heard footsteps in my hallway. The next morning, the shoes were warm.

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