About The Sale of Many Curiosities

Before the shop had a name, or even a front door, it was an idea in a different galaxy. Not metaphorically—an actual alternate quadrant, spiraled and shimmering, where antique locket keys grew on stalks and whispers took root like vines. The one who dreamed this place into being fell asleep inside a hollow meteor and woke up with a catalog already forming.

You wouldn’t know it to look at the storefront now, but the original ledger was bound in moon-moss and written with the ink of crushed lightning bugs. Those early days were slow—partly due to time dilation, partly due to the unpredictable schedule of interdimensional trains.

Some say the original founder is still asleep somewhere beneath the floorboards. Others say they work the register every Tuesday but can only be seen reflected in the antique copper mirror that never stops fogging up.

Pilgrimages, Portals, and Peculiar Bazaars

Our inventory is not so much sourced as summoned. Through portals that shimmer behind public library shelves and beneath unseasonably warm storm drains, we’ve wandered into every back alley oddity fair from Constantinople to somewhere called Verdant Coil (where the local currency is tiny, perfect wishes).

Among the shelves are wind-up animals that hum the national anthem of no country, handmade dioramas with the smell of a long-forgotten holiday, and tiny locked boxes that vibrate when spoken to politely. Some items were traded from an unnamed woman in a cracked glass mask; others simply arrived in a puff of air that smelled faintly of burnt toast and ozone.

Of Friends, Ghosts, and Experts in Disguise

Not all who work here work here. Regulars will speak fondly of Gregory, who ran the taxidermy desk until 1974 (and occasionally still does), or the twins who can only be seen in mirrors when standing between 11:04 and 11:07 AM. For a time, we had a sentient drafting compass named Emory curating the cartography drawer.

More recently, the front counter has been staffed by an elderly woman named Thora who appears in oil paintings before she’s met you. Her advice is always sound, though she does require a toll of riddles or dried cherries.

A Curated Collection of the Uncuratable

We specialize in things that don’t make sense but absolutely belong. That’s the unspoken principle: if you hold it and your breath catches slightly, it’s yours.

Sometimes people wander in asking for very specific things—an antique mourning brooch for a cousin who never existed, a bell that rings when someone you love thinks of you. We don’t guarantee we have it. We only guarantee that something here is looking for you.

We don’t always know what’s in stock until it speaks up.

The Art of Collecting the Uncollectible

To those who believe collections must be linear: you may struggle here. Ours is a spiraling archive of the unnecessary made essential by affection. Our shelves don’t follow categories so much as moods: things that hum, things that chill, things that remind you of a cabin from a dream you’re sure wasn’t yours.

Pricing is often arbitrary. If something calls to you, don’t delay. It may not be here tomorrow—or it may have multiplied.

The Sale Continues

The sign outside reads “The Sale of Many Curiosities,” and it has for as long as we’ve remembered. The word ‘sale’ may imply clearance, but in truth, it refers more to sailing—a ship departing for unknown ports, bringing stories ashore.

If you leave with something, know that you’re part of the tale now. Every object here is unfinished without a companion. And you—whether you meant to or not—just became a keeper of something beautifully improbable.

Welcome to the shop. Mind the shadows. The donkey toy doesn’t like being watched.