The Procurer

Love and Pain (The Vampire), Edvard Munch, 1895

Originally written for NYC Midnight 250 Microfiction Challenge 2024

I buzz open the door just before he presses the button. I’ve been watching him search for the entrance, rereading my instructions.

I hope that, given time, I will become more comfortable with strangers. In silence I lead him into the warehouse and flick on the light, revealing a room of densely packed antiquities. The door-latch falls home behind him with a click.

“You have great stuff,” he offers, admiring the collection of tapestries, shining dark wood, and cloth-shrouded mirrors. His face is flush with youth, even under the fluorescents. I allow myself a small smile as I smooth back a poster that had begun to peel down from the windowpane. Sunlight can be dangerous. I take my role as a procurer seriously.

I point to his purchase - an Edwardian armchair, lovingly restored with dark red fabric. “Stain proof,” I say. “A modern improvement.”

He holds out an envelope, keen to leave. “Cash okay?” I offer to help him carry it, knowing that like all the others he will manfully decline help from an old lady.

I can tell the moment he realises there is no handle to open the door from the inside. He looks questioningly over his shoulder, but I avoid his gaze, shutting myself in the office until it is over.

I wait until sunrise. There is a little blood on the chair, but I already know the stain proof fabric has earned its name.

I’ll have it perfect again in time for the next customer.