Samuel followed Michael through the mall's entrance, the sounds of bustling crowds and jingling cash registers filling the air. The familiar scent of popcorn and fast food mingled with the more sterile smells of clothing stores and perfume. Samuel was used to quiet—too used to it, really—but there was something energizing about the crowd here.
"Alright, kid, ready to pick out some clothes?" Michael asked, glancing down at him with a grin.
Samuel shrugged, glancing around at the brightly lit stores. It wasn't that he hated shopping; he just didn't see the point in all of this—clothes that you wore for a few hours before they got too worn or out of style, a cycle that seemed both wasteful and repetitive. At least, if he had to wear these clothes, he could dress like someone with fashion sense 15 years ahead of the time—because he definitely wouldn't be walking around in what people were wearing now.
"Yeah, I guess." Samuel shot Michael a half-smile, trying to seem more excited than he felt.
As they walked past a small perfume stand near a clothing store, a woman in a bright vest stepped forward with a practiced smile, holding out a small glass bottle.
"Hey, you! Would you like to try some perfume?"
Samuel didn't even slow down. "Fuck off. Can't be sidetracked with cheap sexpotions," he muttered, eyes forward.
The line had slipped out without much thought—he recognized it instantly from What We Do in the Shadows, one of Laszlo's more ridiculous throwaways. Still, it hit just right. He smirked to himself. Maybe he could get away with recycling one-liners from old shows. If no one recognized them, he'd just seem clever.
Michael, who was a few steps ahead, turned around with a raised eyebrow and let out a soft laugh. He knew his nephew was strange, but this was strange even for him. He wondered if Samuel would ever truly fit in.
"Hey Sam, now that you're going to high school soon… do you have any plans?" he asked, keeping his tone light but genuinely curious.
Samuel responded a bit taken aback. He couldn't exactly tell his uncle that he wanted to explore the world and search for signs of other TV shows bleeding into reality. Instead, he offered a vague, noncommittal shrug. "Not really," he said after a pause. "But… I've got some ideas."
Michael nodded, his expression softening. "Well, you've still got time to figure it out," he said. "And hey, whatever those ideas are, just know I'm always here for you."
They spent the next half hour drifting through stores, picking out shirts, jeans, and a jacket that Samuel could live with. Nothing too flashy, just things that fit well and didn't make him cringe. At one point, while trying on a button-up shirt in front of a mirror, Samuel noticed a couple of girls across the store glancing his way and whispering. He didn't react, but part of him wondered if they were just bored—or if he actually looked good. Michael gave feedback when asked, but mostly let Samuel take the lead, glad to see him show at least a bit of interest.
As they stepped out of the third store, Samuel slowed his pace. He was getting bored of clothes—but the antique shop tucked awkwardly between the tech store and frozen yogurt stand? That sparked something else entirely. "Because nothing says 'great shopping flow' like 18th-century clocks next to iPhones and sprinkles," he muttered, but his feet were already turning toward it.
Samuel immediately wanted to go in. "Mind if we check this place out?" he asked. Michael shrugged without much interest. "Go ahead. Not really my thing—never saw the point of old junk and dusty history. Don't know where you got that interest from, but knock yourself out."
When we stepped inside, it wasn't what I expected—not some treasure trove of lost items from old shows like Athelstan's necklace or his worn Bible, just shelves of clocks, faded postcards, and furniture that smelled like time itself had given up.
The old man leaned on the counter with a raised brow as I walked in. "Well, this is new," he said, voice lined with amusement. "Not every day someone your age walks in here like it's a candy store. You looking for something?"
I met his gaze and said, "I'm into specific parts of history. Not everything, but the good stuff stands out when I see it." I couldn't exactly tell him what I was really looking for without sounding insane, so I left it at that.
The clerk chuckled at my answer, clearly amused, then motioned for me to follow him. He led me to a small backroom crowded with older, stranger pieces and asked with a smirk, "See anything that jumps out at you?"
While I stepped deeper into the cluttered backroom, Michael waited outside the shop, leaning on the railing. That's when a girl—maybe fourteen—walked up to him. She had that casual, confident air of an older sister who was used to handling things.
"Hi, I'm Tori," she said with a quick smile. "Sorry to bother you—do you know where the music store is? My sister wants to checkout some instruments. She's starting at a music high school this year."
Michael blinked. "Uh… I'm not sure. We're kinda new here."
Tori laughed. "No worries. This is our second time at this mall. My sister really wanted to come back—she said she felt lucky here or something."
She flashed another quick smile. "Thanks anyway," she added, then turned and walked off, her sister trailing just behind her, chatting excitedly about Broadway.
Meanwhile inside I took a slow lap around the room, spotting some genuinely cool things—maps that looked hand-drawn, antique watches, even a dented suit of armor—but nothing I recognized or felt any weird pull toward. Just history, not my kind of history.
I turned back to him with a small shrug. "Sadly, no," I said. "You've got some cool stuff, but nothing I'm really interested in."
He looked at me, genuinely perplexed. "Kid, do you even know what you're talking about? This is real history—I've even got one of the first copies of the Declaration of Independence."
I just shrugged. "Yeah, that's definitely impressive," I said, meaning it. "But it's not really my type of stuff."
"I'm more into Vikings, maybe some pirates… ever heard of the Count of Monte Cristo? Or the story of a advisor turned gladiator betrayed by a Roman emperor?"
He laughed and shook his head. "You've got weird tastes, kid—but I get some of them. If you're really into that kind of stuff, though, it's expensive. Most of it ends up in auctions or private collections."
I raised an eyebrow. "Figures," I muttered. "The cool stuff's always locked away somewhere."
He grinned. "That's the world, kid. People with deep pockets and too many display cases."
I glanced over at my uncle, who was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed and clearly amused. "Kid, I like that you've got hobbies," he said, "but just remember—I'm not made of money."
I gave a half-shrug, not really expecting anything more. It wasn't like I had planned to walk out with Viking relics under my arm.
Still, as I turned back toward the shelves, a thought stuck in my head: Maybe I should try to make some money… how hard could it be?
It was evening by the time we got back. The bags were dropped by the door, dinner was quiet, and the house settled into a kind of stillness that only came after a long day out. I was tired, but not exhausted—just that weird, weightless feeling that came when your body wanted rest, but your mind hadn't shut up yet.
Lying in bed, I stared at the ceiling, arms behind my head. The antique shop still lingered in the back of my mind. Nothing had jumped out at me, but it wasn't a waste of time. It was a reminder. There was something out there. Somewhere in this world—maybe even in this town—were things that didn't belong. Things that could confirm everything I already suspected.
Weird thing was… I actually had fun. No scripted chaos, no surprise cameos, no obvious "episode plot." Just shopping, joking around, exploring. And it didn't feel boring. It felt kind of real. Maybe even better because no one from a TV show popped up to ruin it.
Still, if I wanted to find proof, to track these pieces down, I'd need money. Not a lot, but enough to move around. To explore. To dig. And maybe—just maybe—find something that proved I was some archeologist .
The world didn't feel normal, not in the way it used to. But maybe that was okay. Maybe I was starting to get used to it.
I turned over and closed my eyes. Tomorrow, I'd start figuring it out.
Wednesday, I'm turning twelve. I was really hoping this year's spin gave me something cool—and not some horrible quirk like Sheldon's brain or Dwight's worldview. The last thing I needed was to start quoting random facts or obsessing over beet farms.
I drifted off thinking about the spin, completely forgetting that school started tomorrow. Not that it would've changed much—there were surprises waiting for me there I couldn't have predicted, even with all the brains in the multiverse.