The store was much like it always is, the day just like any normal Saturday. I leaned against the wall, swinging the key for the dressing room and singing along to whatever mediocre pop was playing on the overhead speakers. A family of four was out school shopping, the kids whining about having to wear uniforms, the parents arguing over a comment someone had made at dinner. I listened half-heartedly, using the slight drama as a distraction from the extreme boredom of unlocking doors for six hours straight.

“So why’d you say it?” the wife complained as she dug through the stack of clothes in her cart, thrusting khakis at each of her whining children.

The husband rolled his eyes. “All I said was, ‘You used to look a bit like our waitress.’ She was pretty! What’s the big deal?” He plopped onto one of the benches and gave me a once-over before focusing back on his wife.

“Used to,” the wife cried. She sat next to him on the bench, arms crossed, and shooed her kids into two separate stalls. “Meaning not anymore. You think I’m ugly.”

“Sue,” the husband said in a practiced tone, patting her arm, “you’re just as beautiful as you were in college, okay? I’m sorry.” And, safe. The wife sighed and smiled at him, her eyes all watery.

“Excuse me a minute, honey,” she cooed, slipping off the bench and wiping at her eyes. She shimmied to the bathroom, and he turned his gaze to me. In a slow, patient way he sized me up before shooting me a grin. I rolled my eyes, crinkled my nose, and looked away, which I thought was hint enough. My gaze drifted around the room.

A young couple debated on a pair of jeans on the woman. “My butt looks fat,” she insisted.

“It looks good, baby,” he beamed, and I moved on. A fat woman counted her money as her svelte daughter admired an expensive new outfit. An old man held his grandson on his lap as the little boy’s mom modeled a skirt that clearly didn’t fit in her budget. A wife tugged at her husband’s cargos, trying to decide if they were worth buying. And then something odd: a little girl sat alone, her small face drawn, her shoulders hunched. She pulled her knees, stained with grass, to her chin and let out a tiny sigh as straw-colored hair fell over her eyes. As I watched I noticed her lips moving, silently repeating something only the girl could hear. Still, it only took me thirty seconds to get her message.

“Leave me alone,” she whispered over and over, “leave me alone, leave me alone…”

In mingled fascination and fear I watched her mutter and sway gently, using her feet to push her back and forth as her hazel eyes slipped closed and the words grew slightly more audible. My hand went to my walkie, my finger poised on the call button, but I froze.

Some one was approaching the little girl, fast, and she knew it.

The girl’s head shot up fast, eyes wide and breath bated, as a tall man in all black walked swiftly towards her, arms outstretched. The fear in the girl’s eyes was obvious, and as he drew closer I took a step forward, reached an arm out to stop him, and stalled.

He was gone. The noise of oblivious patrons rang through the fitting room: husband and wife discussed their children’s school clothes, a little boy in a blue baseball cap bounced a cheap rubber ball. And the little girl sat still, her eyes closed, breath heavy, looking for all the world as though she were asleep. I looked around, my own breath ragged, my heart racing, for the man in black…but he was nowhere to be found. If he had been there at all, he had made a quick exit. Still frazzled, I looked back to the girl, who seemed to rouse from her sleep. She rubbed her eyes with little hands and glanced about the room with interest. Her gaze traveled to her feet, which she examined as though they were foreign, and then upwards…to me.

Cocking her head slightly, she looked into my eyes, and a chill traveled up my spine. With a touch of horror I noted that her eyes, previously a light hazel, were now blazing blue and ice cold, watching me with an edge of malice. She leaned forward, her eyes never leaving mine, and whispered, “Amazing. You can see, but you can’t receive.” She chuckled darkly, her laugh the hardened laugh of someone much older than herself, and added, “I thought they’d locked all the seers away. Amazing.” With a shake of the head she slipped from the bench and made to walk away, pausing briefly next to me to whisper, “Do yourself a favor, kid. Forget this ever happened.”