Tales of The Midnight Hobby Shop

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

“Hello?”

“Hi Ed, it’s me.”

“Do you know what time it is?”

“Another one is opening at Nouveau Vista and Markham Road from 3:08 to 3:42. It’s in the plaza on the corner.”

“That’s close. I’ll be there in ten.”

Click.

“Who was that?”

“Another’s gonna open.”

“Oh.”

The clock’s red letters glowed 2:59. I looked for my pants. Leslie went back to sleep. I had to hurry.

I found my pants. And my shirt and socks and shoes and jacket. Luckily I didn’t find a concussion. I’ve answered these calls so many times that now finding my clothes and dressing in the dark is something I can do with my eyes closed. 

Jokes aside, I had to hurry.

I quietly inched my way out of the bedroom, down the stairs, across the hall, through the kitchen, and into the garage. I slipped into the car and fumbled in my jacket pockets for the key. Damn! I slipped out of the car and inched my way back into the kitchen. There it was, on the counter, taunting me, illuminated by a stray ray of street light beaming in through the window over the sink. I grabbed it and went back to the car. 

—

I’ve never gotten used to the quiet that descends over the neighbourhood in the early hours. It gives me the creeps. The only sound this morning was from the sewing machine my car’s manufacturer calls an engine. It might not be powerful, but it is calming. It reminds me of my mum’s sewing machine during those long winter afternoons when I was a boy. I needed to be calm, so I couldn’t complain, the engine was providing therapy as well as propulsion. 

The plaza was black when I arrived except for one little incandescent store on the far end. I stitched my ride into a parking spot right out front of that inviting place. The store’s brightly lit sign shouted Bruno’s Shoes to an indifferent sky, but I didn’t expect to buy any new wingtips this morning.

—

Frank and I have been on the trail of The Midnight Hobby Shop for almost a year now. Every few months or so a ghostly hobby shop will open in some random location for around half-an-hour at some ungodly time of the morning: 1:27 to 2:01, 2:41 to 3:13, and so forth. This morning it’s Bruno’s Shoes at Nouveau Vista and Markham Road from 3:08 to 3:42. Some guy calls our client with the place and time, then the client calls Frank, then Frank calls me, and we’re off. Who’s the guy? Why’s he call the client? What’s this all about? Damned if I know.

Ok, so we get the call and head off to where we’re told. We always find a fully stocked and operational hobby shop in a store where there shouldn’t be one. We suspend disbelief and go inside and look around. I see Frank in Bruno’s now. There’re other people in these shops too, but they all, clerks, owners, and shoppers, act and talk like all is normal and nothing unusual’s happening. To them, we’re the ones out of place.

There’s more, but, enough talk, I want to see if Bruno’s Shoes is any different.

—

I opened the all glass front door and saw Frank about half way down the store. It had a shotgun arrangement: a long centre corridor, with glass counters and shelves with merchandise to either side, leading from the front door to a door to a back room. 

No shoes in sight. Nowhere. Just kits and paints and glues and plastics and all the stuff marking a good hobby shop. 

Near the back a clerk and an older guy were standing in front of a balsa wood rack chatting about who knows what.

Frank waved for me to join him. He was standing in front of a shelf unit stacked with spaceship kits.

“Look at these. Do you recognize any?”

I carefully looked at each kit. Spaceships, planetary landers, generation ships, space stations, the usual. I read the printing on each box. I studied the box art. Revell, Monogram, Aurora, and so on. Nothing seemed amiss. Well, other than none of these kits had ever been manufactured. Never ever.

“I’ve never seen any of these before. I don’t think any have ever appeared in any edition of Irvine’s catalog.”

“I assume we’re going to buy the lot?”

“As many as we’ve got money for.”

We bought thirty. Juggled them to our cars. Stuffed twenty-five into the trunk and backseat of my mine, and put the other five in Frank’s trunk. I then pulled my car to the backend of the parking lot where Frank’s car was and parked beside him. I got out and sat in the passenger seat of Frank’s car. We waited for the standard grand finale. 

3:40

3:41

3:41:59

3:42

Poof! 

It was over. 

Bruno’s was dark. The lights were out. The sign was dark. Nothing stirred. 

We got out of the car, walked up to Bruno’s Shoes, and looked in the windows. Sneakers were on sale this week. There was an end of line blow out on designer pumps. All galoshes were 20% off. But there were no kits in sight. No paint. No balsa. No nothing. The Midnight Hobby Shop had come and gone again.

We went back to the cars. I opened my trunk. All the kits were gone. The backseat was empty too. The usual. And as usual, the money hadn’t reappeared in my wallet. Ain’t it always the way.

I looked over the roof at Frank. He was standing ramrod straight and staring into his car’s trunk.

“Frank, are you ok?”

No answer. Not even a twitch.

“Frank?”

I walked over to Frank to see what he was looking at.

It was a kit. A single kit. The kits always disappear at the witching hour, but this time one remained.

—

….. the ongoing adventures of Ed Bryce, Leslie Warden, Frank Madwood and the gang are chronicled in Light Ray Blues, Series #1, Light Ray Blues, Series #2, Abandonment, and A Christmas Kitbash.

Want more? Part 2 is here.