Pinky froze. The smile on his face didn't fade completely. He tilted his head slightly, as if trying to get a better look at the badge, and answered quietly:
"Oh… I heard about that. A terrible tragedy. Three good boys… But I'm not sure I can help. They did drop by my place a couple of times."
"They bought a few luck talismans, ordinary trinkets, stones, dried herbs. Nothing special. Just… those men believed in signs before fishing."
He spoke calmly, almost sadly, but Ethan, standing slightly behind his father, noticed how Pinky's fingers tightened slightly on the counter. Gina caught it too; she subtly shifted to the side to get a better view of the shopkeeper's face.
David didn't look away.
"Did they come in together?" he asked. "What exactly did they buy? What did they talk about? Any small detail could be important."
Pinky lowered his eyes for a moment, as if recalling, then looked back at the "agent."
"The last time they were here was in the evening, before heading out to the river. Laughing, joking… Nothing strange. I even wished them a good catch. And the next day… the news had already come."
He shrugged, appearing genuinely upset.
"I really don't know what could have happened. The river is treacherous in that spot. The current is strong, especially at night."
David remained silent for a few seconds, studying Pinky's face.
Ethan could feel the tension in the air thickening. Something about this "ordinary" shopkeeper's smile felt wrong to him.
Pinky raised his eyebrows slightly, but his friendly smile didn't vanish for a single second. It stayed right there, soft, a little apologetic.
"Oh… poor fellows," he said softly, shaking his head. "A lot of fishermen buy from me. I always tell them they're just souvenirs, though some believe otherwise. Just little charms so the river treats them kindly."
He shrugged, as if apologizing for his clients' superstitions, and ran a finger along the edge of the counter.
Ethan stood a bit to the side, abstractedly scanning the shelves of trinkets. His gaze locked onto one of the wooden masks. For a split second, it felt as though the mask turned and looked right at him.
Ethan felt a chill run down his spine. He quickly whipped his head to the right, trying to catch a movement that was already gone. His heart was pounding. He stepped closer to Gina and said quietly, with noticeable dread:
"Listen… I think that mask was looking at me…"
Gina turned to him, her hand still resting on the grip of the gun under her jacket. She narrowed her eyes, looking at the mask her brother pointed out.
"Which one? This one?" She stepped closer, carefully examining the wooden face. "It's just ordinary, old junk. You're just tired. After last night, everyone's nerves are shot."
But even as she uttered those words, she involuntarily took a step back, shifting slightly so that she stood between Ethan and the mask.
David, standing at the counter, noticed his son's reaction. He didn't say a word, but his gaze grew sharper. He slowly turned and looked at the mask too.
Ethan walked away from the counter, trying to calm his nerves. He slowly paced along the far wall of the shop, where dozens of masks hung on shelves and hooks. Wooden, ceramic, some coated in darkened varnish, others crudely carved with cracks and chips. Empty eye sockets stared in different directions, creating the sensation that multiple pairs of eyes were watching you at once.
He stopped in front of one of them—an old wooden mask with a long, pointed nose and narrow slits for eyes. The mask was crude, almost primitive, with harsh features, as if carved in a hurry or in anger. Ethan stared at it, trying to shake the anxious feeling inside.
He blinked several times, trying to convince himself that it was just a play of light, fatigue, or his imagination after last night. He quickly backed away and grabbed Gina by the sleeve, pulling her closer. His voice was quiet, but trembling with visible fear:
"Listen… I'm telling you, this mask just looked at me…"
Gina turned to him, raising an eyebrow. She shifted her gaze to the mask her brother pointed out and frowned. For a few seconds, she carefully studied the wooden face, then replied quietly:
"Are you sure?"
Gina raised her eyebrow and turned sharply in the direction her brother was looking. Her eyes narrowed as she tried to discern exactly what had caught his attention.
"Which one exactly?" she asked in a whisper, barely moving her lips.
Ethan nodded toward the wooden mask with the long, pointed nose and intricate carved patterns covering its surface. The mask hung just above eye level in the dim light of the shelf and seemed to be one of the oldest in the shop; this was already the second mask that had moved.
Gina squinted, took a cautious step closer, and inspected it thoroughly. She tilted her head to the side, studying the carving, the empty eye sockets, and the slightly curved wooden lips. She stood in silence for a few seconds, then said softly:
"I don't know, they're creepy, but I don't notice anything…"
She reached out to touch the mask, her fingers almost brushing against the dark, cracked wood, but stopped at the last moment. Something in the carving made her freeze. Gina pulled her hand back and frowned.
"Though… it is a strange carving," she muttered.
"These patterns… it's like they move if you look long enough. And the eyes… they're too deep. Alright, you just need to get some sleep…"