Inside No. 9 -

The shopkeeper chuckled. "Ah, that's the beauty of it. You never did."

I downed the contents of the vial in one swift motion. The dust dissolved on my tongue, leaving behind a faint aftertaste.

The shopkeeper, an elderly man with sunken eyes, looked up from behind the counter. "Welcome to Memories Bought and Sold. I am the proprietor, Mr. Finch." inside no. 9

He showed me around the shop, pointing out various items on the shelves. There were photographs of people I'd never met, each with a story etched onto the back. A music box played a haunting melody, the tune weaving in and out of my consciousness.

I hesitated, feeling a sense of trepidation. But Mr. Finch's eyes seemed to bore into my soul, urging me to let go. The shopkeeper chuckled

"I want to forget my name," I said finally.

"The memories you buy are not always the ones you sell." The dust dissolved on my tongue, leaving behind

I shook my head, feeling a sense of freedom. "I...I don't know."