Makadewa, Maine
Robinson's Dry-Clean and Laundromat

A series of small bells jingle as a young woman enters through the door to the laundromat. She's clutching a small ticket with golden embossing, studying the interior.

It's not a big place by any stretch. The lobby is tight and cramped and smells like an attic, and it likely hasn't seen a single interior decorator since at least the early 1980s. Some posters on the walls, and a cigarette machine near the door, all seem to be much, much older.

To her right is a single row of clunky old washers and dryers along one wall, and to her left, a few old seats along the other wall. There's also an ATM, one that she would absolutely never trust enough to use for its age. Directly ahead of her is a small set of shelves lined with toiletries and souvenirs, and beyond that is a counter with a cash register and a bell, two sets of doors, and a mostly-empty rack of plastic-covered jackets and suits.

She walks up to the counter.

Hello? *rings bell*

You ring the bell, and... nothing. You hear someone in the back, but you're pretty sure they didn't hear you.

I look at my ticket - I'm the next one and no one else is here. *ring bell again* Hello?

"HM!? OH, UH.... JUST A MOMENT, PLEASE! I'LL BE THERE IN A MOMENT!" an old man's voice shouts from the back. He adds that you should take a seat or a look around, but that part is much harder to hear.

Even if there are no customers, you guess he must be busy with something. Oh well, you can wait a few minutes.

I look around and take in the surroundings. There is a starch smell. I'm a bit impatient, but I wait.

While you're waiting, you look around at all the souvenirs. It's all pretty chintzy stuff. Little keychains and magnets and postcards with "Makadewa" printed on them. A few overpriced t-shirts that look like they may have been print-screened by hand. Some mugs that say things like "I put my troubles away in Makadewa" and other terrible attempts at branding the town.

There's also some toiletries and supplies and some snacks, all past expiration.

More interestingly, there are some old photographs on the wall near the door of a man you assume to be the business's owner posing with several other people. You could swear one of them looks familiar, but... it's an old photograph from before you were even born, so you probably have never met them.

From your angle, you don't see the door open, but you hear the bells and footsteps behind you as someone enters the building from outside. Another customer, probably.

I turn to look at the person coming in.

You turn around and watch the customer.

It's another young woman, one with calculating eyes and short, choppy hair dyed ruby red, with little patches of blue visible from a previous dye job.

She looks like she's up to no good!

Why is this taking so long? And who is this person? I feel a bit annoyed.

I look at this person, take in their dyed hair. I dismiss them. Look toward the counter.

Why are they not answering me?

You mostly blow the lady off, but you can't help but notice her since she's standing right in front of you, with her back to you, facing all the souvenirs and snacks. While you're craning your neck to see if the guy who runs this place is ready for you yet, you hear the ding of a dryer.

The red-haired woman then walks over to the dryer, pulls out some clothes, then turns around and walks past you to leave, carrying her clothing in an unfolded pile under her arm.

The door opens, and the door closes, and only a second later do you realize something is off.

The bells on the door didn't jingle on her way out.
The bells on the door are gone.

Okay? Weird. That girl just stole the bells? Why would she even do that?

I watch the woman leave and notice the bells are off?

Weird.

You roll your eyes at that distraction. Weird but okay.

You don't really care about some weird guy's bells. You're here for answers.

Luckily, answers are here, because the old man finally arrives from the back room to stand at the counter. He squints in your general direction.

"Next?" he asks.

I hold up my ticket.

I think I'm next.