This table has a suspicious extra appendage
The antique shop was a labyrinth of forgotten treasures. Dust motes danced in the afternoon sunbeams that slanted through the grimy windows. You weaved between towering bookcases overflowing with leather-bound secrets and ornate clocks that held the echoes of time. Then, you saw it – a table unlike any other.
Made of a dark, richly grained wood, it had a simple, elegant design. Its ornately carved legs tapered gracefully down to clawed feet. But there was something… off. Nestled discreetly beneath the table's surface, hidden in the shadows, was an extra appendage. It wasn't a leg, nor an ornate carving. It was a single, thick, fleshy… tentacle.
A shiver ran down your spine. Curiosity battled with a primal fear in your gut. Was it a trick of the light? An illusion created by the dust and the flickering fluorescent bulb overhead? Cautiously, you inched closer, the floorboards creaking beneath your weight. No, it was definitely there. A pulsating, fleshy appendage, seemingly attached to the underside of the table.
Your mind raced with possibilities. Was this some elaborate antique furniture prank gone wrong? Or was it something far more sinister? The tentacle pulsed again, a slow, rhythmic throb. You could almost swear you heard a faint, wet slurping sound coming from beneath the table.
Suddenly, a cough from behind startled you. The shop owner, a wiry man with a perpetually surprised expression, stood watching you with amusement. "Fascinated by the Ol' Scribbler, are we?" he rasped.
"Ol' Scribbler?" you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper. "What is that… thing?"
The owner chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. "Ah, that's just Scribbles. Part of the table, wouldn't have it any other way." He gestured to the tentacle, which seemed to retract slightly.
"Part of the table?" you repeated, incredulous. "It's a… tentacle!"
The owner shrugged. "Well, technically it's a prehensile appendage. Found this beauty in a dusty tomb in Egypt years ago. Seems the original owner wanted a little… companionship, shall we say?"
His explanation did little to quell your unease. The thought of owning a table with a living, pulsating appendage was unsettling. But the table itself was undeniably beautiful, with a timeless elegance that drew you in.
"Does… does it do anything?" you ventured cautiously.
"Oh, Scribbles here is quite helpful," the owner said with a wink. "He fetches things, keeps the dust bunnies at bay. Even pours you a glass of wine if you ask nicely." He patted the table, and the tentacle snaked out, retrieved a corkscrew from a hidden drawer, and deftly uncorked a nearby bottle.
You watched, mesmerized, as the tentacle presented you with a glass of ruby red wine. The owner chuckled. "See? Quite the charmer, isn't he?"
The encounter left you conflicted. The table was undeniably beautiful, but the living appendage… As you debated the purchase, you realized this wasn't just a piece of furniture; it was a conversation starter, a guaranteed icebreaker. Imagine the dinner parties!
Finally, a mischievous glint entered your eye. You looked at the table, then back at the owner. "Alright, I'll take it. But on one condition."
"Anything, anything," the owner beamed.
"You teach me how to ask Scribbles for a refill politely."
The shop owner's surprised expression morphed into a full-blown grin. "Deal!" he boomed. And so, you became the owner of the most unique table anyone had ever seen. It was a conversation starter, a source of amusement, and perhaps, just perhaps, a glimpse into a world beyond the ordinary. And as you sat at your new table, a glass of wine cradled in your hand, you couldn't help but wonder what other secrets might be hidden within the labyrinthine depths of the antique shop.
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