rivers of chills up the back of Emily's neck.

"Hey little missy," the stranger cackled, "That's mine. Everything in this store is mine." Backing away, tramping over the flotsam covering the floor, Emily found herself cornered at the rear of the store. Grease seemed to drip from his collar-length grey hair leaving stains on his tattered herringbone sport coat. Grabbing her wrist hard and fast, he twisted her arm down and pulled her towards him. Having regained just enough breath, she whipped her other arm around and slapped the purse across his face. A flurry of dead bugs, dust and dirt exploded from his head upon impact. Stunned, he released her and she made a break for the doorway. As she ran from the store and down the eastward spoke away from the hub and towards Saks, she could hear the man's maniacal laughter fading with each stride.

Emily ran, still grasping her new bag, into Saks, up the rusted remnants of the escalator, and into the Juniors department dressing room and locked the door behind her. Her heart pounding so hard her ribs ached from the harsh and rapid expansion and contraction of her chest. She squinted and blinked imploring her eyes to adjust to the dimmer lighting. Slowly light grey lines emerged from the blackness that surrounded her and she could begin to make out the area above and below the half-door of the fitting room.

The familiar rat nest-like debris covered the floor and made it hard for Emily to move around. Shuffling her feet she inched her way to look behind her. In her periphery, a figure appeared slightly behind Emily's side. She froze then began to shake. She wanted to turn gradually to see more clearly, but the fear hardened her neck muscles forcing her to jerk quickly sideways. She was face to face with a disheveled woman holding a large bag, looking as frightened as she felt. Emily, falling back while swinging her bag at the woman, cracked her head against door, which swung out and slammed against the adjacent stall before bouncing back shut; the latch dangling from the fractured housing.

"Emily," she heard someone saying through the siren-like ringing in her ears. Her head pounded with sharp pain.

"Emily, are you OK? Hey? What happened to you?" The voice continued to inquire with a strangely caring tone.

"Don't hurt me," Emily stuttered, "you can have the bag." Then she began to sob.

"Have your bag?" The voice responded incredulously. "I don't want your bag. Mine is much cuter. What did you do in here? I heard a bang and came in."

"But... the economy... and my job... and..." Emily shook her head confused.

Awoken from her delirium lying beneath a broken dressing room door; around her head slivers of particle board, her legs twisted in the leather strap of her purse, she was dazed but alive and back in 2009. Emily recognized her best friend and shopping buddy, Beth, standing over her.

"I must have tripped over my purse and hit my head on the door," Emily mumbled as she rubbed the knot growing on the back of her skull. "I had the weirdest dream. The economy collapsed and so did the mall."

"That's it! No more CSPAN for you," Beth insisted. "Are you still thinking about that energy tax bill? Who cares if they pass it? It won't affect me anyway."

Emily looked back into her future as she recounted the events of her dream or perhaps it was a brief gift of clairvoyance. "It won't affect me anyway," she recited her friend's words in her mind. "I wish you could have been there with me, Beth," Emily stated, her voice heavy with an ominous sadness, "Ever heard of the Butterfly Effect? Well that's another story for another time."

Learn more about this author, Kurt Duncan.
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