Front Royal

There was a chill in the air as we pulled into the village of Front Royal, Virginia, on the outskirts of Shenandoah National Park.  We stopped at a faded curio shop and approached the front door. 

A hand-painted dilapidated sign said "Hob's Antiques & Second Hand".  I looked at her. She smiled back, her button nose wrinkling in that cute way that drove me crazy.  I held the screen door open, following her inside. It was much darker than outside, and a dank, musty odor overwhelmed us.  Eyes widening, she whispered, "What is that smell?"

"How do, folks?"  a voice boomed out from the back of the cluttered room.  I smiled at the proprietor, a jovial-looking fellow in bib overalls (shirtless) and ratty straw hat.  

"Hey!" I replied.  "How are you?"  

"Peachy!  Everything's half-off,  this weekend only!"

"Thanks." She wandered over to one of the dusty glass cases.  I was starting to feel claustrophobic, and the room, smelling like moldy wood and peeling paint, made my head spin.  I looked into a dimly-lit case nearer me; through the dusty yellowed glass, it was littered with all manner of paraphernalia and tchotchkes, with no rhyme or reason.  Mismatched buttons, rusty cutlery,  knick-knacks mixed in with all manner of well-used everyday items.

"Hey!" she hissed, grabbing my arm.  I followed her over to another case.  "Look!"  she whispered.  

"What?" 

She knelt, tapping the glass.  It rattled, and for a second I feared it would fall from the tarnished metal framework of the display case.  

Wooden spools, old dentures, dented thimbles...and THAT.

WHAT WAS THAT?

It was a scraggly triangle of what appeared to be reddish-brown...hair?  Next to it was a similar item made of wiry black hair, and by that, another longer swatch of blondish-white curls.

She raised an eyebrow.  "Is that a-"

"REAL human hair GOATEE!" yelled the shopkeeper.  "We got more in the back-"

"Um-thanks," I stammered, grasping her and pulling her towards the door.  

"Come again!  Tell yer' friends!" he called out, as we stumbled down the rickety stairs into the fresh air and sunlight. 

 I was halfway to the car when I noticed her staring at something behind the building; she began walking towards a picnic table we'd seen when we parked the car.  She stopped abruptly, and I hurried to her side.  

There, behind a pile of tires, were two dirty children, a boy and girl. They sat on the hard-packed dirt.  Staked into the ground nearby was a steel spike, and two lengths of heavy chain ran from this to rusty collars around the children's' necks.

Our eyes widened in horror. 

We ran to the spike; without thinking I lifted the coil of chain free from it.   The children slowly stood up, grinning.

"Stop!" came a shout from inside; backing away, we saw the man running furiously towards us.

"Don't! That's not to keep 'em chained up-" 

Turning, the children tightly grasped our legs.

"It's to keep 'em from gettin' loose!"

We looked down as they-