There is no weather in malls.

― Charles Baxter, The Feast of Love

The Beaumont Valley Mall stood like a cathedral of commerce against the darkening sky, its vast parking lot emptying as the final announcement echoed through the cavernous halls. Chasity Weaver, the new night manager, watched the last employees drift toward the exits, their laughter fading into uncomfortable silence as the main lights dimmed to their energy-saving nighttime glow.

Her keys jangled nervously in her hand as she began her first solo patrol. The corporate manual called it “standard security procedure,” but something about the emptiness of the wide corridors made her skin prickle. The fountains had been shut off, leaving only the occasional drip to punctuate the silence.

At the north wing, Chasity paused. Something was wrong with the mannequins in the Dreyton’s display window. Hadn’t there been three when she passed earlier? Now four pale figures stood in frozen poses, their blank faces turned toward the corridor. She approached slowly, her flashlight beam trembling slightly across their featureless faces.

The fourth mannequin’s pose seemed odd---slightly more natural than the stylized postures of the others. And was that a hint of color on its lips? As her light swept upward, the figure’s eyes blinked.

Chasity’s scream died in her throat as the mall’s PA system crackled to life, playing distorted, tinny music from no programmed playlist. The mannequin’s head tilted, joints creaking like old hinges. Behind it, the others began to move too, their plastic limbs making horrible popping sounds as they stepped from their display platforms.

She ran, the sound of stiff-legged pursuit following her down the corridor. Ducking into the service hallway, Chasity fumbled with her radio, hearing only static. The employee directory had warned about power issues and unpredictable security cameras, but nothing about this. The radio crackled once, and through the static came a whisper: “We’re so glad you’ve joined the night staff. We’ve been looking for new displays.”

As she rounded the corner toward the mall’s central court, Chasity froze. Every store front now displayed figures, standing just inside the security gates. Dozens of them. Hundreds. Each perfectly still, each watching her with hungry, patient eyes. And each wearing a name tag from the mall’s many shops and restaurants, some dated back decades. One space remained empty---a display platform with a freshly painted name: “Chasity.”

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