Irena Kirk paused, her gaze fixed on the endless rows of pastel bunnies and orange gourds. Something felt wrong. Not just the unsettling juxtaposition of spring and autumn, but a deeper discordance. The pumpkins seemed to watch her, their carved smiles widening in the dim light. She reached out, touching a bunny’s cold ceramic ear. A faint clicking echoed from the depths of the aisle, growing louder with each step she took forward. Each basket held not candy or treats, but something else entirely - small, smooth stones painted with unsettlingly familiar faces. The fog thickened, and Irena realized she wasn't alone in this strange place; a presence lurked just beyond her sight, its breath cold against her neck.