The Dancing Clothes in The Joker Shoppe on High Street

It was late when I was walking Marshall along High Street in Belmont. The shops were closed, the traffic had thinned out, and most of the street had gone quiet. Marshall was taking his usual time investigating every tree, post and patch of grass, so I wasn’t in any hurry. When we came past The Joker Shoppe, I glanced toward the window and noticed something that made me stop dead. The shop was completely dark, the doors were locked, and there was nobody inside, but a shirt was moving across the showroom floor.

At first I thought I was seeing a reflection from the street, but then a pair of trousers moved underneath it and lined themselves up perfectly, as though an invisible man had just stepped into both of them. The sleeves swung naturally, the trouser legs bent at imaginary knees, and together they walked three steps across the shop before turning and starting to dance. Then another shirt slipped down from a rack and found a pair of jeans. A jacket lifted itself off a hanger and joined them. From deeper inside the shop came an entire suit: trousers, shirt, jacket and finally a tie that floated into place and tightened itself neatly around an invisible collar.

Within moments The Joker Shoppe had turned into a ballroom. Shirts danced with trousers, jackets swept across the floor with jeans, ties twirled around collars, and waistcoats strutted past the front window as though they owned High Street. One of the larger outfits came out from the back of the shop and moved better than all of them, spinning around with surprising grace before bowing toward the others. That seemed especially appropriate for a shop that carries clothing all the way up to 6X. Marshall stared through the glass, then looked up at me. I whispered, “Are you seeing this?” and he gave me that look dogs have when humans finally notice something they already knew.

The clothes seemed to have personalities. The suits were dignified, the jeans were showing off, and the shirts were absolute flirts. A red tie appeared to be conducting the whole performance, flicking through the air like a bandleader while more outfits joined the dance. Then they started noticing me. A jacket came closer to the glass and posed. Another outfit pushed in beside it as though competing for attention. Finally a complete dress suit assembled itself directly in front of me, straightened its own lapels and gave me a slow, formal bow. I laughed and said, “Alright, you win.” The suit bowed again.

That was when I decided nobody would ever believe me without proof. I reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone and raised it toward the window. The moment the clothes saw the phone, the entire shop froze. Every shirt, every tie, every trouser leg stopped in place. For half a second it felt as though the whole shop was staring back at me without having a single pair of eyes. Then everything panicked. Suits broke apart, ties shot back toward their racks, shirts flew across the room, jeans scrambled onto shelves and jackets collided with one another trying to get back onto their hangers. By the time I managed to open the camera, The Joker Shoppe was perfectly still again.

I stood there looking through the glass at neat rows of clothing hanging exactly where clothing was supposed to hang. Nothing moved. Nothing looked unusual. I lowered the phone and said, “You have got to be kidding me.” Marshall looked at me, I looked at Marshall, and eventually we started walking again. We had only gone a short distance when I heard a faint tapping sound behind us. I turned around. Nothing was moving, but the suit that had bowed to me was hanging in the front window, and its tie was gently swinging from side to side even though there was no wind inside the shop. I smiled and said, “Goodnight, Jokers.” As Marshall and I continued down High Street, I could have sworn one jacket sleeve lifted slightly from its hanger and waved goodbye.

The Joker Shoppe — Menswear, Surfwear, Jeanery and Big Sizes. Vince & Domenica Albanese, Directors. 166 High St, Belmont, Geelong, VIC 3216. Phone 5243 4734.