CHAPTER XXII. IN THE EMPORIUM

von H. G. Wells

Last January, as a snowstorm loomed around me—threatening to reveal my hidden self—I found myself exhausted, cold, and utterly miserable, yet still only half convinced of my own invisibility. I was stepping into a new life, one that I had no choice but to embrace. I had no refuge, no resources, and no one to confide in. Revealing my secret would have exposed me, turning me into a mere spectacle. Despite this, I considered approaching a stranger, hoping to find some mercy. But I knew all too well the fear and cruelty my presence would provoke.

I had no plans as I wandered the streets. My only goal was to escape the snow, to find warmth and shelter. Only then could I think of my next steps. Yet, even as an Invisible Man, I saw the rows of London houses locked tight, impenetrable.

The only thing clear to me was the bitter cold and the misery of the storm.

Then, a brilliant idea struck me. I turned down a side street from Gower Street toward Tottenham Court Road and found myself outside Omniums, the massive store where you can buy just about anything—meat, groceries, linens, furniture, clothing, even oil paintings. It was more like a collection of shops than a single store. I had hoped the doors would be open, but they were shut. As I lingered in the wide entrance, a carriage pulled up, and a man in a uniform—one of those with “Omnium” stitched on his cap—flung the door open. Seizing the opportunity, I slipped inside.

I wandered through the department selling ribbons, gloves, and stockings until I stumbled upon a larger area filled with picnic baskets and wicker furniture. I didn’t feel safe there; people were moving about, and I paced nervously until I discovered a vast section on an upper floor filled with countless bedsteads. Climbing over them, I finally found a resting spot among a large pile of folded flock mattresses. The place was already lit and pleasantly warm, so I decided to stay put, keeping a watchful eye on the few shopkeepers and customers still wandering around.

As closing time approached, I thought about my plan. I intended to steal food and clothing, disguise myself, and explore the store’s resources, maybe even sleep on some of the bedding. It seemed like a solid plan. I wanted to gather clothes that would allow me to blend in, acquire some money, and then retrieve my books and belongings, which were waiting for me. After that, I could find a place to stay and devise a strategy to fully exploit the advantages my invisibility offered me over others.

Closing time came quickly. It couldn’t have been more than an hour after I settled on the mattresses when I noticed the blinds being drawn and customers ushered out. Soon, a group of energetic young workers began tidying up the store with impressive speed. I left my hiding spot as the crowd thinned and cautiously ventured into the now quieter parts of the shop. I was surprised by how quickly the staff cleared away the day’s displays. Boxes of goods, hanging fabrics, and sweets were swiftly packed away, and anything that couldn’t be removed was covered with rough sheets, like burlap.

Once everything was cleared, the chairs were turned upside down on the counters, leaving the floor bare. Each young worker, once finished, headed for the exit with a lively energy I rarely saw in shop assistants. Then came a group of kids scattering sawdust and carrying buckets and brooms. I had to dodge to avoid them, and even then, I felt the sting of sawdust on my ankle.

For a while, I wandered through the draped and darkened sections, listening to the sound of brooms sweeping. Finally, after what felt like an hour or more, I heard the sound of doors locking. Silence enveloped the store, and I found myself alone in the vast and intricate space, wandering through its galleries and showrooms. It was eerily quiet; I remember passing near one of the entrances on Tottenham Court Road and listening to the distant tapping of footsteps from the street outside.

My first stop was the place where I had spotted stockings and gloves for sale. It was dark, and I had quite the hunt for matches, which I finally found in the drawer of a small cash desk. Then I needed a candle. I had to tear through wrappings and rummage through several boxes and drawers, but eventually, I managed to dig out what I was looking for. The box was labeled lambswool pants and lambswool vests. After that, I grabbed some socks, a thick scarf, and then headed to the clothing section where I picked up trousers, a lounge jacket, an overcoat, and a slouch hat—a sort of clerical hat with the brim turned down. I began to feel human again, and my next thought was food.

Upstairs, there was a refreshment area, and I got some cold meat. There was coffee still in the urn, so I lit the gas and warmed it up. All in all, I didn’t do too badly. Afterward, while searching for blankets—I had to settle for a pile of down quilts—I stumbled upon a grocery section filled with chocolate and candied fruits, more than I really needed, along with some white burgundy. Nearby, I discovered a toy department, and a brilliant idea struck me. I found some fake noses—dummy noses, you know—and thought about dark sunglasses. But Omniums didn’t have an optical section. My nose had been a real issue—I had even considered paint. But this discovery set my mind racing with thoughts of wigs and masks. Eventually, I fell asleep in a heap of down quilts, feeling warm and comfortable.

My last thoughts before drifting off were the most pleasant I had experienced since everything changed. I felt physically at peace, and that tranquility reflected in my mind. I imagined slipping out unnoticed in the morning, dressed in my new clothes, wrapping my face in a white cloth I had taken, and using the money I had to buy glasses and other items to complete my disguise. I slipped into chaotic dreams filled with all the bizarre events of the past few days. I saw the ugly little landlord shouting in his rooms; I saw his two sons staring in amazement, and the wrinkled old woman’s gnarled face as she asked for her cat. I relived the strange sensation of watching the cloth vanish, and then I found myself back on the windy hillside, hearing the old clergyman mumbling, “Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” at my father’s open grave.

“You too,” said a voice, and suddenly I felt myself being pulled toward the grave. I struggled, shouted, and called out to the mourners, but they continued with the service, unyielding; the old clergyman never faltered, droning through the ritual. I realized I was invisible and inaudible, that powerful forces had a grip on me. I fought in vain, forced over the edge, the coffin ringing hollow as I fell onto it, gravel flying after me in spadefuls. No one noticed me; no one was aware of my presence. I made desperate attempts to escape and then woke up.

The pale London dawn had arrived, filling the room with a chilly gray light that seeped around the edges of the window blinds. I sat up, momentarily confused about where I was in this spacious apartment, with its counters, piles of rolled fabric, heaps of quilts and cushions, and iron pillars. As my memory returned, I heard voices in conversation.

Then, far down the room, in the brighter light of a department that had already raised its blinds, I saw two men approaching. I scrambled to my feet, looking for a way to escape, and just as I did, the sound of my movement alerted them. They probably saw just a figure moving quickly and quietly away. “Who’s that?” one of them shouted, and “Stop there!” yelled the other. I dashed around a corner and collided head-on—mind you, with a faceless figure!—with a lanky fifteen-year-old. He screamed as I knocked him over, rushed past him, turned another corner, and, in a stroke of luck, threw myself behind a counter. In moments, I heard feet pounding past and voices shouting, “All hands to the doors!” asking what was happening and giving each other advice on how to catch me.

Lying on the ground, I felt terrified. But—strangely—it didn’t occur to me at that moment to take off my clothes as I should have. I had decided to escape in them, and that thought ruled me. Then, down the line of counters, I heard someone shout, “Here he is!”

I jumped to my feet, grabbed a chair from the counter, and hurled it at the fool who had shouted. I turned and dashed around another corner, sending him spinning as I rushed up the stairs. He managed to keep his balance, yelled out, and chased after me up the staircase. Stacked along the stairs were a multitude of those brightly colored pots—what are they called?

“Art pots,” suggested Kemp.

"That's it! Art pots."

I turned at the top of the stairs, spun around, grabbed one from a pile, and smashed it over his ridiculous head as he charged at me. The entire stack of pots toppled over, and I heard shouting and footsteps rushing from every direction. I bolted toward the refreshment area, and a man in a white coat, looking like a chef, took off after me.

In a last-ditch effort, I made a sharp turn and found myself surrounded by lamps and hardware. I ducked behind the counter and waited for my pursuer. When he burst in, I swung a lamp and knocked him down. He crumpled to the floor, and I crouched behind the counter, yanking off my clothes as quickly as I could. My coat, jacket, trousers, and shoes came off easily, but that lambswool vest clung to me like a second skin.

I heard more footsteps approaching. The chef lay quietly on the other side of the counter, either stunned or too shocked to move. I had to make another break for it, like a rabbit fleeing from a hunter.

“Over here, officer!” someone shouted.

I found myself back in the storeroom, surrounded by a maze of wardrobes. I darted among them, went flat on the ground, and after a lot of wriggling, finally got rid of my vest. I stood there, panting and terrified, just as the policeman and three shop assistants rounded the corner. They lunged for the vest and pants, managing to grab my trousers. “He’s dropping his loot,” one of the young men said. “He has to be around here somewhere.”

But they didn’t find me.

I watched them search for a while, cursing my bad luck for losing my clothes. Then I slipped into the refreshment room, drank some milk I found, and sat by the fire to think about my situation.

Before long, two assistants came in, excitedly discussing the incident like the fools they were. I overheard an exaggerated account of my escapades and their wild guesses about where I might be. I started plotting again. The biggest challenge now, especially with the alarm raised, was figuring out how to get anything out of the place. I ventured down to the warehouse to see if I could pack and address a parcel, but the system of checking was beyond me.

By eleven o'clock, with the snow melting and the day turning out to be nicer and a bit warmer than the last, I decided the Emporium was a lost cause. Frustrated by my lack of success, I stepped outside, my mind swirling with only the faintest ideas of what to do next.