The timber sign above the door reading "Charming Charms" didn't move in the still night air. Ringo pushed the shop door open softly as he entered, but it still set the bells ringing, alerting the shopkeeper of his presence. The shop had a musty, old smell, the scent of collecting items that were hundreds of years apart. All the dust made Ringo's fairly large nose itch.

"Hello, Ringo!" The plump shopkeeper trotted up to him, his thick black moustache bobbing up and down as he greeted his most regular customer. "What can I do for you today, young man?"

Ringo clutched the notes he had stuffed in his pocket. "Well... uhh... as you know it was my birthday a couple o' days ago... and George gave me some birthday money. Just thought I might pop in and see if you had anything." As he said this he looked around inquisitively. One of his favourite things about this shop was that there was almost always something new.

"Of course! Why, how could I forget my favourite customer's birthday?" The shopkeeper let out a jolly, rumbling laugh. "6th of July, isn't it?"

"7th."

The shopkeeper laughed again. "Close enough! Now, since it was your birthday, I will give you a tenner off whatever you want, all right?" The man winked cheekily and practically dragged poor Ringo to one of the display cabinets. The drummer was starting to wish he had brought someone like John along with him, who knew how to deal with boisterous people such as this store owner. It takes one to know one, thought Ringo, as the man showed him an array of cheap, plastic looking rings that Ringo would rather throw away than wear.

"I'm not really sure this..." Ringo gestured towards the pile of junk, "is the kind of thing I'm really looking for... if it ain't too much trouble, is there anything else you can show me?"

"Well." The shopkeeper tilted his head to one side. "There might be something over here..." He trotted off to look through a box full of even more hideous looking garments and Ringo followed him reluctantly. As he walked through the store, something shiny caught his eye. He turned to look at a beautiful golden ring that was sat on a velvety black handkerchief. There was something strangely hypnotic about it - the jet black gem that was set in the middle of it gleamed brightly, reflecting the blue in Ringo's curious eyes.

"How much is this one then?" He asked, keen to try the ring on.

The shopkeeper turned to see what he was looking at. "Ah. That one." There was something dark in his tone that Ringo couldn't quite put his finger on. "That little beauty has quite a backstory."

"What is it?"

"Well. It belonged to a strange man from London. People who knew him said he was quite barmy - locked himself up in his house and wouldn't talk to no one... I knew his neighbour you see, she was a lovely lady. Anyway, this neighbour of his went round to complain about a bit of noise; but when she went into the house he wouldn't listen to her. He kept shoutin' nonsense at her and gave her this ring. Then he ran out of the house and was found dead, bleeding in a ditch, a few days later."

Ringo blinked, startled. "Why did the lady give you the ring then?"

"I dunno, but that's where it gets really creepy." The man leant in close to Ringo and whispered darkly in his ear. "She gave it to me the day before she committed suicide."

Now that was going too far. Ringo scolded himself silently. He had nearly fallen for the shopkeeper's spangled stories. He was far too gullible, but he was going to show the man that he wasn't such a fool as to fall for superstitious campfire tales. "I'll buy it."

The shopkeeper's smile flickered under his thick moustache. "Ringo, my lad." He said calmly, putting a flabby arm around the drummer's shoulders. "I'll do you a favour. Don't buy it, alright? Just trust me on this one.." Ringo almost laughed out loud. Trust this crook? He probably didn't want to sell any jewellery that wasn't made of plastic.

"I'm buying it, it's my money."

The shopkeeper sighed. "Alright Ringo, but if..." He shuffled away to his counter and Ringo noticed some flyers and leaflets next on top of a pile of papers. They had titles like A Fresh Start and Move to London. "If anything happens, I'm not going to be around for you to complain to."

"You're moving?" Observed Ringo. The shopkeeper gave him a fake smile. "Yes. More business options in London than Liverpool, all things weighed up." Ringo felt a small surge of defiance for his home but didn't say anything. "Anyway," Continued the shopkeeper, "Here's that ring..."

He pulled a key out from a chain that he kept around his neck and opened the glass door of the display cabinet. Using the velvet handkerchief, he picked the ring up and placed it in a small box. Ringo noticed that he was taking care not to touch the metal of the ring. Superstitious old fool.

After wordlessly handing over the money, Ringo slid the box into his pocket and left the shop, stepping out into the cool, still night air. The sky was starless and the few streetlights were flickering in the darkness, making his faint shadow shiver subtly.

He opened his car door and sat down, starting the engine and pulled the ring out of its box, sliding it onto his ring finger. It fitted perfectly. The gemstone set inside it caught the moonlight in its dark centre and reflected them as blood-red and purple colours. He couldn't wait to show it to George, Paul and John, so he drove down the street as quickly as he dared. It began to rain, water dripping down his windscreen, and then a bolt lightning struck not far away from the car.

The flash of blue light illuminated a dark shadow in the middle of the road, a tall figure directly in Ringo's path. With a shout of alarm, he honked his horn and swerved hurriedly, skidding across the pavement and almost colliding with a lamppost. Annoyed, he wound down his window and stuck his head out of it. "Hey!" He started to call, but to his shock, the street was completely deserted. Blinking, he rubbed his blue eyes and took another look. Was he just seeing things? Hopefully he wouldn't need glasses like John.

With rain battering down on his car, he started up the engine again. What he didn't see was the crimson pair of eyes in his rear-view mirror that stared at him coldly from behind the glass.