The Bazaar isn’t much to look at, a small, squat building between two empty lots. The faded paint and dirty concrete walls show the general age of the place. Tufts of weeds poke through the cracks in the blank gray cement of the parking lot, and windblown litter is almost constantly present. Inside, the Bazaar appears even older than it looks on the outside. Numerous mold spots speckle the walls and floor, and rat holes are in profusion. The hallways and rooms echo eerily when walked through, as if the thick dust coating everything had never before been disturbed. The doors hang off their hinges at odd angles, tilting to and fro in the breeze that usually enters through the many holes in the ceiling. All except one. In the basement, behind a stack of decaying crates, is a door. With its latch and hinges rusted, it stands in dim defiance of its ruinous surroundings.
Behind the silent portal lies another corridor, this one lit by flickering electric lights. At the end lies No one knows, a dark room, home to all the mobs secrets, the hidden workshop of a serial killer, or, perhaps, just another storage room.
Once, the Bazaar was new. With fresh whitewash, and plate glass windows. That was when Dempree Dupree first bought it. Dempree was a jovial, plump man, with a big laugh to go with his big neck. He started in business as a patent leather shoe salesman. He was extremely successful; apparently people enjoy being treated nicely. But he swiftly tired of the traveling, and bought a piece of land and hired some builders. When it was finished, Dempree Duprees Emporionic Bazaar was the talk of the town. Dempree sold anything and everything, from silver tablespoons to ancient artifacts.
The local newspaper ticketed it as a place to go if you need something, but don’t know what. This was quite accurate; whoever entered the Bazaar, never left without something, even if its not what they came in looking for. But, once they got home, they found out that they actually needed whatever it was he caused them to buy.
For twelve happy years he ran the Bazaar, and then tragedy struck; Dempree collapsed one day. The doctors in the hospital said that it was a stroke. When he was released, Dempree closed down the Bazaar, and went into seclusion. He never sold the building, so, the Bazaar was locked up and left to decay.
-Dempree went half mad after his stroke, and now lives in the basement room. He wont like intruders, especially if they want to take any of the number of things left behind. Dempree is no longer a happy man, his mind is shattered, and he often falls into violent fits. The characters come in contact with the Bazaar when a collector of rare artifacts hires them to break in and try to find it, having the idea that it might have been bought once, and then, when the shop closed, it was just left on the shelves. Indeed, the McGuffin is on the dusty, cobwebbed shelves, but Dempree still keeps strict lists of his inventory, and is much averse to thieves. He might even go as far as to act as judge, jury, and executioner.
-In the mysterious back room lives Samuel Trippin, Demprees younger cousin, who suffers from a mild form of psychosis. Samuel is a recent escapee from the local sanitarium. Mainly harmless, he much prefers to sit in his room and paint the twisted dolls that he is so fond of making. The characters get involved when one of his dolls is found at the scene of a bloody murder. Dempree is sheltering Samuel in the Bazaar for the time being, until he can find a more permanent home for him in the country. The murder was committed by a third party, the doll got there by way of a dog that Samuel has befriended. If they are inspected, canine teeth marks can be found on the doll.
-Dempree has finally died, and his will made no stipulation for who the Bazaar will be left to. Now, a young businessman, named John Mitchell, has set his sights on the building. The basement room is just an old, empty storage room. John Mitchell hires the PCs to break into the Bazaar to fabricate a haunting, so as to discourage others from bidding on it.