So I turned and asked a mannikin.
She replied, "It's probably because you're horrified of talking mannikins."
I nodded thoughtfully for a moment, coolly considering the possibility, before the part of my brain governing abject horror kicked in.
Then I ran screaming. More mannikins lurched and twisting and ambling after me. The other patrons thought it was funny, but I was running, my mouth automatically spewing out horrified curses, as my legs flew. I found myself ducking into a bookstore, hiding from the wrecthed things.
Half an hour later, crouching in the same place, I grew as bored as I was scared. I grabbed a nearby book, "Mother Mojo's Book of Home Remedies," and started thumbing through it.
The first thing I noticed was the scope of what the book claimed it could cure. The usual things for rickets, ulcers, scabies, a love-torn heart, and so on. Additionally, it offered cures for Seasonal Affective Disorder, Attention Deficit Disorder, orthorexia, polyamory, postmodernism, and tinnitus. And, of course, it had cures for alienation, poor fashion sense, gender dysphoria, and pediophobia.
I was most intrigued, so I began reading in detail. All the cures involved ants. In fact, all the cures involved nothing but ants. Eating ants, watching ants, washing your hands with ants.
The secret to all forms of health, according to Mother Mojo? Ants. Lots of 'em.