When we arrived, a small group of children (the girls dressed in oddly timeless long skirts and boots) were cheerfully flying supermarket plastic bags on the end of long strings, like kites. But this was not the odd part.
The bookshop is called 'The Victoria Bookshop' and it has a large bust of (I assume, although it didn't look quite as I expected) Queen Victoria, wearing a huge black hat, in the window - although you could hardly see her for all the small adverts stuck to the windows. Inside, it was quite dark and very untidy. There were a couple of strip lights illuminating the area nearest the door, but further into the shop there was no illumination, just bookshelves loaded with books stretching into darkness. Random bits of paper, broken book covers, loose pages and torn photographs were strewn all around on the floor. Several brightly coloured women's blouses were hung on hangers across the front window. There was a large desk in a state of considerable chaos, with a large but filthy Apple Mac embedded in the middle of it.
There was no sign of anyone about, although somewhere upstairs, a radio was playing. We wandered around looking at books, assuming that at some point, someone would hear us and turn up to see if we wanted to buy something. Maybe they would even turn the lights on? But nobody did. We turned on some lights when we could find the switches. Pp found one book that was from the mid-eighties, but most of the books were from the sixties or earlier - I think most of them were pre-war. On one shelf, hiding the books, I noticed a photo of an eager, smiling freckled girl with Sixties bobbed hair in a silver frame. No name or date on it though.
By the door, there was a pile of huge disintegrating books, and on top of them, a pile of newspapers. The newspapers were The Times from 1927. I went through a few of them: they were roughly in date order, and piled loosely, as if someone had come in many days running with their paper under their arm, and chucked the paper down on top of the heap.
At this point, we concluded that whatever story this was, it was liable to end badly for the inquisitive couple who blunder into it with no idea what is going on, and fled. It was hands down, the weirdest and most creepy shop I have ever visited.

Comments
(Just to make Bunn and Pp feel even more comforted about the whole affair! =D)
None of the books I looked at *seemed* Occult - they were mostly history, local and international - there was quite a nice edition of Gibbon's Decline and Fall - and lots of ancient disintegrating guidebooks. Oh, and a book by Giles Brandreth, according to Pp, and one short story by Philip K Dick. But Pp reckons that he found some Occult stuff on one of the shelves in the Very Dark section of the shop, which I did not dare to venture into.
(Edited on the grounds that it is probably unwise the misspell the name of a such a dangerous book.)
Edited at 2013-10-19 17:22 (UTC)
There is a Lovecraft short story called 'The Shadow over Innsmouth' in which the protagonist arrives in the New England coastal village of the title to find that the village is shunned by people from the surrounding settlements. He discovers [SPOILERS] that the inhabitants have all interbred with Deep Ones.
That was very much the vibe I got from Bere Alston. I could well believe that the inhabitants of Bere Alston are not so much interbred as inbred...
We speculate that if she arrives and finds a perfectly normal well illuminated second-hand bookshop staffed by a visible human being this will be proof that the Unearthly Bookshop is actually migratory, and appears only at certain phases of the moon.