PrizeX

Adds a printable/PDF receipt with a scannable QR verification code to the lottery ticket-purchase confirmation screen. An addon of the Lottery plugin — deactivate to remove the Print Receipt button and receipt from checkout without affecting ticket purchases.

Requires a one-time email code to confirm signups, optionally

Adds a "I'm not a robot" challenge to the login and register forms to stop bots and credential-stuffing attempts. Configure your site and secret keys from a settings panel right on this Plugins screen — deactivate to remove the challenge immediately.

A bold, luxurious dark theme with gold accents — designed to feel exciting and high-end, like a premium casino.

A luxury haunted-mansion look for Halloween: walnut panelling, oxblood velvet and tarnished brass by night, with featured prizes hung in gilded portrait frames. By day the same house opens onto a Halloween afternoon of parchment, ink line work, cobwebs, pumpkins and a crooked moon in the haze.

Investment plans for your store — customers put wallet coins into a plan you set up and are paid a fixed percent of it, or a fixed number of coins, into their wallet on a schedule. A plan can let them cancel and get back what they put in, minus a fee you set. Adds an Investments section to the sidebar for plans and every customer's investments. Deactivate to remove investing from the storefront; investments and plans are kept and payouts pause until it is back on.

Turns the storefront's Membership page into a real, sellable

Lets customers send part of their wallet balance directly to

Adds a "Digital" item type — a securely stored, download-only good delivered only to the buyer who paid for it — to the item form, the shop admin form, and the auction lot form. Includes a settings panel on the Plugins screen for a store-wide "Digital-only marketplace" toggle. Deactivate and the digital option disappears from every form and downloads stop working, but nothing already uploaded or sold is deleted.

A complete eSIM storefront vertical — customers browse a data-plan catalog, pay by wallet or card, and get their eSIM's activation details and QR code the moment payment completes. Adds an eSIM Catalog and Orders screen to the sidebar, plus a new eSIM section on the storefront. Deactivate to remove eSIM selling from your store entirely; your catalog and past orders are kept.

Chooses which gambling/financial-services-adjacent sections (auction bidding, lottery, mystery boxes, invest, earn & games' spin wheel and scratch card) customers can open inside the Android/iPhone app. The list isn't fixed in this plugin: each owning plugin registers itself through the `mobile_app_restricted_verticals` filter (includes/mobile-app.php's mobile_app_vertical_registry()), so a switch only shows up here while that plugin is active. Every section starts hidden, so a fresh install never ships gambling content into an app-store review. A change takes effect the next time the app loads a page: the server-side gate every restricted page, AJAX and API route checks (store_restricted_vertical()) decides what the app shows, so no new app release is needed. GET /api/v1/app/store-config publishes the same choice for API clients.

A winter market for the holiday season: an advent calendar of 24 doors on the homepage, one opening each day of December onto one of your prizes. Pine green and cranberry on warm cream by day, a snowy midnight with lit windows by night, with a striped market awning, gentle snowfall and a string of lights along the footer. Use it all year: outside December every door stays open on 24 prizes.

A modern apothecary counter for beauty, skincare, cosmetics and wellness shops, open all year. On the homepage a dispensary shelf stands in an arched marble niche, and each of the shop's live prizes is displayed in a tall glass jar with a ground-glass stopper, its name written on the jar's cream paper label and its kind on a little tag tied round the neck, among amber dropper bottles, frosted pump bottles, cream pots and bundles of dried lavender, eucalyptus and chamomile. When the page opens a dropper lets fall a single drop that rings out across the shelf, and the jars catch the light one after another. Headings in a fine high-contrast serif and the rest in a refined sans, on white marble with soft veins, cream labels with a printed double rule and cut corners, blank brass label frames like those on a cabinet of drawers, frosted glass, and blush, clay, sage and amber glass with a deep plum for anything to press. At night the counter is lit by a single lamp: the marble goes dark, the brass warms and the amber glass glows. The wallet is a cream label on the side of a great amber bottle, each prize you win comes in a stoppered jar with its tag, the winners stand on the top shelf, buttons are beads of plum glass that the light runs across, whatever you buy or bid on lets fall a drop, a missing page is an empty bottle with its cork beside it, and the dark/light switch lowers a glass bell jar over the page, fogs it with steam and lifts it away on the other mode.

A real-time climb: the multiplier rises from 1× the moment a

Keeps your storefront stocked on a schedule — auction and lottery templates that create new listings automatically (keep N live, daily at a set time, or start the next one when the last ends), optionally as drafts for you to approve first.

The new-term stationery shop: on the homepage, your live prizes are written up on index cards and pinned to a cork noticeboard with coloured push pins, over a sheet of squared exercise paper with a red margin. In the week before your sale a timetable card taped to the board counts down to its start, and while it runs it counts down to the last day; the dates are your own, or every year for your region, northern, southern or South Asian. Paper, ink and pencil yellow by day, the classroom chalkboard by night, with a wooden ruler under the header, a chalk tray along the footer, a red-pen 404 on a marked worksheet, a pencil-case wallet, an honour board for the winners and a board eraser that wipes the screen clean for the dark/light switch. Use it all year: outside the sale it is simply a cheerful stationery shop.

A warm outdoor camp for shops selling camping, hiking and trail gear, open all year. The homepage opens on a hand-drawn trail map: contour lines, a lake, woodland and a tent at the trailhead, with each of the shop's live prizes pinned as a waypoint along a dotted route that climbs to a stone cairn at the summit. When the page opens the route draws itself from waypoint to waypoint. Headings are set in a sturdy slab serif and the rest in a friendly humanist sans, on canvas paper with faint topographic contours, stitched seams, rope, wood and cut-corner gear tags, with buttons of forest webbing; after dark the camp goes to night blue and the buttons glow like embers. The wallet is a map case, prizes you win arrive on a gear tag with an enamel patch, the winners are signed in at the summit, the daily bonus is a row of tents along a trail, the prize draw is a barrel of painted river stones, whatever you buy or bid on throws up a few sparks, countdowns roll like an altimeter, a missing page is a trail ending at a cairn, and the dark/light switch rolls a bank of valley fog across the ridgelines and clears on the other mode.

A stadium on match night for cricket, football or American football: on the homepage, an oval ground seen from the stands, mown in stripes and marked out for the sport you pick, floodlight towers at its corners and a crowd of tiny lights round it, with a big LED scoreboard above that counts down to kick-off (or the first ball) in the two weeks before your match and turns to a match-day greeting on the day. Your prizes are match tickets, torn along the perforation, in front of the ground. Name the match and set the kick-off in your own time zone; the stumps and red ball, the goal and the ball, or the goalposts and the oval ball follow the sport everywhere, from the 404 (the ball in an empty stadium, 404 on the scoreboard) to the footer's pitch-side boards. A sunlit afternoon match by day, a floodlit night by dark, and the floodlights switch on bank by bank for the dark/light switch. Use it all year: with no match set it is simply a floodlit stadium shop.

Your shop as the departure hall, for stores that sell travel and staying connected: data plans for trips abroad, travel prizes and duty-free style shopping, anywhere in the world. On the homepage a split-flap departures board hangs in a bright hall of white, passport navy and amber: each of your live prizes is a flight on it, its photo where an airline would put its tail, the prize as the destination, a gate and a status that flips to a green "Boarding", and beside the board a boarding pass with its perforated stub and barcode carries the next draw or sale time. When the page opens the board's flaps clatter through to the rows and the status column turns over to Boarding. Signs and headlines in a clear wayfinding sans, every time, code and number in a cockpit mono that reads at a glance, and amber gate signs for every button. The data-plan pages are the travel desk: each plan a boarding pass with its data, days and coverage, the plan page a gate check-in and your orders a stamped travel document. After dark it is the night terminal, the board glowing amber and the runway's edge lights running out beyond the glass. A passport page for the wallet, the arrivals board for the winners, a baggage-claim tag for every prize you win, "Flight 404 cancelled" on the board for a missing page, a gate scanner that sweeps a green line across whatever you buy or bid on, badges that land like passport stamps, and a dark/light switch that rolls a departures board down the screen row by row and flips it away with the new mode behind it. No festival and no dates: the hall is open all year.

An old independent bookshop for booksellers, stationers and gift shops, open all year. On the homepage an oak bookcase lined with marbled paper reaches to the cornice, its rolling ladder hooked over the brass rail: along the top shelf runs a row of cloth and leather spines with gilt bands and blank labels between brass bookends, a green-shaded reading lamp at one end, and on the main shelf three of the shop's live prizes stand face out as books, each set into its cover like a frontispiece, a library card tucked in at the top with the kind of prize on its tab and its name on a card in the brass label holder below, over a plinth of card-catalogue drawers. When the page opens the spines tip forward upright one after another, the books stand up off their backs and a ribbon bookmark drops. Headings in an old-style book face and the rest in a reading serif, on cream laid paper with its chain lines, library cards ruled in blue under a red head rule, gilt fillets, oxblood ribbons cut in a swallowtail, wax seals and green bookcloth with a gilt line tooled round its edge for anything to press. After hours the shop is lit by green-shaded reading lamps: the paper goes to the dark of the shelves and the gilt warms. The wallet is the inside cover of a ledger with a bookplate holding the balance, each prize you win comes parcelled in brown paper and string, the winners stand on the staff picks shelf with their borrower's cards, whatever you buy or bid on gets a violet date stamp, a missing page is a gap on the shelf with the borrower's card left in it, and the dark/light switch turns a leaf the size of the screen, marbled endpaper up, over the page and on again.

The samba-school parade: on the homepage a carnival float rolls in under fans of ostrich plumes, carrying your prizes in sequinned medallions with their names on the float's gilded side, a bead fringe swinging along its skirt. Carnival is worked out from Easter every year, Saturday to Shrove Tuesday, with a countdown in the three weeks before and a greeting while the parade is on, or your own dates for cities that celebrate on other days. Magenta, gold, emerald and royal blue on sunlit cream by day, a night parade on deep aubergine by night, with a harlequin border, plumes rising along the footer, a Venetian mask for the season chip and a wave of flipping sequins for the dark/light switch. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a shop dressed for the parade.

Hanami in the manner of a Japanese woodblock print: on the homepage a print of a pale spring sky shading into Prussian blue, a flowering cherry bough outlined in indigo, petals drifting down onto a river, and your prizes laid out in a lacquered bento box on a red picnic cloth on the bank, each one named on a paper slip, with the artist's red seal stamped in the corner. Blossom comes at a different time in every city, so you pick where your customers are — Tokyo, Kyoto, Osaka, Fukuoka, Sendai, Sapporo, Seoul or Washington, DC, from published averages — or set your own date: blossoms count down to full bloom in the two weeks before it, and a greeting runs for the ten days of hanami season around it. Washi paper, indigo and blossom pink by day; after dark yozakura, the night blossom lit by paper lanterns over a dark river. A bare branch losing its last petal for the 404, a hanging scroll for the winners' total, and a print pulled from the block for the dark/light switch. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a shop under the blossom.

A working roastery for coffee roasters, bean shops and brewing-gear stores, open all year. On the homepage the drum roaster stands against a limewashed brick wall under a shelf of kraft valve bags, and in front of it three burlap sacks stand open in a row, each with a cream sample card stitched to its front holding one of the shop's live prizes, its kind and its name, while the last roast turns in the cooling tray at their feet. When the page opens the sacks are set down one after another, their mouths open on heaps of beans and the tray's arm sweeps the beans round. Headings in a sturdy slab like the stamp on a sack, everything else in a clean sans with lining figures, on kraft paper, burlap with stencilled bands, copper from the drum, sage for the green beans and dark roast for everything you press. At night the overheads go off and the roaster keeps glowing: the floor goes near black, an ember light falls across it from the firebox and the buttons turn warm copper. The wallet is a kraft bag of beans with a crimped seal, a copper tin tie and its one-way valve, each prize you win comes wrapped in kraft and tied with twine, buttons are the roaster's own enamel start buttons set in copper rings, whatever you buy or bid on throws off a few roasted beans, a missing page is an empty shelf with one bag left on its side, and the dark/light switch charges the hopper: beans pour down and heap up until they cover the screen, then drain away through the floor onto the other mode.

A neighbourhood bakery on the corner for bakeries, cafés, patisseries and sweet shops, open all year. Under a mint-and-cream striped awning with a scalloped hem, the homepage is the shop's curved glass display case: each of the shop's live prizes sits on a paper doily on its own shelf, its name on a kraft tag tied on with red-and-white baker's twine, above trays of fresh loaves and croissants, with pastry boxes stacked on top and a chalkboard with a hand-drawn border on the tiled wall behind. When the page opens the case lights flicker on and steam curls up from the trays. Headings in a warm, chunky shop-sign serif and the rest in a clean rounded sans, on cream paper dusted with flour, with kraft tags, butter-yellow gingham, doilies and baking trays, crust-brown buttons glazed like a bun, and mint and butter for everything else. Before dawn the shop is dark, the ovens glow at the back and the case lights shine. The wallet is a pastry box tied with twine, each prize you win comes on a doily with its tag, the winners have the top shelf, whatever you buy or bid on is dusted with a puff of flour, a missing page is an empty baking tray with a few crumbs ("this one sold out"), and the dark/light switch winds the shop's awning down over the page and rolls it back up on the other mode.

A stake-and-step game: players cross lane by lane, each lane

A festival-of-lights look for Diwali: a glowing rangoli of oil lamps on the homepage, lamplight gold on a deep night blue, and a marigold-and-ivory daytime mode. Rangoli corners, woven zari borders and a row of lamps along the footer finish every page.

Race day on the harbour: on the homepage three long dragon boats race up their lanes towards the finish buoys, each with a carved head rearing at the bow, the drum just behind it, a row of paddles digging into the water and one of your prizes riding amidships. A countdown on the finish board in the two weeks before Duanwu, the 5th day of the 5th lunar month, worked out for every year, and a festival greeting on race day, with an option to keep it up the day after for weekend regattas. Jade, river teal and young bamboo by day; by night a harbour race under the city lights, their reflections trailing across the water. Lane ropes for borders, zongzi tied in bamboo leaves on your winnings, five-colour silk threads, a podium of boats on the winners page and a dragon boat sprinting across the screen that pulls the other mode in its wake for the dark/light switch. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a shop on the water.

Your shop as the studio on draw night, for stores whose heart is the draw: prize draws, raffles and number games, anywhere in the world. On the homepage the stage is set on a glossy white floor before a backdrop of electric-blue LED panels: the clear ball drum turns in the middle on its stand, its chute running down into the results rack, and each of your live prizes stands on a lit plinth under the studio clock counting down to the next draw. When the page opens the studio lights come up bank by bank, the drum starts turning and the prize panels light up one by one. Headlines in a wide broadcast grotesque, every clock, number and result in a tabular mono you can read at a glance, and one hot colour, signal red, kept for the ON AIR lamp, live states and the winning ball. The draw pages are the broadcast itself: a ticket machine like a vision mixer, the studio waiting on air with a "we're live in" lower-third, a drum that drops each drawn ball down the chute into the rack, and a results board that flips to the winning numbers. After dark it is the live show, the hall dark and the panels glowing. A player card for the wallet, the results board for the winners, a claim slip for every prize you win, "Ball 404 · not in the drum" for a missing page, a ball that drops into the button when you add to the cart or bid, a clock that turns red for its last ten seconds, and a dark/light switch that turns the screen into the results board, its flaps dropping shut cell by cell and falling on over to show the new mode. No festival and no dates: it is draw night all year.

A spring egg hunt: on the homepage, panoramic sugar eggs sit in the grass, each with a little window showing one of your prizes inside, under drifting blossom. A countdown in the three weeks before Easter and a greeting on Easter Sunday and Monday, Western or Orthodox, worked out for every year. Pastel butter, mint, lilac and blush on cream by day, a spring night garden by night, with an egg border, eggs hidden in the grass along the footer and an egg that cracks open for the dark/light switch. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a shop in spring colours.

The arraiá, the June party in the village square: on the homepage three painted wooden stalls stand under strings of bandeirinhas, each with a chita awning, a hand-painted sign and one of your prizes on its gingham-covered counter, its name lettered on the board below. From 1 June to 31 July, or your own dates, the homepage counts down in the three weeks before and then welcomes visitors to the arraiá, pointing out the big nights of 13, 24 and 29 June and carrying on as Festa Julina in July. Chita red, corn yellow and bunting blue on warm paper by day; by night the party goes on around the fogueira, in firelight under an indigo sky. Straw hats, ears of corn, pipoca and a pescaria fish turn up around the shop, the footer has its own bonfire, the 404 is a string of pennants with one blown loose, and strings of bunting unfurl across the screen for the dark/light switch. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a shop dressed for the festa.

A working quay before sunrise for fishmongers, seafood sellers and the dawn sale on the harbour, open all year. On the homepage the quay runs along the foot of the harbour wall, its slate wet and shining, and three blue fish boxes slide along it in a row; as each one stops, its crushed ice settles and shows one of the shop's live prizes laid on the ice, a buoy-orange lot tag tied to the box's handle with its name, between a harbour lamp on its post, a bollard with a gull on it, a coil of rope and a string of floats hung on the wall, with still water behind. Headings stencilled like the side of a fish box, the rest in a clear, sturdy sans and every price and count in a plain tabular mono, on ice-white paper with rope rules, galvanised chequer plate, waterproof lot tags and the ribbed rim of a fish box, in harbour navy, ice white, buoy orange, wet slate and rope tan. Before dawn the lamps are lit: the quay goes deep navy, light pools amber on the wet stone and the presses glow buoy orange. The wallet is a steel cash tin on a fish box, each prize you win comes packed in a box of ice, buttons are glossy floats that dip when pressed, whatever you buy throws up a spray of ice chips, a missing page is an empty box of melting ice, and the dark/light switch shovels a bank of crushed ice across the screen until it is covered, then lets it drain away through the grate on the other mode.

A stake-and-call coin game: players call a face before each

The wholesale flower hall at dawn, for flower markets, growers and florists who buy and sell by the clock, open all year. On the homepage the hall's great clock hangs from a girder under a roof of glass: a steel bezel round a dark face and a ring of lamps with no figures on it, the lit lamp running round as the pointer. Below it a galvanised trolley stands on its painted lane, and on its top shelf three green buckets each hold one of the shop's live prizes in a clear sleeve, its kind on the coloured band of a lot tag clipped to the rim and its name on the tag, with buckets of red, white and yellow tulips on the shelf beneath. When the page opens the clock's light runs round the ring and stops on each bucket in turn, and each prize rises from its bucket as it is reached. Headings set wide and heavy in Mona Sans, the rest in Mona Sans at its normal width and every price and count in Reddit Mono, on daylight white with cold-room blue, brushed steel, tulip red and leaf green: strips of the clock's lamps along the head of every sheet, white lot tags in steel clips, clear sleeve film for labels and the frosted blue of the cold rooms. At night it is the hall before the doors open, dark steel and navy with the clock ring glowing red over the trolleys. Every button to press is the buyer's stop button, a tulip-red cap in a steel bezel; the wallet is the buyer's console with the balance on its display; each prize you win comes wrapped in its sleeve; whatever you buy or bid on lights a ring of little lamps round the button; a missing page is an empty bucket on a trolley; and the dark/light switch sends a hall tug across the screen pulling a train of flower trolleys that close up over the page, the mode turning behind them before they roll on out.

A bright neighbourhood supermarket for grocers, convenience stores and supermarkets that run a weekly lucky draw, open all year. On the homepage the shop's live prizes ride a checkout belt up to the till, each on its own white tray with its kind on a yellow shelf-talker and its name on a blank shelf tag along the green price rail, while the weekly draw drum turns on the counter beside the scanner and three aisle signs hang from the ceiling above. When the page opens the belt runs and carries each prize up to the till in turn. Headings in a rounded signage face, the rest in a clear wayfinding sans and every price and count in a tabular mono, on clean white shelving and grey-and-white floor tiles, with green price rails, yellow shelf-talkers, green produce crates, red hand baskets, paper carrier bags and the rubber of the belt, in fresh green, tomato red, aisle yellow, clean white and cool grey. After dark it is late-night shopping: the store goes deep green-black, the strip lights hum overhead and the shelves glow. The wallet is a loyalty card with its stamp strip, each prize you win is packed in a paper carrier bag, buttons are shelf strips that dip when pressed, whatever you add to the basket drops in with a bounce, a missing page is an empty shelf with one blank tag waiting to be restocked, and the dark/light switch tips a crate of fresh produce over the page until it is heaped full, then lets it all tumble away on the other mode.

Your shop as an engineer's lab and teardown bench, precise and clean: on the homepage a blueprint sheet on the drafting table, each of your live prizes set in its own labelled drawing frame — Lot 01, Lot 02, Lot 03 — with dimension arrows along its edges, a leader line out to a callout that names it and a title block in the corner of the sheet. When the page opens the pen plotter draws the sheet in, grid, frames and dimension lines one stroke after another, and the prizes come up into their frames. Blueprint blue and drafting white by day, with a safety-orange signal for what matters; after dark the lab at night, deep slate under cyan plot lines with small LED status lights glowing on every panel. Headlines in Geist, a precise grotesk, and every figure, price and part number in Martian Mono, a technical monospace, set like a spec sheet. A component tray with screws in labelled bins for an empty cart, a charge-meter wallet with its cells filling, a test-bench rack of winners, an inspection tag for every prize you have won, a 404 drawn as an exploded diagram with part 404 missing from its slot, LED lights that blink on add to cart, keycap buttons that travel when pressed, toggles that throw like bench switches, countdown digits that tick over with a calibration mark, and a dark/light switch run by the pen plotter itself: its gantry crosses the screen plotting a fresh blueprint sheet, the mode changes under it, and the finished sheet feeds out. Evergreen, for stores selling electronics, phones, accessories and tech prizes all year round.

Your shop as a board-game night with friends, for stores built around games, rewards and earning, though it suits any store that likes a little play. On the homepage a folded game board lies open on a walnut table under a hanging lamp, the shop's live prizes stand on its spaces as prize cards, a wooden pawn hops from one to the next and a sand timer runs beside the board. When the page opens the board unfolds along its crease and the pawns drop onto their spaces one by one. Headings in a chunky, rounded display face and the rest in a friendly sans, with the four token colours of the table, red, blue, green and yellow, marking the spaces, badges and paths of every page. A score pad keeps the wallet's real balance, the winners stand on the finish square, every prize you win comes on a token card, the games and rewards pages are the board itself, and a missing page is a square that's off the board. Late in the evening the room goes dark and the lamp's warm pool lights only the table, and the dark/light switch is the lamp's pull chain: it drops, it's tugged with a click and the light falls over the screen. No festival and no dates: it is open all year.

Commencement day: on the homepage, your top prize presented as a diploma on heavy cream certificate paper inside an engraved guilloché border, its picture in an oval cartouche and a gold-foil seal with claret ribbon tails pressed into its corner, two more prizes rolled up and tied with ribbon beneath it, and mortarboards tossed into the sky above, their tassels swinging. Set your graduation day and the homepage counts down to it for three weeks, then congratulates the Class of the year on the day and through the week after; with no day set it greets the class through the graduation season, May to June in the north or November to December in the south. An ivory morning ceremony in academic navy and gold by day; after dark the evening ceremony, navy under warm stage light. Winners on an honours list framed in a laurel wreath, each of your winnings a diploma of its own, the wallet in a navy leather diploma cover, a 404 sealed where the grade should be, and a diploma that unrolls across the screen for the dark/light switch. Full right-to-left support. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a shop of diplomas under a sky of caps.

The lobby of a grand hotel, for hotels and resorts, stay draws and suite lots, open all year. The homepage opens on the front desk: behind its marble counter and the concierge bell stands the mahogany key rack, and from three brass hooks along it hang three big tasselled key fobs in emerald, burgundy and navy leather, each fob framing one of the shop's live prizes, its kind and name on the brass plate beneath; when the page opens the fobs swing down onto their hooks one after another and the desk lamp comes on. Headings are set in a fine high-contrast serif and the rest in the geometric sans of the old lift lobbies, on white marble with grey veins, with emerald lacquer framed by brass keylines, brushed brass room plaques, a burgundy carpet runner with a gilt border, luggage tags and brass beading; at night it is the same lobby under the chandelier, the marble gone green-black and the brass catching the light. The wallet is the guest folio in gilt-tooled emerald leather, prizes you win arrive as hatboxes with a luggage tag on the cord, the winners ride the brass luggage trolley, the daily bonus is a corridor of seven room doors, the prize draw turns in a brass cage, the page loader is the lift's floor dial swinging while the car comes down, whatever you buy or bid on rings the concierge bell, a missing page is a room door with nothing behind it, and the dark/light switch turns a leaf of the revolving door across the screen and lets you out on the other side of the day.

Opening day at your own shopfront, for a new store, a relaunch or a new branch: on the homepage, a deep emerald awning striped in cream over a big brass-framed display window, your shop's name in gilt on the fascia board above it and your live prizes standing on display risers inside, each with a fresh price tag. A scarlet satin ribbon is tied in a bow across the glass with oversized gold ceremonial scissors ready beside it, tall congratulatory flower stands and bunches of balloons flank the window, confetti drifts down and a "Welcome" mat waits on the step. Enter your opening date and the theme does the rest: in the thirty days before, a sign hanging from the awning counts down — "Opening in" — under your own headline; on the day the ribbon is cut and through an opening week of your length the sign reads "Now open", counting the days left. Cream, emerald, brass and scarlet by day; after dark the shop on its opening night, the window glowing, the bulbs round the fascia lit and the awning washed in light from below. A cash drawer in emerald lacquer for the wallet, a closed door with a "Back in 404 minutes" sign for the 404, and a satin ribbon that unspools across the screen in wide folds until gold scissors snip it down the middle and the two halves fall away for the dark/light switch. Use it all year: with no date set, or once the opening week is over, the sign simply says the shop is open.

Eight nights of light and small gifts: on the homepage a polished silver menorah stands in a window across the hero, its arms worked with knops and almond cups, and at the foot of each of its eight candles a live prize sits in a silver ring, the candles twisted in blue and white wax and the shamash raised in beeswax between them. In the two weeks before the first candle the window counts down to it with only the shamash burning; through the festival it shows Night 3 of 8 with that many candles lit and a Happy Hanukkah greeting in the language of the page, moving on to the next night at 6pm store time, kept as hebcal.com gives the eight nights for 2026 to 2035 or from your own first evening, for the US, Israel, the UK, Canada, France, Argentina and Australia. Crisp white, lapis and polished silver by day with candle gold for the flames; after dark the window at night, deep blue glinting with silver and every candle burning. A silver tray of sufganiyot and gelt for the winners, a present in lapis paper tied with silver ribbon for the wallet and for each prize you win, three dreidels landed on 4, 0 and 4 for the 404, and a dreidel spun at the middle of the screen whose painted faces blur out over the page for the dark/light switch. Every other page of the shop is dressed in the same materials — the menorah rail, gelt in gold and silver foil, crimped foil edges, twisted candle wax and blue gift wrap — with a small drawing from the festival on every empty or waiting screen, from an unlit menorah and a box of candles to a plate of latkes and the last drop in the jug of oil. Use it all year: outside the season the menorah simply burns in full light over a crisp blue and silver shop.

A long table set for the family on Thanksgiving: on the homepage, three of your prizes stand on wood-slice serving stands along a plaid tablecloth, each with a handwritten place card, between a sheaf of wheat in a stoneware crock, tall candles, apples, pears, an ear of corn and a lattice pie, while maple and oak leaves drift down in warm autumn light. A countdown on a menu card, its numbers on rounds of wood, in the two weeks before Thanksgiving, and the greeting on the day, worked out for the United States (the fourth Thursday of November, through the long weekend) or Canada (the second Monday of October). Cranberry, mustard and oat by day; by night a candlelit evening at the same table. A plaid cloth hangs over the footer's walnut boards, and a gust of leaves blows across the screen for the dark/light switch. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a warm autumn shop.

A fine watchmaker's salon for a shop of watches, jewellery and other pieces worth a closer look, where every bid deserves a little ceremony. On the homepage your live prizes rest on midnight velvet cushions inside a lit glass vitrine, each over its own engraved plate, and behind them stands a great ivory dial, guilloché from the centre out, whose seconds hand sweeps the real time and whose indices are the names of the pieces on show. When the page opens the crown is wound, the gear train turns into motion and the vitrine lights come up. Ivory dial white, midnight enamel blue, polished steel and a restrained rose gold by day; after dark the salon after hours, midnight velvet, lit vitrines and glints of gold. Timers read as chronograph registers with a balance wheel ticking beside them, the wallet is a Côtes de Genève caseback with a jewelled balance, every win is a certificate of authenticity under a maker's seal, the 404 is a dial stopped at 4:04, and the dark/light switch turns a toothed bezel across the screen, driven by its gear train, wheel by wheel. Evergreen: no dates to set, simply a salon all year, with your own line engraved on the maker's plate.

The festival of colours: on the homepage, clouds of coloured powder burst across a white canvas and settle into splashes, and your prizes sit in brass plates heaped with gulal, each sending up a puff of colour as you reach for it. A countdown in the three weeks before Holi and a greeting on the day itself. Bright white splashed with magenta, marigold, turquoise, green and violet by day, deep indigo where the colours glow by night, with Devanagari type, handprints along the footer and a handful of colour thrown across the screen for the dark/light switch. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a shop in full colour.

A quiet, premium shop for home goods, design objects, fashion and any store that would rather whisper than shout: Japanese calm and Scandinavian warmth in one room. On the homepage your featured prizes stand on pale ceramic plates on low oak stands along a gallery shelf, a single stem in a stoneware vase at its end, while the light from a window falls slowly across the limewashed wall; when the page opens the daylight sweeps in and the plates settle onto their stands. Warm off-white, oat and sand, pale oak and charcoal ink, with one muted clay accent; after dark the same room lamplit, charcoal and walnut in a warm pool of light, the ceramics still pale. Wide-set small capitals and light Spectral headings, hairline rules and soft rounded squares, and a great deal of space left empty on purpose. An oak board for the wallet, a gallery shelf for the winners, two oak numerals and a ring vase that read 404, and paper screens in oak frames that slide across the page for the dark/light switch. Every other page of the shop is dressed in the same materials — linen grain, oak edges, ceramic dishes, a single stem — with a small still life on every empty or waiting screen, from an empty bowl to a sand timer. No festival and no dates: it is made to stay up all year.

A jeweller's counter under warm spotlights, for jewellers, gold and gem shops that run festive lucky draws, open all year. On the homepage a long glass counter with a gilt rail stands in the light, and each of the shop's live prizes sits in it on its own velvet tray, its name on a swing ticket tied with red thread, while a spotlight above warms as the piece appears, rings, drops and a loose stone throwing small glints of light around it. Headings engraved in a classical roman and everything else in a fine sans with clean lining figures, on ivory with gilt rules beaded in milgrain, garnet velvet, satin ribbon for labels, hallmarks for stamps and guilloché behind certificates, in garnet, gold leaf, ivory and glass, with emerald, sapphire and amethyst for the colours a shop needs. After hours the shop goes dark and only the counter stays lit: the velvet deepens to near black, the gold warms and every press is a bar of gold leaf. The wallet is a jewellery case with a satin pad and a gold clasp, each prize you win comes folded in a stone paper, buttons are bars of velvet with a gold hairline that sink when pressed, whatever you buy or bid on throws off a few glints of light, a missing page has its number set in gold leaf in a velvet case, the nought a solitaire ring, and the dark/light switch draws a velvet cloth with a gold fringe across the counter and lifts it away on the other mode.

Makar Sankranti and Uttarayan: on the homepage, a bright winter sky over the rooftops of an old city, with your prizes flying on patterned paper fighter kites — split, mooned, capped, banded and quartered patangs with their names on paper tails — their manja running down to a charkhi on the parapet. A countdown in the two weeks before the festival, which falls on 14 or 15 January and is worked out for every year, and a greeting through its days under the name you choose: Makar Sankranti, Uttarayan, Pongal or Lohri. Sky blue and kite-paper colours by day; after dark a winter evening over the terraces with sky lanterns drifting up; a string of kites for the countdown, a kite snagged on the wires for the 404, til-gul and chikki along the footer, and a great kite that swoops down over the page and flies off again for the dark/light switch. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a shop under a sky full of kites.

Decide who may cash out, transfer, play for stakes or sell, and check their identity at the moment it matters.

The feel of a streetwear release, not a sale: on the homepage a release board in a concrete warehouse, your live prizes boxed as numbered lots on a steel shelf, each taped shut behind a window with a hang tag giving its lot number, and the tape ripping off box after box as the page opens. Above them a split-flap board counts down to your next drop — its name, date and time set in Limited Drop → Next drop — flips to Live now for the 24 hours after it opens, and otherwise shows no dates at all, so the theme works all year. Concrete grey, off-white and black with safety orange as the one accent by day; after dark a warehouse lit at night under strip lights. A queue ticket numbered 404 for a drop that doesn't exist, a pallet of boxes for the winners, a shipping label for the wallet, a SOLD OUT rubber stamp on anything out of stock, and packing tape pulled across the screen in strips, then ripped off, for the dark/light switch. Every other page of the shop is built from the same materials — box tape, shipping labels, hang tags, raffle-entry cards, queue tickets and a clean grid — with a small drawing from the stockroom on every empty or waiting screen.

A furniture and home-furnishing showroom for sofa shops, furniture stores, interiors boutiques and clearance sales, open all year. On the homepage three room sets stand side by side like bays on a showroom floor, each papered in its own soft colour behind a slim walnut partition, and in each a walnut frame under a brass picture light holds one of the shop's live prizes, its kind and name on a cream price tag hung from the frame on a thread, the bay furnished below on a rug on the oak boards: an oatmeal sofa beside a rubber plant, a walnut sideboard with its lamp, a terracotta armchair by a tripod floor lamp. When the page opens the bays roll out one after another and the picture lights come on. Headings in a warm book serif, everything else in a clean sans with lining figures, on oatmeal linen with woven maker's labels, saddle stitching, piped edges, the woven border of a rug, brass eyelets and fabric swatches cut from the sample book, in oatmeal, walnut, terracotta and olive velvet. At closing the overheads go off and the table lamps stay on: the floor turns deep umber, pools of lamplight fall across it and the presses glow lamp amber. The wallet is a sample card with a band of terracotta velvet stitched across its head, each prize you win comes wrapped and tied with a tag, buttons are velvet cushions that give a little when pressed, whatever you buy or bid on shakes out a few pinked swatches, a missing page is an empty bay with a paler patch where a frame once hung, and the dark/light switch riffles a swatch book over the screen, linen, boucle, ticking and velvet dropping one over another until the last covers it, then lifts them away on the other mode.

The night of floating krathongs, on the full moon of the twelfth Thai month: on the homepage, your prizes float on the river as the hearts of krathongs — banana leaf folded into rows of pointed, pinned pleats round a slice of banana trunk, crowned with marigolds and orchids, each with its candle lit and a streak of candlelight trailing on the water. A countdown on four slices of banana trunk in the two weeks before the festival and a Happy Loy Krathong greeting on the night, kept as the Thai lunar calendar gives the festival for 2026 to 2035 or on your own date, for Thailand, Laos, Myanmar, Cambodia and the Thai diaspora. By day an afternoon of folding on the riverbank in fresh leaf green, cream and marigold; after dark the river at night, deep indigo water with candlelight drifting on it. A great krathong holding the total for the winners, a broad banana leaf for the wallet, a krathong seen from above as the zero of 404, and a dark/light switch that folds rows of leaf in from the edges of the screen, the way a krathong is made, until they close under a crown of marigolds and a lit candle. Every other page of the shop is dressed in the same craft — pleat bands, kleep folds, marigolds, orchids, leaf ribs and trunk slices — with a small drawing from the riverbank on every empty or waiting screen, from an empty woven tray to a krathong tipped over with its candle out. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a calm, crafted shop.

Your shop as an old star atlas and the observatory that drew it, for stores whose heart is the draw: on the homepage the night sky is laid out as an engraved chart, each of your live prizes set in a constellation of its own, its stars joined by fine lines, and the next draw's time lettered in the chart's cartouche. When the page loads the observatory dome slides open, the stars come out one by one and the lines draw themselves to each prize. Headings in Caslon, the type of the great atlases, and coordinates, prices and countdowns in a fine, tabular sans. By day the atlas on the desk: chart parchment, ink-navy engraving and brass instruments; after dark the clear night it charts, deep indigo lit by starlight, the winning star in a soft aurora teal. The draw itself reads like the sky: each ticket's numbers drawn as its own small constellation, the draw machine an orrery whose planets wheel on brass rings until a drawn number flares as a star, and a shooting star crossing to the winning ticket. An observer's logbook for the wallet, a star certificate for every prize won, a chart of this draw's winning stars for the winners, "Star 404 · not on this chart" on an empty patch of sky, a star that lights when you add a ticket, countdowns that turn like a dial, and a dark/light switch that wheels the sky round its pole in long-exposure star trails. Evergreen: no dates to set, the stars are out all year.

Red and gold for Lunar New Year: a paper-cut window of plum blossom, clouds and carp on the homepage with red envelopes beneath it, each holding one of your prizes. A countdown in the weeks before the New Year, a greeting through the fifteen days of the festival and a countdown to the Lantern Festival. Lacquer red on rice paper by day, black lacquer and gold leaf by night, with a fret border, round lanterns and a fan that opens for the dark/light switch. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a red-and-gold shop.

Your shop dressed for the nights of 1 and 2 November, when streets are strung with cut-paper banners, paths are laid with marigold petals and candles burn until late. Across the top of the homepage rows of cut-paper banners sway on their strings, and below them a path of petals leads to the prizes you have on offer, each standing on a plinth of paper flowers with a candle beside it; when the page opens the banners unfurl one row at a time, the path lays itself from one side to the other and the candles light along it. Before the night a row of cut-paper tags counts down to 1 November; through the week before it keeps counting, the last day dropping to hours and minutes; and on the night itself the hero says so, greets each visitor once with the theme's own moment and counts down to the last candle. The rest of the year it is simply a warm, colourful shop with no dates. Marigold orange and deep magenta on cream sugar paper, with turquoise and a lime-green cut-paper accent; a hand-cut display face for headlines and prices and a warm humanist sans for reading. Cut-paper tags for every countdown, a garland of marigolds for the winners, a tissue banner for every prize you win, "This banner lost its string" for a missing page, a petal that drops into the button when you add to the cart or bid, and a dark/light switch where one great sheet of tissue paper swings down over the page and its pattern is cut out, flower by flower, until the other mode shows through. After dark it is the night itself: deep indigo, with the candles and the marigolds glowing. The dates, the night's name and an off switch live on the theme's own admin page.

Mărțișor, the first of March in Romania and Moldova: on the homepage your prizes are pinned to little cotton cards the way mărțișoare are sold, each with a red-and-white twisted cord threaded through the card and tied in a bow, the prize hanging beneath it as the charm, while snowdrops push up through the last of the snow under the first spring sun. A countdown in the two weeks before 1 March, La mulți ani on the day, a quieter spring greeting through the week after while people still wear the cord, and an optional greeting for Women's Day on 8 March. The twisted cord runs through the whole shop as its signature line, with charms on threads — a snowdrop, a four-leaf clover, a ladybird, a horseshoe, a chimney sweep's ladder — and cross-stitch from the ie blouse; after dark a late-winter night in the village, snow falling and windows lit. Charms on a card whose cord has come undone for the 404, and a cord drawn taut across the screen that twists until it fills it for the dark/light switch. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a shop hung with charms.

A bold shop-floor look for your biggest sales: yellow price tags with a live countdown to 11.11, Black Friday, Cyber Monday, 12.12 and Boxing Day, or to your own sale dates. Hazard-tape trims, barcodes and a receipt-style checkout, in a receipt-white daytime mode and an after-hours dark mode.

The Moon Festival: on the homepage, a great harvest moon rises over still water and your prizes are pressed into mooncakes, each with a fluted rim and a ring of pressed petals round a window onto the prize, while a rabbit lantern and a star lantern glow on the shore. A countdown in the three weeks before the 15th day of the eighth lunar month, worked out for every year, and a greeting from the evening the lanterns are lit to the end of the festival day. A plum-and-indigo night with lantern amber and moon gold, a rice-paper dusk by day, brushed moon characters on Chinese pages, a band of moon phases, river lanterns drifting along the footer and paper lanterns rising for the dark/light switch. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a moonlit shop.

Your store as an Android and iPhone app. Download the app's source already set up for your store, and send push notifications to customers who use it.

The joy of the first rain at a market stall: on the homepage, three of your prizes sit dry under a row of open umbrellas in chilli, peacock teal and violet, each with a paper price tag hung on a string from its rib, while gentle rain streaks down a grey-violet sky behind them, the sun breaks through the clouds, wet leaves shine at the edges and a glass of cutting chai steams on the counter. In the two weeks before your sale an enamel sign nailed to the counter counts down to its start on four paper tags, and while it runs it greets the rain and counts down to the last day; the dates are your own, or every year for your market: 15 June to 15 September for the Indian monsoon, or Borsha in Bangladesh, 15 June to 15 August. Rain-washed white and peacock teal by day; after dark a rainy evening, streetlights blurred on wet glass and warm light under the umbrellas. The scalloped edge of an umbrella runs under the header, drops gather and fall from the awning in the footer, the wallet is a rain-streaked window with chai on the sill, a paper boat runs aground on the 404, and for the dark/light switch an umbrella snaps open over the page, the mode changes in its shade and it folds away. Every other page wears the same stall: banners and product galleries set in a painted shop window under the awning, products behind rain-beaded glass, rows and badges as paper price tags, icons under little umbrellas, an umbrella seen from above for the spin wheel, misted glass to wipe on the scratch card and small rainy-day scenes for every empty page, payment result and error. Use it all year: outside the sale it is simply a cosy rainy-day shop.

A handmade gift table for both days: on the homepage, three gift boxes stand open on a sheet of kraft paper, each in its own wrapping paper, lid off and tissue spilling out round one of your prizes, with a handwritten gift tag on a string. A countdown on a greeting card held up with washi tape in the two weeks before Mother's Day or Father's Day, and the greeting on the day, worked out for the region you pick: second Sunday of May or Mothering Sunday, Ascension Day or the third Sunday of June, and more. Blossom tones before Mother's Day, deep blue and tan before Father's Day, warm linen, kraft and a persimmon ribbon the rest of the year, with a walnut evening by night, a grosgrain ribbon border, a bow on the footer and a gift that wraps itself up for the dark/light switch. Use it all year: outside the two seasons it is simply a gift shop.

An instrument shop for guitar stores, piano and keyboard dealers, drum shops and gear counters, open all year. On the homepage the shop's back wall is cream slatwall with three instruments hung on it, an electric in a sunburst finish, a maple acoustic and a seafoam bass, and from each one a brass-eyeleted hang tag carries one of the shop's live prizes, its photo, its kind and its name; below them an amp glows on the floor beside a coiled cable. When the page opens the instruments swing onto their hangers one after another and a string on each shivers once as it settles. Headings in a narrow slab like the stencil on a flight case, everything else in a clean humanist sans, on cream slatwall with rosewood fretboards, nickel frets and pearl dots, flame maple, brass hardware, black tolex with cream piping and an amp's oxblood grille cloth. After hours the overheads go off and the shop is lit by its amps: near-black, a warm pool from each pilot light and the presses lit valve amber. The wallet is an amp head with its balance on the brass control plate, each prize you win comes packed in a hard case with a plush lining, buttons are strips of tolex that click down like a footswitch, whatever you buy or bid on sends up a few notes, a missing page is an empty hanger with the shape of a guitar still pale on the wall, and the dark/light switch runs a keyboard glissando across the screen, the keys pressing down one after another until they cover it and springing back up on the other mode.

Your shop dressed for Navratri, nine nights of garba in September or October. The homepage is the dance ground seen from above: a garba circle of embroidered rings, running stitch, chevrons, a ring of little mirrors and crossed dandiya sticks, turns slowly round a big mirror, and your live prizes sit in round mirror-work frames around it. When the page opens the circle stitches itself ring by ring and the mirrors flash one after another. Nine nights, nine colours: through the festival the whole shop takes the colour of the night, one after the other from orange to peacock green, and the hero says which night it is; in the fortnight before, a row of mirror tiles counts down to the first night; on the ninth night each visitor is greeted once. The rest of the year the nine colours sit together as a band and the shop wears garba indigo, with no dates. Cream cloth by day and a deep indigo night sky after dark, with mirror silver and gold thread throughout; a carved poster face for headlines and a clean sans for reading. Mirror tiles for countdowns, the kutch hem along every panel, winners on mirror-work tiles around the circle, a pair of dandiya sticks that click when you bid or add to the cart, "This step is missing from the circle" for a missing page, and a dark/light switch where two dandiya sticks click and one sweeps a full turn, laying the nine colours round the circle before the night turns over. The dates, the festival's name and an off switch live on the theme's own admin page.

A rain-slicked city street at night, lit by neon: on the homepage, a street-corner vending wall in a chrome cabinet where each of your live prizes glows behind its own lit window, a magenta, cyan or acid-lime tube round the glass and its name on an LED strip beneath, the whole wall reflected in the wet asphalt at its feet. When the page opens the signs flicker on one by one and buzz into full glow. Hot magenta, cyan and acid lime on deep blue-black at night, the default; by day the same street at dawn, concrete and a pastel sky, chrome in the morning light and the tubes unlit, the signs painted on. A scoreboard of LED digits above the street for the winners, a prepaid city pass with a holographic foil stripe for the wallet, a neon 404 whose zero keeps flickering out, a vending window for every prize you have won, and a power surge for the dark/light switch: a spark runs along a cable across the screen, the neon blows out to white-hot, and the signs buzz back on in the new mode. Every other page of the shop is built from the same street — bent-glass tubes with a soft halo, LED price boards, chrome bezels, roll-down shutters, holographic stickers and scan lines — with a small neon drawing on every empty or waiting screen, from an empty vending slot to a parking meter run out. For stores selling electronics, gaming gear, gadgets and prizes to a young crowd, all year round.

The last night of the year: on the homepage, fireworks burst over a city skyline with its windows lit, a split-flap board counts down to midnight and your prizes are golden tickets, each one an invitation to the party. The countdown runs in the days before 31 December midnight, to the shop's midnight or to each visitor's own, and on New Year's Day the board turns over to the new year with a greeting. Midnight ink and gold foil by night, an ivory morning after with confetti still falling by day, with engraved small-caps lettering, the city along the footer and a rocket launched from the switch that bursts and floods the screen for the dark/light change. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a midnight-and-gold shop.

The Persian New Year: on the homepage, a tiled pavilion of three arches in turquoise and cobalt glaze with your prizes set on glazed medallions in its niches, and the haft-sin laid out before it on a termeh cloth — sabzeh tied with a red ribbon, a goldfish bowl, the mirror with three painted eggs between two candles, a hyacinth, an apple and gold coins. A countdown to the very minute of Sal-e Tahvil, the March equinox, in the two weeks before it, worked out for every year in your own time zone, and a Nowruz Mobarak greeting through the thirteen days to Sizdah Bedar. Glazed white and spring light by day; after dark the table at the moment of the new year, lapis night lit by the candles. A goldfish bowl with the fish gone for the 404, the haft-sin on the edge of the cloth along the footer, and a pattern of glazed tiles that lays itself across the screen for the dark/light switch. Full right-to-left support. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a shop under tiled arches.

Your shop dressed for Onam, Kerala's harvest festival, ten days from Atham to Thiruvonam. The whole look is a pookalam laid on kasavu cloth: cream with a woven gold border along every edge that matters, banana-leaf green for what you press and the pookalam's flowers for colour. On the homepage a flower carpet fills the hero with three of your live prizes laid as petals at its centre, and when the page opens it lays itself ring by ring from the centre outwards, each ring a different flower. Two weeks before Atham a swing hangs over it with the countdown to Thiruvonam on its plank; through the ten days the carpet gains a ring each day, the real day of the festival in the kicker; and on Thiruvonam the plank says "Happy Onam" and each visitor is greeted once with the theme's own swing. The rest of the year the pookalam is complete and the theme is simply a warm, festive shop with no dates. Kurale for headings and prices, Manjari for reading. A sadya on a banana leaf for the winners, a kasavu purse for the wallet, a palm grove with a swing and brass lamps along the footer, "A petal is missing from this pookalam" for a missing page, a shower of petals when you add to the cart or bid, and a dark/light switch where a swing sweeps across the page on long ropes, laying a palm grove at dusk behind it, and swings back onto the other mode. After dark it is the evening after the feast: palm-green night with the gold catching the lamplight and the flowers glowing. The dates (from a Kerala calendar table through 2036), the festival's name and an off switch live on the theme's own admin page.

An estate agent's window on a bright street, for agents, property sales and prize-home draws, open all year. The homepage opens on a row of three house fronts, a brick town house, a rendered cottage under a slate gable and a painted villa, with a lamp at the kerb: each ground-floor window shows one of the shop's live prizes, its listing card hung on the pavement below, and when the page opens the blinds roll up one after another and the rooms light. Headings are set in an engraved Roman capital and the rest in a clear modern sans, on cream render with an architect's floor plan drawn faintly across it, with listing cards behind a gilt mount line, brass rails, plates and key fobs, sold ribbons, brick and sage, and buttons like navy front doors; after dark it is the same street at dusk, the windows glowing and the buttons lit like lamps. The wallet is the agent's window with the balance on a listing card behind its navy-framed glass, prizes you win are handed over on a key fob, the winners hang on the agent's key board, the daily bonus is a terrace of front doors, the prize draw is a brass drum of numbered balls, whatever you buy or bid on throws up a few little houses, a missing page is a house number with no house beside it, and the dark/light switch closes a venetian blind across the window and opens it on the other light.

An eyewear boutique for opticians, frame shops and sunglasses stores, open all year. On the homepage the frame wall is lit from behind: three pairs of spectacles hang on steel rods, a round tortoiseshell pair, a cobalt cat-eye and a square mint pair, and in each the lenses frame one of the shop's live prizes, the left lens showing it whole and the right one close up, its kind and name on a clear acrylic price card beside it. When the page opens the rims drop onto their rods, the lenses click into place and the prizes come into focus. Headings in a crisp geometric display face, everything else in a highly legible sans with lining figures, on clinic white and cool frosted glass, with polished tortoiseshell acetate, cobalt felt, a mint lens cloth, steel rods and standoffs, swing tags and rows of tinted lenses, in cobalt, tortoiseshell, mint and a little gold. After dark the boutique closes its blinds and the frame wall stays lit: the floor turns deep navy, the wall glows and the buttons turn mint. The wallet is a hard lens case with a gold clasp, each prize you win comes in its own case, buttons are cobalt lenses with a glint that click in when pressed, whatever you buy or bid on sends a few tinted lenses spinning off it, a missing page is an empty trial lens hung from the rod, and the dark/light switch closes a lens iris over the screen, its blades turning in from all round until it is shut, then opens it again on the other mode.

A friendly, well-kept neighbourhood pet shop for every day of the year. On the homepage the shop's front shelf stands against a pegboard wall: a chalkboard hangs on its hook, the top shelf holds kraft food bags, tins and treats, and your live prizes stand on display cards on the main shelf, each with a kraft price tag tied on with twine, its kind stamped and its name written on. When the page loads three animals pop up over the shelf one after another to see who has come in. Choose the animals the shop keeps — dogs and cats, birds, fish or small pets — and the drawings change everywhere: a golden pup, a tabby and a terrier among bowls, balls and bone treats; a budgie, a cockatiel and a canary among millet sprays, perches and nesting boxes; a goldfish, a betta and a guppy rising in their bowls among plants and flake tins; or a rabbit, a hamster and a guinea pig among hay, carrots and little wooden houses, with paw prints, feathers, bubbles or carrots stamped on every tag. Kraft and cream by day with aquarium teal and a rubber-ball coral; after closing the same shop under warm shelf lamps and the glow of the tanks. A kraft loyalty card stamped with prints for the wallet, a prize on the shelf with its tag for each win, a show rosette board for the winners, the set's bowl, swing, fishbowl or wheel as the 0 of the 404, enamel buttons that sink onto their rim, a print stamped in brown ink on whatever you buy or bid on, and a dark/light switch where a trail of prints crosses the screen with kraft paper sweeping in behind it.

A clean modern garage for car and motorbike dealers, auto parts shops and workshops, all year round. On the homepage three open pit bays stand under their ceiling work lights, each live prize parked on a turntable in its own bay with a riveted plate below it carrying its kind and its real name; when the page loads the bay lights strike on one by one over the prizes. A tool wall with outlined spanners, tyre stacks, a work light on its tripod and painted bay lines on an epoxy floor; headings in a wide technical face, figures in a squared mono, cards as riveted steel plates, labels on embossed label tape, buttons as hi-vis yellow lift controls that sink into their housing. By day the workshop with its doors up, concrete and steel in daylight; at night the garage dark under the work lights, high-vis yellow and signal orange glowing on the asphalt. A key-fob wallet, a trophy cabinet for the winners, a prize on the turntable for every win, an empty bay with a lone traffic cone for the 404 ("this page is off the road"), a wheel nut spun onto whatever you buy or bid on, and a dark/light switch where a rev gauge's needle sweeps to the redline across the screen. No makes, badges, plates or race numbers, and no invented figures: every number shown is your store's own.

The Bengali New Year in red and white: on the homepage, the white of a festival sari edged with its broad red border, and your prizes riding in the Mangal Shobhajatra on painted papier-mâché figures — a ringed-eyed owl, a scaled fish and a long-necked Bankura horse on little wheeled floats, each prize in a painted medallion and its name on a sari-bordered placard — over a courtyard of white rice-paste alpona under a krishnachura tree in flame-red bloom at first light. A countdown on four painted shokher hari pots in the two weeks before the day, kept as Bangladesh keeps it on 14 April or by the West Bengal almanac on the 14th or 15th, and "Shubho Noboborsho" on the day, in Bengali calligraphy on Bengali pages. After dark the mela at dusk with hurricane lamps and lit stalls; a red cloth halkhata ledger for the wallet, a cracked clay pot for the 404, and an alpona drawn across the screen by one flowing white line for the dark/light switch. Bengali text is set in the theme's own faces. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a shop at the mela.

The Tamil harvest festival, held over four days in mid-January: on the homepage, a courtyard on Thai Pongal morning, its red earth swept and washed, a great pulli kolam drawn on it in rice flour, its line looping round a grid of dots, and your prizes set in the kolam's cells in front of a new clay pot boiling over, the rice and milk foaming up past a turmeric plant tied round its neck, sugarcane stalks either side and a toran of mango leaves strung overhead. A countdown on banana leaves in the two weeks before Bhogi, then each of the four days by name, Bhogi, Thai Pongal, Mattu Pongal and Kaanum Pongal, with a Happy Pongal greeting, kept as the Tamil calendar gives Thai Pongal for 2027 to 2036 or on your own date, for Tamil Nadu and Puducherry, Sri Lanka, Malaysia, Singapore and the Tamil diaspora. Turmeric, cane green and cane purple, terracotta and sun orange on rice-flour cream by day; after dark the hour before dawn, the courtyard silver under the moon and the sky beginning to turn. A banana leaf for the wallet, a kolam whose loops trace 404 round its dots, a toran with cattle bells over the footer, and for the dark/light switch the pot boils over until white froth fills the screen. Every other page of the shop is dressed in the same materials — kolam borders, mango-leaf torans, sugarcane, banana leaves and clay — with a small drawing from the courtyard on every empty or waiting screen, from an empty pot to a kolam half drawn. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a warm, sunlit shop.

A florist's potting shed and plant nursery for every day of the year, made for plant shops, garden centres, florists and seed sellers. On the homepage the potting bench stands against the lime-washed boards of the shed: seed packets hang on a string, the watering can, a ball of green twine and the secateurs hang on their hooks, and your live prizes stand on the scrubbed bench in terracotta pots, each on a florist's card pick with a twine label tied round the pot and a plant label pushed into the soil. When the page loads, seedlings unfurl and leaves open beside every prize. Lime-wash, terracotta, moss and fern by day with a peony pink for the flowers; at dusk the same shed under its hanging lamp, the leaves turned to silhouettes. A seed packet for the wallet, a pot and its label for each win, a flower-show bench for the winners, an empty pot with a single sprout for the 404, terracotta buttons that settle onto their rim, a sprout that comes up wherever you buy or bid, and a dark/light switch where a curtain of ivy creeps down over the page and is drawn aside.

The festival of brothers and sisters, on the full moon of Shravan: on the homepage, your prizes set as the jewelled centres of great rakhis laid out on a length of rani-pink silk brocade — each medallion a rosette of gold zari and silk petals ringed with seed pearls, kundan stones of ruby and emerald and little mirrors — their twisted silk threads curling across the cloth to tasselled ends. A countdown on four diamonds of kaju katli in the two weeks before the day and a Happy Raksha Bandhan greeting on it, kept as Indian calendars give Shravan Purnima for 2026 to 2035 or on your own date, for India, Nepal and the diaspora in the US, Canada and the UK. Saffron, marigold and rani pink on warm cream by day, peacock teal at the edges; after dark a warm festive evening of deep plum silk with its zari glinting. A brass thali of roli, rice and mithai for the winners, a length of brocade for the wallet, a rakhi whose medallion is the zero of 404, and a rakhi tied at the middle of the screen whose rosette blooms into the new mode for the dark/light switch. Every other page of the shop is dressed in the same materials — zari borders, scalloped gota lace, kundan stones ringed with seed pearls, twisted silk thread and tassels — with a small drawing from the festival on every empty or waiting screen, from an empty thali to a rakhi posted to a sibling far away. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a rich, warm shop.

Lantern-lit nights for Ramadan and Eid: hanging lanterns and a crescent moon that fills night by night through the month, a daily countdown to iftar, a countdown to Ramadan before it begins, and an Eid Mubarak greeting on both Eids. Night teal and lantern gold after dark, ivory and deep teal by day, with an eight-point-star border and full Arabic support. Use it all year: outside the season the homepage is simply the lantern-lit night.

New bids, prices, ticket sales and balances appear on every open page within a second.

An independent record shop for stores that sell music, vinyl and instruments, open all year round. On the homepage a plywood crate stands under the shop lamp in front of a wall of sleeve spines, and your live prizes are the sleeves in it, each with its photo as the cover, its kind on a tabbed divider and its real name on the shop's sticker. When the page opens the sleeves flip forward one after another and a record slides half out of the front one. Cream sleeve card with its ring wear, crate plywood, black vinyl grooves and centre labels in plain patterns, round price-gun stickers, guitar picks for list markers, a cassette counter for every clock, headings set like a gig poster, catalogue numbers and prices in a typewriter mono. After hours the shop goes warm black with the listening-booth lamp on. A record mailer for the wallet, a listening booth for the winners, a sleeve with its record for every prize you win, an empty sleeve for a missing page, deck buttons whose lamp lights when you press them, and a dark/light switch where a record spins in under the tonearm and away again. No festival, no dates, no made-up figures, no lettering on any sleeve or label.

A country sale yard for farm machinery, livestock and produce sold under the gavel, and for the agricultural supply stores beside the ring, open all year. On the homepage the barn stands behind its ring, red boards in white-painted trim with a weathervane cockerel on the ridge and the loft door shut, and in front of it three pens of weathered timber each hold one of the shop's live lots on fresh straw, its name on a manila lot tag tied to the rail with orange baler twine and its kind chalked on a little lot board, with square and round bales stacked at either end. When the page opens the five-bar gates swing back one after another to show what is in each pen, and the cockerel turns into the wind. Headings in the heavy wood type of a sale bill, the rest in a plain sturdy sans and every price and count in its condensed cut, on limewashed boards with a few stalks of chaff, manila tags, paper lot slips, chalk boards and lengths of twisted twine, in barn red, hay gold, weathered timber and pasture green. After dark the barn is lit by hurricane lanterns: the boards go deep brown, warm pools of light fall on the straw and the doors turn the gold of lamplit hay. The wallet is a feed sack with its label sewn on, each prize you win comes tied up in a sack with a lot tag, buttons are barn doors in their white frames that roll down a little when pressed, whatever you buy or bid on kicks up a few stalks of straw, a missing page is an empty pen with its gate left open, and the dark/light switch runs the two big barn doors in along their iron track until they meet with a bump, then rolls them apart again on the other mode.

A heritage salesroom on sale day, for stores whose heart is bidding: antiques, collectibles, art, cars and every other high-value lot. On the homepage the room's wall is hung in heritage-green damask (or oxblood, your choice) and your live prizes hang on it as catalogue lots, each in a carved gilt frame under its own brass picture lamp with an engraved lot plaque below, while the mahogany rostrum stands in front with the gavel resting on its sound block; the sale's title page sits beside them on cream catalogue paper with deckled edges, lot numbers and estimates set in small capitals between letterpress rules. When the page loads the catalogue opens, its pages turn to today's lots and the lots lift off the page onto the wall. Every lot card is a catalogue entry, bidding paddles rise when a bid lands, the live timer runs from "going once" to "going twice" in the last seconds and a red "Sold" stamp comes down when the hammer falls. Cream paper and ink black by day with oxblood and gilt; after dark the evening sale, lamplit, the wall deep and the gilt frames catching the light. A bidder registration card for the wallet, a sheet of hammer prices for the winners, a paid collection slip for each prize, a withdrawn Lot 404 for the missing page, and "going once, going twice, sold" for the dark/light switch: three catalogue sheets slapped down with three taps of the gavel, the last stamped sold, then swept off the rostrum. Set the sale number, its title and the wall colour in Salesroom → Sale; it is a good-looking shop all year, with no dates to keep.

Your shop dressed for 11.11, Singles' Day, the biggest day of the year for treating yourself. The whole look is built from one numeral: on the homepage four giant 1s stand side by side like tall shop windows, each holding one of your live prizes, and when the page opens they drop into place one after another and light up from the floor. Before the day a split-flap board counts down to midnight on the 11th; through the warm-up from 1 November it keeps counting, the last day dropping to hours and minutes; and on the day itself the hero reads "It's 11.11", greets each visitor once with the theme's own flap-board moment and counts down to the sale's last second. The rest of the year it is simply a bright, confident shop with no dates. Hot coral for what sells, deep plum for the ink, white for the floor and one acid lime kept for the 11; tall condensed numerals for headlines and every price, a clean sans for reading. Split-flap cells for countdowns, a receipt for the winners, a tall price tag for every prize you win, "Page 404 is sold out" for a missing page, a 1 that drops into the button when you add to the cart or bid, and a dark/light switch where four tall flap cells swing shut over the page, each carrying a 1, and fall open on the other mode. After dark it is midnight on the 11th: plum-black with the four 1s glowing. The dates, the sale's name and an off switch live on the theme's own admin page.

The water festival of the April heat: on the homepage, a great silver basin of jasmine-scented water under a phuang malai garland of jasmine, marigold and rose, your prizes floating on it in little embossed silver khan bowls among frangipani flowers and drifting buds, each named on a tag edged with the stripes of a pha sin, while drops of water arc and sparkle overhead. A countdown on four drops of water in the two weeks before the festival, and a greeting through its days, day by day, kept as Thailand keeps Songkran on 13–15 April, as Laos keeps Pi Mai, Myanmar Thingyan or Cambodia Choul Chnam Thmey, or on your own dates. Jasmine white, silver and water blue with marigold and rose by day; after dark the warm festival night, garland lights strung over the water and their reflections trembling in it. A sheet of pha sin silk for the wallet, an empty bowl letting fall its last drop for the 404, and a drop that splashes into the page and ripples the new mode outward for the dark/light switch. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a cool, bright shop.

A potting bench in a little greenhouse on the first warm morning of spring: on the homepage three of your prizes stand in terracotta pots along the bench, each one tagged with an illustrated seed packet on a stake, while tulips, daffodils and a blue hyacinth come up around them, seedlings crowd a wooden tray, a galvanised watering can waits beside a ball of garden twine and dew runs down the white-framed glass behind. In the two weeks before your sale four wooden plant labels pushed into a crate count down to its start, and while it runs the crate says the sale is on and how many days are left; the dates are your own, or every year for your hemisphere: 1 March to 30 April in the north, 1 September to 31 October in the south. Fresh leaf green, terracotta and the bright inks of old seed packets by day; after dark the greenhouse at dusk, string lights along the frame, the glass holding their reflections and the plants in silhouette. A tray of seedlings runs under the header, pots stand along the shed shelf in the footer, the wallet is a seed crate with its balance stencilled on the side, three seed packets numbered 4, 0 and 4 make the 404, and for the dark/light switch seedlings sprout along the bottom of the screen and grow into a hedge, the mode changes behind the leaves and the hedge is clipped away from the top. Every other page comes from the same shed: banners and galleries behind greenhouse glass, cards and tickets as seed packets, badges as wooden plant labels, icons in little terracotta pots, a flower bed seen from above for the spin wheel, soil to scratch away on the scratch card and a small garden scene for every empty page, payment result and error. Use it all year: outside the sale it is simply a fresh, green greenhouse shop.

Your shop's own birthday, kept like a party at a good patisserie: on the homepage, a grand three-tier cake on a gilt stand — mint fondant hung with blush swags and strung with sugar pearls, a blush tier scattered with gold dragées and tied with a satin bow, a vanilla tier under a chocolate ganache drip — with presents opened either side of it, your prizes rising out of the tissue paper, balloons on curling ribbons above and party hats and sprinkles on the table. Enter the day the shop opened and the theme does the rest: in the two weeks before each birthday the shop's age stands on the cake in striped number candles and the homepage counts down — "Kiwi Mart turns 3 in" — then through a birthday week of your length it wishes "Happy 3rd birthday, Kiwi Mart!", in the shop's own name and in each language's own way of counting. Buttercream, strawberry and mint by day with chocolate for ink; after dark the party after the lights go down, the room lit by the candles on the cake. A strawberry fondant tier under a ganache drip for the wallet, three number candles with the middle one blown out for the 404, and candles that are blown out — their smoke curling up as the room goes dark — or lit one by one with a match until their glow fills the screen for the dark/light switch. Use it all year: with no date set, or between birthdays, it is simply a party.

A seaside holiday sale: on the homepage, a row of striped beach huts stands on the boardwalk by the sea, each with its doors thrown open on one of your prizes and a painted sign hung beneath. In the week before your sale a postcard counts down to its start with ice-lolly numbers, and while it runs it counts down to the last day; the dates are your own, or every summer for your hemisphere. Sea blue, coral and sunshine on warm sand by day, a warm summer night by the sea with lantern light by night, with a shoreline of waves under the header, surf rolling up the sand in the footer, a message in a bottle on the 404 page and a wave that washes in and out for the dark/light switch. Use it all year: outside the sale it is simply a sunny shop.

Your shop dressed for Tanabata, the star festival of 7 July, when wishes written on strips of coloured paper are hung on bamboo. On the homepage a tall bamboo branch leans in over a summer sky, and your live prizes hang from it on long paper strips that sway in the breeze; when the page opens the strips unroll down the bamboo one by one, then the river of stars fades in behind them. A fortnight before the strips go up on 1 July the hero starts counting down to the 7th on little paper strips of its own; on the day it wishes every visitor a happy Tanabata and greets each of them once with the theme's own moment. The rest of the year it is simply a calm, summery shop with no dates. Bamboo green for every button, deep summer night for the ink, and the strips' five colours, red, yellow, blue, white and violet, for everything that hangs; brush-written headlines and a clean sans for reading and for every figure. Washi paper for cards and dialogs, a strip tied to every prize, a wish strip for each winner's name, "This wish blew away" for a missing page, a strip that unrolls on the splash, a paper star that drops into the button when you add to the cart or bid, and a dark/light switch where a bamboo pole runs in along the top, the wish strips drop from it edge to edge over the page and rise away into the sky on the other mode. By day it is a summer evening; after dark it is the night of the 7th, the river of stars glowing across the sky. The dates (or your own, every year if you keep the festival in August), the festival's name and an off switch live on the theme's own admin page.

A working tea trader's tasting room above an estate, for tea estates, tea traders, tea shops and tasting rooms, open all year. On the homepage the long counter of tea-chest wood runs under a tall window onto the terraced hills, a brass lamp hanging over it, and along it stand the shop's live prizes as lots, each on a square of sample paper in a brass stand with its kind on a lot slip, a white tasting mug and its bowl in front of it, a brass scale waiting at one end. When the page opens the lots are laid out one by one and each bowl fills with tea in turn, a little steam lifting off it. Headings in a lively serif, the interface and every price in a clean grotesk with tabular figures, on laid sample paper with tea chests in their tin corner fittings, foil linings, caddy tins lacquered tea green with a brass pinstripe, the broker's ruled catalogue and lot tags, in tea green, tea amber, tin silver, paper cream and chest wood. At night the hills go dark and one lamp burns over the counter: the room turns the green-black of the night hills and the presses turn the amber of fresh-brewed tea. The wallet is a caddy tin with a paper label holding the balance, each prize you win comes as a sample packet on its foil, buttons are lacquered caddy lids that sink when pressed, whatever you buy or bid on lets fall a few flakes of dry leaf, a missing page is an empty tasting cup ("this lot's been tasted and gone"), and the dark/light switch steeps the screen: a pinch of dry leaf falls across it, each leaf bleeding its brewed tea until the whole page is one infusion, which then drains away on the other mode.

Your shop as the ticket kiosk on the street corner, the one everybody stops at on the way home: a painted green kiosk under a striped awning, its roll-up shutter clattering open when the page loads, the awning dropping and your live prizes swinging into place on a string across the window, each one a printed ticket on a clip with its serial and its perforated stub. A felt letter board on the side spells out when the next draw is, today's numbers are pinned to the counter beside the receipt printer, and the draw itself is a hand-turned wire cage with the balls tumbling inside. Headlines in a tall condensed poster face, serials, numbers and receipts in a typewriter mono, and everything else printed on newsprint and ticket-roll cream: perforations, punch holes, rubber stamps in red and blue ink. Buying prints a ticket strip that tears off on its perforation, a winning ticket gets a scratch panel and a WINNER stamp, the wallet is a loyalty punch card, a win is a cash-in receipt, the winners are this week's tickets pinned to the board and a lost page is "Ticket 404", stamped VOID. After dark it is the kiosk at night: the shutter half down, a warm lamp inside, the street blue-black and the letter board lit. The dark/light switch prints a giant ticket over the page, stamps it with the sun or the moon and tears it away along its perforation. Evergreen: no dates to set, it is open all year.

A stake-and-climb game: players pick one tile on each floor

A well-loved wooden toy shop for toy stores, kids' shops, games and hobby stores anywhere in the world. On the homepage your featured prizes sit in the cubbies of a beech-wood shelf against a pegboard wall, each on its own painted block with a paper tag tied on, while alphabet blocks tumble out of the air and stack themselves on top of the shelf and a pull-along duck winds its key. Warm cream and honey beech with painted enamel in red, yellow, blue and green, chunky painted lettering and a clear, friendly hand for the small print; after dark it is the same shop at night, a ceiling of painted stars over shelves lit by a nightlight. Prices and counters are painted on wooden number blocks you can read at a glance, buttons press down like blocks, badges spin like tops, a train track runs under every heading, and a little star on a spring pops out when you add to the cart or bid. A painted money box for the wallet, a podium of number blocks for the winners, a cubby for every prize you win, three blocks reading 4-0-4 with one tipped over, and a dark/light switch that builds a wall of blocks across the screen, row by row, and knocks it down again. Every other page is dressed in the same toys, with a small wooden still life on every empty or waiting screen. No festival and no dates: it is a toy shop all year.

Your shop as an old exchange floor at the opening bell, for any store all year round. On the homepage a split-flap quote board in a brass frame lists your live prizes, each with its photo, its real title and where it is on offer, and a ticker tape runs your real headlines and counts along the top. When the page opens the desk bell rings and the flaps turn over row by row, and the next draw's real closing time sits on a brass plaque under the board. Ledger paper with feint green ruling and a brass double margin, brass rails with their bolts, engraved candlestick charts drawn as pure line work with no axes and no figures, headings in an engraved serif, figures in a board mono. After the close the floor goes dark green and the board glows amber. A ledger page for the wallet, a winners' board for the winners, a share certificate for every prize you win, "Page 404 has been delisted" for a missing page, a desk bell that rings whenever you buy or bid, badges posted like entries in the book, and a dark/light switch that strikes the closing bell and cuts an engraved chart across the screen. No festival and no dates, no invented prices or figures: every number on the floor is your store's own.

A higher-or-lower game: every car of the train carries a

Your shop as an unboxing studio, filmed from just above the table, for stores whose heart is opening boxes: blind boxes, prize crates, collectibles and loot drops, anywhere in the world. On the homepage a seamless paper backdrop curves down into a matte tabletop under a soft ring light, and the day's boxes stand on it with their price tags tied on, the one in front half open with its best prize showing in the crinkle shred. When the page opens the ring light clicks on, the boxes slide into frame and the front box's flaps pop open as its tissue lifts. Headings in a chunky, friendly grotesk, every price, tag and odds line in a clean label mono, and rarity told the way an unboxer knows it, by the colour of the tissue: common kraft, uncommon mint, rare blue, epic violet and legendary gold foil. Opening a box is the show: printed cartons with their rarity stripes, the box on the table beside its printed odds card, a conveyor of prizes slowing to a stop under the light, and a result where the box opens, the shred bursts and the prize rises on tissue in its rarity colour, with gold foil confetti for a legendary pull. After hours the studio goes dark, the ring light is the main light and the rarity colours glow in the shred. A studio pass for the wallet, a shelf of the latest pulls for the winners, a packing slip for every prize you win, an empty box with a "Nothing in here: 404" slip for a missing page, a tear strip that rips when you buy, and a dark/light switch that folds the box shut over the screen and pops it open on the new mode. No festival and no dates: it opens all year.

A letterpress stationery shop for Valentine's Day: a love letter on the homepage whose wax seal breaks as the letter slides out, with three of your prizes written on it as a wish list. A countdown in the three weeks before Valentine's Day and a greeting on the day itself, on 14 February or your own date. Blush paper, wine ink and gold foil by day, deep wine and rose gold by night, with an airmail border, drifting paper hearts and an envelope that seals for the dark/light switch. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a shop for gifts.

Your shop as a 1980s video arcade, played for real: on the homepage a row of upright cabinets in purple side art and yellow T-molding, each CRT bulging behind its bezel with scanlines across the glass, running one of your live prizes in attract mode — the prize with its name lit on the marquee, then a blinking INSERT COIN — above a control panel of joystick and buttons and a coin door with its token slot glowing. When the page loads the screens power on the way old tubes do: a white line splits the dark glass and opens into the picture. Headlines in a pixel face drawn on a strict grid, scores and counters in the square bitmap of the cabinets, and sprites of tokens, tickets, trophies and plush prizes drawn pixel by pixel, never blurred. After dark it is the arcade at night, cabinet black-purple glowing in magenta, cyan, yellow and green phosphor over a cosmic carpet; by day the same arcade with the shutters up: sunlit carpet, cabinet art in bright inks and the prize counter in daylight. A token cup for the wallet, prize-counter tickets off the roll for your winnings, a CRT scoreboard of the latest winners, "GAME OVER · 404 · CONTINUE?" counting down to home, buttons that travel when pressed, a token that drops into the slot when you bid or add to cart, and a dark/light switch that powers the screen down to a line and a dot and back on again. Evergreen: no dates to set, it is an arcade all year.

The gift table of a South Asian wedding: the homepage opens like a wedding invitation, ivory card and printed vellum under an embossed double rule of gold foil, three of your live prizes set into its die-cut arch windows, while marigold garlands swag from a mango-leaf toran above it and long strands of marigold, rose and jasmine hang down either side. In the two weeks before your sale a “save the date” card tucked into the corner counts down to its first day, and while it runs it says the wedding season is here and counts the days left; the dates are your own, or every year from 1 November to the end of February, the season shops in India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Nepal and the diaspora fill with gifts, jewellery and sweets. Ivory and vermilion-maroon by day; after dark the evening of the celebration, an emerald night with the garlands lit by fairy lights. A toran hangs under the header, the footer is maroon velvet with garlands swagged across it, the wallet is a shagun envelope sealed with gold foil, the 404 is a garland whose three hanging rings read 404, and for the dark/light switch long strands of marigolds cascade down the page until they hang edge to edge, the evening comes or goes behind them, and they are drawn back up. Every other page is set from the same table: banners and product pictures on vellum in a gold-ruled card, rows and badges as gift tags, icons in arch windows, a brass urli of floating flowers for the spin wheel, gold foil to scratch on the scratch card, mithai and dry-fruit boxes, envelopes and gift trays for every empty page, payment result and error. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a festive gift shop.

The January sale at a mountain lodge: on the homepage, three of your prizes are seen through the frosted panes of a pine-framed window, snow falling on the peaks outside and a mug of cocoa steaming on the sill, each prize named in the frost at the foot of its pane. In the week before your sale a knitted scarf counts down to its start with the numbers knitted into the wool, and while it runs it counts down to the last day; the dates are your own, or every year for your region: Boxing Day to the end of January in Europe and North America, the saldi from early January to the end of February in Italy, or June and July in the southern hemisphere. Fjord blue, lingonberry red and wool cream on fresh snow by day, the lodge by firelight in charcoal wool and ember by night, with a fair-isle band under the header, icicles hanging from the eaves in the footer, a lone mitten in the snow on the 404 page and frost that creeps across the glass and melts away for the dark/light switch. Use it all year: outside the sale it is simply a cosy winter shop.

A well-kept workshop for hardware, DIY, tool and home-improvement shops, open all year. On the homepage a pegboard of tan hardboard hangs in a frame of planed maple, and each of the shop's live prizes hangs on its own pair of hooks over a place painted in blueprint blue, its name on a kraft tag tied to the hook, among a claw hammer, a combination square, a spirit level, a screwdriver and a yellow F-clamp, each over its painted outline, with a plan pinned up beside them and a tape measure and a few curls of shaving on the bench below. When the page opens the outlines are painted in, and as each prize and tool clicks onto its hooks its shadow fills. Headings stencilled, the rest in a sturdy grotesque and every price and count in a technical mono, on paper-white plywood with masking-tape labels, kraft tags, graph-paper notes, the ticks of a folding rule and the yellow blade of a tape measure, in pegboard tan, planed-maple honey, safety yellow, blueprint blue and graphite. At night one bench lamp is on: the shop goes graphite blue, the plans glow and the presses turn safety yellow. The wallet is a clipboard of maple with a sheet of graph paper under its steel clip, each prize you win comes in kraft paper tied with string, buttons are blocks of planed maple that sink when pressed, whatever you buy or bid on throws off a few curls of shaving, a missing page is an empty outline on the pegboard, and the dark/light switch drops a folded plan onto the page and opens it out panel by panel until it covers the screen, then folds it away on the other mode.

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Accept payments via Amazon Pay. Deactivate to hide Amazon Pay

Accept crypto payments via Binance Pay, with instant

Accept payments via bKash, Bangladesh's leading mobile

Accept direct crypto payments via Blockchain.com's wallet

Accept payments via BlueSnap, an all-in-one platform

Accept payments via Cashmaal, a multi-currency gateway popular

Accept crypto payments via Coinbase Commerce, confirmed

Accept payments via CoinGate — 70+ cryptocurrencies with

Accept payments via CoinPayments — 2000+ cryptocurrencies,

Accept payments via Flutterwave — cards, bank transfer, and

Accept payments via Intouch (GuTouch), a mobile money / bank

Accept mobile money payments via M-Pesa, Kenya's leading

Accept payments via Mercado Pago — Latin American gateway

Accept payments via Midtrans, Indonesia's leading payment

Accept fiat-to-crypto payments via MoonPay's hosted widget.

Accept payments via Nagad, a Bangladeshi digital financial

Accept card payments via NMI, a white-label payment

Accept crypto payments via NOWPayments, supporting 100+

Accept PIX payments via OpenPix, Brazil's instant-payment

Accept payments via Payeer, a multifunctional wallet for

Accept payments via Paystack — cards, bank, and mobile money

Accept payments via Paytm — wallet and UPI payments for

Accept payments via Skrill, a widely used e-wallet.

Accept payments via SSLCommerz, a leading gateway in

Accept payments via Venmo, a popular peer-to-peer wallet in

Accept payments via Wise, a borderless bank-transfer platform

A bold, luxurious dark theme with gold accents — designed to feel exciting and high-end, like a premium casino.

A luxury haunted-mansion look for Halloween: walnut panelling, oxblood velvet and tarnished brass by night, with featured prizes hung in gilded portrait frames. By day the same house opens onto a Halloween afternoon of parchment, ink line work, cobwebs, pumpkins and a crooked moon in the haze.

Investment plans for your store — customers put wallet coins into a plan you set up and are paid a fixed percent of it, or a fixed number of coins, into their wallet on a schedule. A plan can let them cancel and get back what they put in, minus a fee you set. Adds an Investments section to the sidebar for plans and every customer's investments. Deactivate to remove investing from the storefront; investments and plans are kept and payouts pause until it is back on.

Turns the storefront's Membership page into a real, sellable

Adds a "Digital" item type — a securely stored, download-only good delivered only to the buyer who paid for it — to the item form, the shop admin form, and the auction lot form. Includes a settings panel on the Plugins screen for a store-wide "Digital-only marketplace" toggle. Deactivate and the digital option disappears from every form and downloads stop working, but nothing already uploaded or sold is deleted.

A complete eSIM storefront vertical — customers browse a data-plan catalog, pay by wallet or card, and get their eSIM's activation details and QR code the moment payment completes. Adds an eSIM Catalog and Orders screen to the sidebar, plus a new eSIM section on the storefront. Deactivate to remove eSIM selling from your store entirely; your catalog and past orders are kept.

Chooses which gambling/financial-services-adjacent sections (auction bidding, lottery, mystery boxes, invest, earn & games' spin wheel and scratch card) customers can open inside the Android/iPhone app. The list isn't fixed in this plugin: each owning plugin registers itself through the `mobile_app_restricted_verticals` filter (includes/mobile-app.php's mobile_app_vertical_registry()), so a switch only shows up here while that plugin is active. Every section starts hidden, so a fresh install never ships gambling content into an app-store review. A change takes effect the next time the app loads a page: the server-side gate every restricted page, AJAX and API route checks (store_restricted_vertical()) decides what the app shows, so no new app release is needed. GET /api/v1/app/store-config publishes the same choice for API clients.

A winter market for the holiday season: an advent calendar of 24 doors on the homepage, one opening each day of December onto one of your prizes. Pine green and cranberry on warm cream by day, a snowy midnight with lit windows by night, with a striped market awning, gentle snowfall and a string of lights along the footer. Use it all year: outside December every door stays open on 24 prizes.

A modern apothecary counter for beauty, skincare, cosmetics and wellness shops, open all year. On the homepage a dispensary shelf stands in an arched marble niche, and each of the shop's live prizes is displayed in a tall glass jar with a ground-glass stopper, its name written on the jar's cream paper label and its kind on a little tag tied round the neck, among amber dropper bottles, frosted pump bottles, cream pots and bundles of dried lavender, eucalyptus and chamomile. When the page opens a dropper lets fall a single drop that rings out across the shelf, and the jars catch the light one after another. Headings in a fine high-contrast serif and the rest in a refined sans, on white marble with soft veins, cream labels with a printed double rule and cut corners, blank brass label frames like those on a cabinet of drawers, frosted glass, and blush, clay, sage and amber glass with a deep plum for anything to press. At night the counter is lit by a single lamp: the marble goes dark, the brass warms and the amber glass glows. The wallet is a cream label on the side of a great amber bottle, each prize you win comes in a stoppered jar with its tag, the winners stand on the top shelf, buttons are beads of plum glass that the light runs across, whatever you buy or bid on lets fall a drop, a missing page is an empty bottle with its cork beside it, and the dark/light switch lowers a glass bell jar over the page, fogs it with steam and lifts it away on the other mode.

A real-time climb: the multiplier rises from 1× the moment a

Keeps your storefront stocked on a schedule — auction and lottery templates that create new listings automatically (keep N live, daily at a set time, or start the next one when the last ends), optionally as drafts for you to approve first.

The new-term stationery shop: on the homepage, your live prizes are written up on index cards and pinned to a cork noticeboard with coloured push pins, over a sheet of squared exercise paper with a red margin. In the week before your sale a timetable card taped to the board counts down to its start, and while it runs it counts down to the last day; the dates are your own, or every year for your region, northern, southern or South Asian. Paper, ink and pencil yellow by day, the classroom chalkboard by night, with a wooden ruler under the header, a chalk tray along the footer, a red-pen 404 on a marked worksheet, a pencil-case wallet, an honour board for the winners and a board eraser that wipes the screen clean for the dark/light switch. Use it all year: outside the sale it is simply a cheerful stationery shop.

A warm outdoor camp for shops selling camping, hiking and trail gear, open all year. The homepage opens on a hand-drawn trail map: contour lines, a lake, woodland and a tent at the trailhead, with each of the shop's live prizes pinned as a waypoint along a dotted route that climbs to a stone cairn at the summit. When the page opens the route draws itself from waypoint to waypoint. Headings are set in a sturdy slab serif and the rest in a friendly humanist sans, on canvas paper with faint topographic contours, stitched seams, rope, wood and cut-corner gear tags, with buttons of forest webbing; after dark the camp goes to night blue and the buttons glow like embers. The wallet is a map case, prizes you win arrive on a gear tag with an enamel patch, the winners are signed in at the summit, the daily bonus is a row of tents along a trail, the prize draw is a barrel of painted river stones, whatever you buy or bid on throws up a few sparks, countdowns roll like an altimeter, a missing page is a trail ending at a cairn, and the dark/light switch rolls a bank of valley fog across the ridgelines and clears on the other mode.

A stadium on match night for cricket, football or American football: on the homepage, an oval ground seen from the stands, mown in stripes and marked out for the sport you pick, floodlight towers at its corners and a crowd of tiny lights round it, with a big LED scoreboard above that counts down to kick-off (or the first ball) in the two weeks before your match and turns to a match-day greeting on the day. Your prizes are match tickets, torn along the perforation, in front of the ground. Name the match and set the kick-off in your own time zone; the stumps and red ball, the goal and the ball, or the goalposts and the oval ball follow the sport everywhere, from the 404 (the ball in an empty stadium, 404 on the scoreboard) to the footer's pitch-side boards. A sunlit afternoon match by day, a floodlit night by dark, and the floodlights switch on bank by bank for the dark/light switch. Use it all year: with no match set it is simply a floodlit stadium shop.

Your shop as the departure hall, for stores that sell travel and staying connected: data plans for trips abroad, travel prizes and duty-free style shopping, anywhere in the world. On the homepage a split-flap departures board hangs in a bright hall of white, passport navy and amber: each of your live prizes is a flight on it, its photo where an airline would put its tail, the prize as the destination, a gate and a status that flips to a green "Boarding", and beside the board a boarding pass with its perforated stub and barcode carries the next draw or sale time. When the page opens the board's flaps clatter through to the rows and the status column turns over to Boarding. Signs and headlines in a clear wayfinding sans, every time, code and number in a cockpit mono that reads at a glance, and amber gate signs for every button. The data-plan pages are the travel desk: each plan a boarding pass with its data, days and coverage, the plan page a gate check-in and your orders a stamped travel document. After dark it is the night terminal, the board glowing amber and the runway's edge lights running out beyond the glass. A passport page for the wallet, the arrivals board for the winners, a baggage-claim tag for every prize you win, "Flight 404 cancelled" on the board for a missing page, a gate scanner that sweeps a green line across whatever you buy or bid on, badges that land like passport stamps, and a dark/light switch that rolls a departures board down the screen row by row and flips it away with the new mode behind it. No festival and no dates: the hall is open all year.

An old independent bookshop for booksellers, stationers and gift shops, open all year. On the homepage an oak bookcase lined with marbled paper reaches to the cornice, its rolling ladder hooked over the brass rail: along the top shelf runs a row of cloth and leather spines with gilt bands and blank labels between brass bookends, a green-shaded reading lamp at one end, and on the main shelf three of the shop's live prizes stand face out as books, each set into its cover like a frontispiece, a library card tucked in at the top with the kind of prize on its tab and its name on a card in the brass label holder below, over a plinth of card-catalogue drawers. When the page opens the spines tip forward upright one after another, the books stand up off their backs and a ribbon bookmark drops. Headings in an old-style book face and the rest in a reading serif, on cream laid paper with its chain lines, library cards ruled in blue under a red head rule, gilt fillets, oxblood ribbons cut in a swallowtail, wax seals and green bookcloth with a gilt line tooled round its edge for anything to press. After hours the shop is lit by green-shaded reading lamps: the paper goes to the dark of the shelves and the gilt warms. The wallet is the inside cover of a ledger with a bookplate holding the balance, each prize you win comes parcelled in brown paper and string, the winners stand on the staff picks shelf with their borrower's cards, whatever you buy or bid on gets a violet date stamp, a missing page is a gap on the shelf with the borrower's card left in it, and the dark/light switch turns a leaf the size of the screen, marbled endpaper up, over the page and on again.

The samba-school parade: on the homepage a carnival float rolls in under fans of ostrich plumes, carrying your prizes in sequinned medallions with their names on the float's gilded side, a bead fringe swinging along its skirt. Carnival is worked out from Easter every year, Saturday to Shrove Tuesday, with a countdown in the three weeks before and a greeting while the parade is on, or your own dates for cities that celebrate on other days. Magenta, gold, emerald and royal blue on sunlit cream by day, a night parade on deep aubergine by night, with a harlequin border, plumes rising along the footer, a Venetian mask for the season chip and a wave of flipping sequins for the dark/light switch. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a shop dressed for the parade.

Hanami in the manner of a Japanese woodblock print: on the homepage a print of a pale spring sky shading into Prussian blue, a flowering cherry bough outlined in indigo, petals drifting down onto a river, and your prizes laid out in a lacquered bento box on a red picnic cloth on the bank, each one named on a paper slip, with the artist's red seal stamped in the corner. Blossom comes at a different time in every city, so you pick where your customers are — Tokyo, Kyoto, Osaka, Fukuoka, Sendai, Sapporo, Seoul or Washington, DC, from published averages — or set your own date: blossoms count down to full bloom in the two weeks before it, and a greeting runs for the ten days of hanami season around it. Washi paper, indigo and blossom pink by day; after dark yozakura, the night blossom lit by paper lanterns over a dark river. A bare branch losing its last petal for the 404, a hanging scroll for the winners' total, and a print pulled from the block for the dark/light switch. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a shop under the blossom.

A working roastery for coffee roasters, bean shops and brewing-gear stores, open all year. On the homepage the drum roaster stands against a limewashed brick wall under a shelf of kraft valve bags, and in front of it three burlap sacks stand open in a row, each with a cream sample card stitched to its front holding one of the shop's live prizes, its kind and its name, while the last roast turns in the cooling tray at their feet. When the page opens the sacks are set down one after another, their mouths open on heaps of beans and the tray's arm sweeps the beans round. Headings in a sturdy slab like the stamp on a sack, everything else in a clean sans with lining figures, on kraft paper, burlap with stencilled bands, copper from the drum, sage for the green beans and dark roast for everything you press. At night the overheads go off and the roaster keeps glowing: the floor goes near black, an ember light falls across it from the firebox and the buttons turn warm copper. The wallet is a kraft bag of beans with a crimped seal, a copper tin tie and its one-way valve, each prize you win comes wrapped in kraft and tied with twine, buttons are the roaster's own enamel start buttons set in copper rings, whatever you buy or bid on throws off a few roasted beans, a missing page is an empty shelf with one bag left on its side, and the dark/light switch charges the hopper: beans pour down and heap up until they cover the screen, then drain away through the floor onto the other mode.

A neighbourhood bakery on the corner for bakeries, cafés, patisseries and sweet shops, open all year. Under a mint-and-cream striped awning with a scalloped hem, the homepage is the shop's curved glass display case: each of the shop's live prizes sits on a paper doily on its own shelf, its name on a kraft tag tied on with red-and-white baker's twine, above trays of fresh loaves and croissants, with pastry boxes stacked on top and a chalkboard with a hand-drawn border on the tiled wall behind. When the page opens the case lights flicker on and steam curls up from the trays. Headings in a warm, chunky shop-sign serif and the rest in a clean rounded sans, on cream paper dusted with flour, with kraft tags, butter-yellow gingham, doilies and baking trays, crust-brown buttons glazed like a bun, and mint and butter for everything else. Before dawn the shop is dark, the ovens glow at the back and the case lights shine. The wallet is a pastry box tied with twine, each prize you win comes on a doily with its tag, the winners have the top shelf, whatever you buy or bid on is dusted with a puff of flour, a missing page is an empty baking tray with a few crumbs ("this one sold out"), and the dark/light switch winds the shop's awning down over the page and rolls it back up on the other mode.

A stake-and-step game: players cross lane by lane, each lane

A festival-of-lights look for Diwali: a glowing rangoli of oil lamps on the homepage, lamplight gold on a deep night blue, and a marigold-and-ivory daytime mode. Rangoli corners, woven zari borders and a row of lamps along the footer finish every page.

Race day on the harbour: on the homepage three long dragon boats race up their lanes towards the finish buoys, each with a carved head rearing at the bow, the drum just behind it, a row of paddles digging into the water and one of your prizes riding amidships. A countdown on the finish board in the two weeks before Duanwu, the 5th day of the 5th lunar month, worked out for every year, and a festival greeting on race day, with an option to keep it up the day after for weekend regattas. Jade, river teal and young bamboo by day; by night a harbour race under the city lights, their reflections trailing across the water. Lane ropes for borders, zongzi tied in bamboo leaves on your winnings, five-colour silk threads, a podium of boats on the winners page and a dragon boat sprinting across the screen that pulls the other mode in its wake for the dark/light switch. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a shop on the water.

Your shop as the studio on draw night, for stores whose heart is the draw: prize draws, raffles and number games, anywhere in the world. On the homepage the stage is set on a glossy white floor before a backdrop of electric-blue LED panels: the clear ball drum turns in the middle on its stand, its chute running down into the results rack, and each of your live prizes stands on a lit plinth under the studio clock counting down to the next draw. When the page opens the studio lights come up bank by bank, the drum starts turning and the prize panels light up one by one. Headlines in a wide broadcast grotesque, every clock, number and result in a tabular mono you can read at a glance, and one hot colour, signal red, kept for the ON AIR lamp, live states and the winning ball. The draw pages are the broadcast itself: a ticket machine like a vision mixer, the studio waiting on air with a "we're live in" lower-third, a drum that drops each drawn ball down the chute into the rack, and a results board that flips to the winning numbers. After dark it is the live show, the hall dark and the panels glowing. A player card for the wallet, the results board for the winners, a claim slip for every prize you win, "Ball 404 · not in the drum" for a missing page, a ball that drops into the button when you add to the cart or bid, a clock that turns red for its last ten seconds, and a dark/light switch that turns the screen into the results board, its flaps dropping shut cell by cell and falling on over to show the new mode. No festival and no dates: it is draw night all year.

A spring egg hunt: on the homepage, panoramic sugar eggs sit in the grass, each with a little window showing one of your prizes inside, under drifting blossom. A countdown in the three weeks before Easter and a greeting on Easter Sunday and Monday, Western or Orthodox, worked out for every year. Pastel butter, mint, lilac and blush on cream by day, a spring night garden by night, with an egg border, eggs hidden in the grass along the footer and an egg that cracks open for the dark/light switch. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a shop in spring colours.

The arraiá, the June party in the village square: on the homepage three painted wooden stalls stand under strings of bandeirinhas, each with a chita awning, a hand-painted sign and one of your prizes on its gingham-covered counter, its name lettered on the board below. From 1 June to 31 July, or your own dates, the homepage counts down in the three weeks before and then welcomes visitors to the arraiá, pointing out the big nights of 13, 24 and 29 June and carrying on as Festa Julina in July. Chita red, corn yellow and bunting blue on warm paper by day; by night the party goes on around the fogueira, in firelight under an indigo sky. Straw hats, ears of corn, pipoca and a pescaria fish turn up around the shop, the footer has its own bonfire, the 404 is a string of pennants with one blown loose, and strings of bunting unfurl across the screen for the dark/light switch. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a shop dressed for the festa.

A working quay before sunrise for fishmongers, seafood sellers and the dawn sale on the harbour, open all year. On the homepage the quay runs along the foot of the harbour wall, its slate wet and shining, and three blue fish boxes slide along it in a row; as each one stops, its crushed ice settles and shows one of the shop's live prizes laid on the ice, a buoy-orange lot tag tied to the box's handle with its name, between a harbour lamp on its post, a bollard with a gull on it, a coil of rope and a string of floats hung on the wall, with still water behind. Headings stencilled like the side of a fish box, the rest in a clear, sturdy sans and every price and count in a plain tabular mono, on ice-white paper with rope rules, galvanised chequer plate, waterproof lot tags and the ribbed rim of a fish box, in harbour navy, ice white, buoy orange, wet slate and rope tan. Before dawn the lamps are lit: the quay goes deep navy, light pools amber on the wet stone and the presses glow buoy orange. The wallet is a steel cash tin on a fish box, each prize you win comes packed in a box of ice, buttons are glossy floats that dip when pressed, whatever you buy throws up a spray of ice chips, a missing page is an empty box of melting ice, and the dark/light switch shovels a bank of crushed ice across the screen until it is covered, then lets it drain away through the grate on the other mode.

A stake-and-call coin game: players call a face before each

The wholesale flower hall at dawn, for flower markets, growers and florists who buy and sell by the clock, open all year. On the homepage the hall's great clock hangs from a girder under a roof of glass: a steel bezel round a dark face and a ring of lamps with no figures on it, the lit lamp running round as the pointer. Below it a galvanised trolley stands on its painted lane, and on its top shelf three green buckets each hold one of the shop's live prizes in a clear sleeve, its kind on the coloured band of a lot tag clipped to the rim and its name on the tag, with buckets of red, white and yellow tulips on the shelf beneath. When the page opens the clock's light runs round the ring and stops on each bucket in turn, and each prize rises from its bucket as it is reached. Headings set wide and heavy in Mona Sans, the rest in Mona Sans at its normal width and every price and count in Reddit Mono, on daylight white with cold-room blue, brushed steel, tulip red and leaf green: strips of the clock's lamps along the head of every sheet, white lot tags in steel clips, clear sleeve film for labels and the frosted blue of the cold rooms. At night it is the hall before the doors open, dark steel and navy with the clock ring glowing red over the trolleys. Every button to press is the buyer's stop button, a tulip-red cap in a steel bezel; the wallet is the buyer's console with the balance on its display; each prize you win comes wrapped in its sleeve; whatever you buy or bid on lights a ring of little lamps round the button; a missing page is an empty bucket on a trolley; and the dark/light switch sends a hall tug across the screen pulling a train of flower trolleys that close up over the page, the mode turning behind them before they roll on out.

A bright neighbourhood supermarket for grocers, convenience stores and supermarkets that run a weekly lucky draw, open all year. On the homepage the shop's live prizes ride a checkout belt up to the till, each on its own white tray with its kind on a yellow shelf-talker and its name on a blank shelf tag along the green price rail, while the weekly draw drum turns on the counter beside the scanner and three aisle signs hang from the ceiling above. When the page opens the belt runs and carries each prize up to the till in turn. Headings in a rounded signage face, the rest in a clear wayfinding sans and every price and count in a tabular mono, on clean white shelving and grey-and-white floor tiles, with green price rails, yellow shelf-talkers, green produce crates, red hand baskets, paper carrier bags and the rubber of the belt, in fresh green, tomato red, aisle yellow, clean white and cool grey. After dark it is late-night shopping: the store goes deep green-black, the strip lights hum overhead and the shelves glow. The wallet is a loyalty card with its stamp strip, each prize you win is packed in a paper carrier bag, buttons are shelf strips that dip when pressed, whatever you add to the basket drops in with a bounce, a missing page is an empty shelf with one blank tag waiting to be restocked, and the dark/light switch tips a crate of fresh produce over the page until it is heaped full, then lets it all tumble away on the other mode.

Your shop as an engineer's lab and teardown bench, precise and clean: on the homepage a blueprint sheet on the drafting table, each of your live prizes set in its own labelled drawing frame — Lot 01, Lot 02, Lot 03 — with dimension arrows along its edges, a leader line out to a callout that names it and a title block in the corner of the sheet. When the page opens the pen plotter draws the sheet in, grid, frames and dimension lines one stroke after another, and the prizes come up into their frames. Blueprint blue and drafting white by day, with a safety-orange signal for what matters; after dark the lab at night, deep slate under cyan plot lines with small LED status lights glowing on every panel. Headlines in Geist, a precise grotesk, and every figure, price and part number in Martian Mono, a technical monospace, set like a spec sheet. A component tray with screws in labelled bins for an empty cart, a charge-meter wallet with its cells filling, a test-bench rack of winners, an inspection tag for every prize you have won, a 404 drawn as an exploded diagram with part 404 missing from its slot, LED lights that blink on add to cart, keycap buttons that travel when pressed, toggles that throw like bench switches, countdown digits that tick over with a calibration mark, and a dark/light switch run by the pen plotter itself: its gantry crosses the screen plotting a fresh blueprint sheet, the mode changes under it, and the finished sheet feeds out. Evergreen, for stores selling electronics, phones, accessories and tech prizes all year round.

Your shop as a board-game night with friends, for stores built around games, rewards and earning, though it suits any store that likes a little play. On the homepage a folded game board lies open on a walnut table under a hanging lamp, the shop's live prizes stand on its spaces as prize cards, a wooden pawn hops from one to the next and a sand timer runs beside the board. When the page opens the board unfolds along its crease and the pawns drop onto their spaces one by one. Headings in a chunky, rounded display face and the rest in a friendly sans, with the four token colours of the table, red, blue, green and yellow, marking the spaces, badges and paths of every page. A score pad keeps the wallet's real balance, the winners stand on the finish square, every prize you win comes on a token card, the games and rewards pages are the board itself, and a missing page is a square that's off the board. Late in the evening the room goes dark and the lamp's warm pool lights only the table, and the dark/light switch is the lamp's pull chain: it drops, it's tugged with a click and the light falls over the screen. No festival and no dates: it is open all year.

Commencement day: on the homepage, your top prize presented as a diploma on heavy cream certificate paper inside an engraved guilloché border, its picture in an oval cartouche and a gold-foil seal with claret ribbon tails pressed into its corner, two more prizes rolled up and tied with ribbon beneath it, and mortarboards tossed into the sky above, their tassels swinging. Set your graduation day and the homepage counts down to it for three weeks, then congratulates the Class of the year on the day and through the week after; with no day set it greets the class through the graduation season, May to June in the north or November to December in the south. An ivory morning ceremony in academic navy and gold by day; after dark the evening ceremony, navy under warm stage light. Winners on an honours list framed in a laurel wreath, each of your winnings a diploma of its own, the wallet in a navy leather diploma cover, a 404 sealed where the grade should be, and a diploma that unrolls across the screen for the dark/light switch. Full right-to-left support. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a shop of diplomas under a sky of caps.

The lobby of a grand hotel, for hotels and resorts, stay draws and suite lots, open all year. The homepage opens on the front desk: behind its marble counter and the concierge bell stands the mahogany key rack, and from three brass hooks along it hang three big tasselled key fobs in emerald, burgundy and navy leather, each fob framing one of the shop's live prizes, its kind and name on the brass plate beneath; when the page opens the fobs swing down onto their hooks one after another and the desk lamp comes on. Headings are set in a fine high-contrast serif and the rest in the geometric sans of the old lift lobbies, on white marble with grey veins, with emerald lacquer framed by brass keylines, brushed brass room plaques, a burgundy carpet runner with a gilt border, luggage tags and brass beading; at night it is the same lobby under the chandelier, the marble gone green-black and the brass catching the light. The wallet is the guest folio in gilt-tooled emerald leather, prizes you win arrive as hatboxes with a luggage tag on the cord, the winners ride the brass luggage trolley, the daily bonus is a corridor of seven room doors, the prize draw turns in a brass cage, the page loader is the lift's floor dial swinging while the car comes down, whatever you buy or bid on rings the concierge bell, a missing page is a room door with nothing behind it, and the dark/light switch turns a leaf of the revolving door across the screen and lets you out on the other side of the day.

Opening day at your own shopfront, for a new store, a relaunch or a new branch: on the homepage, a deep emerald awning striped in cream over a big brass-framed display window, your shop's name in gilt on the fascia board above it and your live prizes standing on display risers inside, each with a fresh price tag. A scarlet satin ribbon is tied in a bow across the glass with oversized gold ceremonial scissors ready beside it, tall congratulatory flower stands and bunches of balloons flank the window, confetti drifts down and a "Welcome" mat waits on the step. Enter your opening date and the theme does the rest: in the thirty days before, a sign hanging from the awning counts down — "Opening in" — under your own headline; on the day the ribbon is cut and through an opening week of your length the sign reads "Now open", counting the days left. Cream, emerald, brass and scarlet by day; after dark the shop on its opening night, the window glowing, the bulbs round the fascia lit and the awning washed in light from below. A cash drawer in emerald lacquer for the wallet, a closed door with a "Back in 404 minutes" sign for the 404, and a satin ribbon that unspools across the screen in wide folds until gold scissors snip it down the middle and the two halves fall away for the dark/light switch. Use it all year: with no date set, or once the opening week is over, the sign simply says the shop is open.

Eight nights of light and small gifts: on the homepage a polished silver menorah stands in a window across the hero, its arms worked with knops and almond cups, and at the foot of each of its eight candles a live prize sits in a silver ring, the candles twisted in blue and white wax and the shamash raised in beeswax between them. In the two weeks before the first candle the window counts down to it with only the shamash burning; through the festival it shows Night 3 of 8 with that many candles lit and a Happy Hanukkah greeting in the language of the page, moving on to the next night at 6pm store time, kept as hebcal.com gives the eight nights for 2026 to 2035 or from your own first evening, for the US, Israel, the UK, Canada, France, Argentina and Australia. Crisp white, lapis and polished silver by day with candle gold for the flames; after dark the window at night, deep blue glinting with silver and every candle burning. A silver tray of sufganiyot and gelt for the winners, a present in lapis paper tied with silver ribbon for the wallet and for each prize you win, three dreidels landed on 4, 0 and 4 for the 404, and a dreidel spun at the middle of the screen whose painted faces blur out over the page for the dark/light switch. Every other page of the shop is dressed in the same materials — the menorah rail, gelt in gold and silver foil, crimped foil edges, twisted candle wax and blue gift wrap — with a small drawing from the festival on every empty or waiting screen, from an unlit menorah and a box of candles to a plate of latkes and the last drop in the jug of oil. Use it all year: outside the season the menorah simply burns in full light over a crisp blue and silver shop.

A long table set for the family on Thanksgiving: on the homepage, three of your prizes stand on wood-slice serving stands along a plaid tablecloth, each with a handwritten place card, between a sheaf of wheat in a stoneware crock, tall candles, apples, pears, an ear of corn and a lattice pie, while maple and oak leaves drift down in warm autumn light. A countdown on a menu card, its numbers on rounds of wood, in the two weeks before Thanksgiving, and the greeting on the day, worked out for the United States (the fourth Thursday of November, through the long weekend) or Canada (the second Monday of October). Cranberry, mustard and oat by day; by night a candlelit evening at the same table. A plaid cloth hangs over the footer's walnut boards, and a gust of leaves blows across the screen for the dark/light switch. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a warm autumn shop.

A fine watchmaker's salon for a shop of watches, jewellery and other pieces worth a closer look, where every bid deserves a little ceremony. On the homepage your live prizes rest on midnight velvet cushions inside a lit glass vitrine, each over its own engraved plate, and behind them stands a great ivory dial, guilloché from the centre out, whose seconds hand sweeps the real time and whose indices are the names of the pieces on show. When the page opens the crown is wound, the gear train turns into motion and the vitrine lights come up. Ivory dial white, midnight enamel blue, polished steel and a restrained rose gold by day; after dark the salon after hours, midnight velvet, lit vitrines and glints of gold. Timers read as chronograph registers with a balance wheel ticking beside them, the wallet is a Côtes de Genève caseback with a jewelled balance, every win is a certificate of authenticity under a maker's seal, the 404 is a dial stopped at 4:04, and the dark/light switch turns a toothed bezel across the screen, driven by its gear train, wheel by wheel. Evergreen: no dates to set, simply a salon all year, with your own line engraved on the maker's plate.

The festival of colours: on the homepage, clouds of coloured powder burst across a white canvas and settle into splashes, and your prizes sit in brass plates heaped with gulal, each sending up a puff of colour as you reach for it. A countdown in the three weeks before Holi and a greeting on the day itself. Bright white splashed with magenta, marigold, turquoise, green and violet by day, deep indigo where the colours glow by night, with Devanagari type, handprints along the footer and a handful of colour thrown across the screen for the dark/light switch. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a shop in full colour.

A quiet, premium shop for home goods, design objects, fashion and any store that would rather whisper than shout: Japanese calm and Scandinavian warmth in one room. On the homepage your featured prizes stand on pale ceramic plates on low oak stands along a gallery shelf, a single stem in a stoneware vase at its end, while the light from a window falls slowly across the limewashed wall; when the page opens the daylight sweeps in and the plates settle onto their stands. Warm off-white, oat and sand, pale oak and charcoal ink, with one muted clay accent; after dark the same room lamplit, charcoal and walnut in a warm pool of light, the ceramics still pale. Wide-set small capitals and light Spectral headings, hairline rules and soft rounded squares, and a great deal of space left empty on purpose. An oak board for the wallet, a gallery shelf for the winners, two oak numerals and a ring vase that read 404, and paper screens in oak frames that slide across the page for the dark/light switch. Every other page of the shop is dressed in the same materials — linen grain, oak edges, ceramic dishes, a single stem — with a small still life on every empty or waiting screen, from an empty bowl to a sand timer. No festival and no dates: it is made to stay up all year.

A jeweller's counter under warm spotlights, for jewellers, gold and gem shops that run festive lucky draws, open all year. On the homepage a long glass counter with a gilt rail stands in the light, and each of the shop's live prizes sits in it on its own velvet tray, its name on a swing ticket tied with red thread, while a spotlight above warms as the piece appears, rings, drops and a loose stone throwing small glints of light around it. Headings engraved in a classical roman and everything else in a fine sans with clean lining figures, on ivory with gilt rules beaded in milgrain, garnet velvet, satin ribbon for labels, hallmarks for stamps and guilloché behind certificates, in garnet, gold leaf, ivory and glass, with emerald, sapphire and amethyst for the colours a shop needs. After hours the shop goes dark and only the counter stays lit: the velvet deepens to near black, the gold warms and every press is a bar of gold leaf. The wallet is a jewellery case with a satin pad and a gold clasp, each prize you win comes folded in a stone paper, buttons are bars of velvet with a gold hairline that sink when pressed, whatever you buy or bid on throws off a few glints of light, a missing page has its number set in gold leaf in a velvet case, the nought a solitaire ring, and the dark/light switch draws a velvet cloth with a gold fringe across the counter and lifts it away on the other mode.

Makar Sankranti and Uttarayan: on the homepage, a bright winter sky over the rooftops of an old city, with your prizes flying on patterned paper fighter kites — split, mooned, capped, banded and quartered patangs with their names on paper tails — their manja running down to a charkhi on the parapet. A countdown in the two weeks before the festival, which falls on 14 or 15 January and is worked out for every year, and a greeting through its days under the name you choose: Makar Sankranti, Uttarayan, Pongal or Lohri. Sky blue and kite-paper colours by day; after dark a winter evening over the terraces with sky lanterns drifting up; a string of kites for the countdown, a kite snagged on the wires for the 404, til-gul and chikki along the footer, and a great kite that swoops down over the page and flies off again for the dark/light switch. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a shop under a sky full of kites.

Decide who may cash out, transfer, play for stakes or sell, and check their identity at the moment it matters.

The feel of a streetwear release, not a sale: on the homepage a release board in a concrete warehouse, your live prizes boxed as numbered lots on a steel shelf, each taped shut behind a window with a hang tag giving its lot number, and the tape ripping off box after box as the page opens. Above them a split-flap board counts down to your next drop — its name, date and time set in Limited Drop → Next drop — flips to Live now for the 24 hours after it opens, and otherwise shows no dates at all, so the theme works all year. Concrete grey, off-white and black with safety orange as the one accent by day; after dark a warehouse lit at night under strip lights. A queue ticket numbered 404 for a drop that doesn't exist, a pallet of boxes for the winners, a shipping label for the wallet, a SOLD OUT rubber stamp on anything out of stock, and packing tape pulled across the screen in strips, then ripped off, for the dark/light switch. Every other page of the shop is built from the same materials — box tape, shipping labels, hang tags, raffle-entry cards, queue tickets and a clean grid — with a small drawing from the stockroom on every empty or waiting screen.

A furniture and home-furnishing showroom for sofa shops, furniture stores, interiors boutiques and clearance sales, open all year. On the homepage three room sets stand side by side like bays on a showroom floor, each papered in its own soft colour behind a slim walnut partition, and in each a walnut frame under a brass picture light holds one of the shop's live prizes, its kind and name on a cream price tag hung from the frame on a thread, the bay furnished below on a rug on the oak boards: an oatmeal sofa beside a rubber plant, a walnut sideboard with its lamp, a terracotta armchair by a tripod floor lamp. When the page opens the bays roll out one after another and the picture lights come on. Headings in a warm book serif, everything else in a clean sans with lining figures, on oatmeal linen with woven maker's labels, saddle stitching, piped edges, the woven border of a rug, brass eyelets and fabric swatches cut from the sample book, in oatmeal, walnut, terracotta and olive velvet. At closing the overheads go off and the table lamps stay on: the floor turns deep umber, pools of lamplight fall across it and the presses glow lamp amber. The wallet is a sample card with a band of terracotta velvet stitched across its head, each prize you win comes wrapped and tied with a tag, buttons are velvet cushions that give a little when pressed, whatever you buy or bid on shakes out a few pinked swatches, a missing page is an empty bay with a paler patch where a frame once hung, and the dark/light switch riffles a swatch book over the screen, linen, boucle, ticking and velvet dropping one over another until the last covers it, then lifts them away on the other mode.

The night of floating krathongs, on the full moon of the twelfth Thai month: on the homepage, your prizes float on the river as the hearts of krathongs — banana leaf folded into rows of pointed, pinned pleats round a slice of banana trunk, crowned with marigolds and orchids, each with its candle lit and a streak of candlelight trailing on the water. A countdown on four slices of banana trunk in the two weeks before the festival and a Happy Loy Krathong greeting on the night, kept as the Thai lunar calendar gives the festival for 2026 to 2035 or on your own date, for Thailand, Laos, Myanmar, Cambodia and the Thai diaspora. By day an afternoon of folding on the riverbank in fresh leaf green, cream and marigold; after dark the river at night, deep indigo water with candlelight drifting on it. A great krathong holding the total for the winners, a broad banana leaf for the wallet, a krathong seen from above as the zero of 404, and a dark/light switch that folds rows of leaf in from the edges of the screen, the way a krathong is made, until they close under a crown of marigolds and a lit candle. Every other page of the shop is dressed in the same craft — pleat bands, kleep folds, marigolds, orchids, leaf ribs and trunk slices — with a small drawing from the riverbank on every empty or waiting screen, from an empty woven tray to a krathong tipped over with its candle out. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a calm, crafted shop.

Your shop as an old star atlas and the observatory that drew it, for stores whose heart is the draw: on the homepage the night sky is laid out as an engraved chart, each of your live prizes set in a constellation of its own, its stars joined by fine lines, and the next draw's time lettered in the chart's cartouche. When the page loads the observatory dome slides open, the stars come out one by one and the lines draw themselves to each prize. Headings in Caslon, the type of the great atlases, and coordinates, prices and countdowns in a fine, tabular sans. By day the atlas on the desk: chart parchment, ink-navy engraving and brass instruments; after dark the clear night it charts, deep indigo lit by starlight, the winning star in a soft aurora teal. The draw itself reads like the sky: each ticket's numbers drawn as its own small constellation, the draw machine an orrery whose planets wheel on brass rings until a drawn number flares as a star, and a shooting star crossing to the winning ticket. An observer's logbook for the wallet, a star certificate for every prize won, a chart of this draw's winning stars for the winners, "Star 404 · not on this chart" on an empty patch of sky, a star that lights when you add a ticket, countdowns that turn like a dial, and a dark/light switch that wheels the sky round its pole in long-exposure star trails. Evergreen: no dates to set, the stars are out all year.

Red and gold for Lunar New Year: a paper-cut window of plum blossom, clouds and carp on the homepage with red envelopes beneath it, each holding one of your prizes. A countdown in the weeks before the New Year, a greeting through the fifteen days of the festival and a countdown to the Lantern Festival. Lacquer red on rice paper by day, black lacquer and gold leaf by night, with a fret border, round lanterns and a fan that opens for the dark/light switch. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a red-and-gold shop.

Your shop dressed for the nights of 1 and 2 November, when streets are strung with cut-paper banners, paths are laid with marigold petals and candles burn until late. Across the top of the homepage rows of cut-paper banners sway on their strings, and below them a path of petals leads to the prizes you have on offer, each standing on a plinth of paper flowers with a candle beside it; when the page opens the banners unfurl one row at a time, the path lays itself from one side to the other and the candles light along it. Before the night a row of cut-paper tags counts down to 1 November; through the week before it keeps counting, the last day dropping to hours and minutes; and on the night itself the hero says so, greets each visitor once with the theme's own moment and counts down to the last candle. The rest of the year it is simply a warm, colourful shop with no dates. Marigold orange and deep magenta on cream sugar paper, with turquoise and a lime-green cut-paper accent; a hand-cut display face for headlines and prices and a warm humanist sans for reading. Cut-paper tags for every countdown, a garland of marigolds for the winners, a tissue banner for every prize you win, "This banner lost its string" for a missing page, a petal that drops into the button when you add to the cart or bid, and a dark/light switch where one great sheet of tissue paper swings down over the page and its pattern is cut out, flower by flower, until the other mode shows through. After dark it is the night itself: deep indigo, with the candles and the marigolds glowing. The dates, the night's name and an off switch live on the theme's own admin page.

Mărțișor, the first of March in Romania and Moldova: on the homepage your prizes are pinned to little cotton cards the way mărțișoare are sold, each with a red-and-white twisted cord threaded through the card and tied in a bow, the prize hanging beneath it as the charm, while snowdrops push up through the last of the snow under the first spring sun. A countdown in the two weeks before 1 March, La mulți ani on the day, a quieter spring greeting through the week after while people still wear the cord, and an optional greeting for Women's Day on 8 March. The twisted cord runs through the whole shop as its signature line, with charms on threads — a snowdrop, a four-leaf clover, a ladybird, a horseshoe, a chimney sweep's ladder — and cross-stitch from the ie blouse; after dark a late-winter night in the village, snow falling and windows lit. Charms on a card whose cord has come undone for the 404, and a cord drawn taut across the screen that twists until it fills it for the dark/light switch. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a shop hung with charms.

A bold shop-floor look for your biggest sales: yellow price tags with a live countdown to 11.11, Black Friday, Cyber Monday, 12.12 and Boxing Day, or to your own sale dates. Hazard-tape trims, barcodes and a receipt-style checkout, in a receipt-white daytime mode and an after-hours dark mode.

The Moon Festival: on the homepage, a great harvest moon rises over still water and your prizes are pressed into mooncakes, each with a fluted rim and a ring of pressed petals round a window onto the prize, while a rabbit lantern and a star lantern glow on the shore. A countdown in the three weeks before the 15th day of the eighth lunar month, worked out for every year, and a greeting from the evening the lanterns are lit to the end of the festival day. A plum-and-indigo night with lantern amber and moon gold, a rice-paper dusk by day, brushed moon characters on Chinese pages, a band of moon phases, river lanterns drifting along the footer and paper lanterns rising for the dark/light switch. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a moonlit shop.

Your store as an Android and iPhone app. Download the app's source already set up for your store, and send push notifications to customers who use it.

The joy of the first rain at a market stall: on the homepage, three of your prizes sit dry under a row of open umbrellas in chilli, peacock teal and violet, each with a paper price tag hung on a string from its rib, while gentle rain streaks down a grey-violet sky behind them, the sun breaks through the clouds, wet leaves shine at the edges and a glass of cutting chai steams on the counter. In the two weeks before your sale an enamel sign nailed to the counter counts down to its start on four paper tags, and while it runs it greets the rain and counts down to the last day; the dates are your own, or every year for your market: 15 June to 15 September for the Indian monsoon, or Borsha in Bangladesh, 15 June to 15 August. Rain-washed white and peacock teal by day; after dark a rainy evening, streetlights blurred on wet glass and warm light under the umbrellas. The scalloped edge of an umbrella runs under the header, drops gather and fall from the awning in the footer, the wallet is a rain-streaked window with chai on the sill, a paper boat runs aground on the 404, and for the dark/light switch an umbrella snaps open over the page, the mode changes in its shade and it folds away. Every other page wears the same stall: banners and product galleries set in a painted shop window under the awning, products behind rain-beaded glass, rows and badges as paper price tags, icons under little umbrellas, an umbrella seen from above for the spin wheel, misted glass to wipe on the scratch card and small rainy-day scenes for every empty page, payment result and error. Use it all year: outside the sale it is simply a cosy rainy-day shop.

A handmade gift table for both days: on the homepage, three gift boxes stand open on a sheet of kraft paper, each in its own wrapping paper, lid off and tissue spilling out round one of your prizes, with a handwritten gift tag on a string. A countdown on a greeting card held up with washi tape in the two weeks before Mother's Day or Father's Day, and the greeting on the day, worked out for the region you pick: second Sunday of May or Mothering Sunday, Ascension Day or the third Sunday of June, and more. Blossom tones before Mother's Day, deep blue and tan before Father's Day, warm linen, kraft and a persimmon ribbon the rest of the year, with a walnut evening by night, a grosgrain ribbon border, a bow on the footer and a gift that wraps itself up for the dark/light switch. Use it all year: outside the two seasons it is simply a gift shop.

An instrument shop for guitar stores, piano and keyboard dealers, drum shops and gear counters, open all year. On the homepage the shop's back wall is cream slatwall with three instruments hung on it, an electric in a sunburst finish, a maple acoustic and a seafoam bass, and from each one a brass-eyeleted hang tag carries one of the shop's live prizes, its photo, its kind and its name; below them an amp glows on the floor beside a coiled cable. When the page opens the instruments swing onto their hangers one after another and a string on each shivers once as it settles. Headings in a narrow slab like the stencil on a flight case, everything else in a clean humanist sans, on cream slatwall with rosewood fretboards, nickel frets and pearl dots, flame maple, brass hardware, black tolex with cream piping and an amp's oxblood grille cloth. After hours the overheads go off and the shop is lit by its amps: near-black, a warm pool from each pilot light and the presses lit valve amber. The wallet is an amp head with its balance on the brass control plate, each prize you win comes packed in a hard case with a plush lining, buttons are strips of tolex that click down like a footswitch, whatever you buy or bid on sends up a few notes, a missing page is an empty hanger with the shape of a guitar still pale on the wall, and the dark/light switch runs a keyboard glissando across the screen, the keys pressing down one after another until they cover it and springing back up on the other mode.

Your shop dressed for Navratri, nine nights of garba in September or October. The homepage is the dance ground seen from above: a garba circle of embroidered rings, running stitch, chevrons, a ring of little mirrors and crossed dandiya sticks, turns slowly round a big mirror, and your live prizes sit in round mirror-work frames around it. When the page opens the circle stitches itself ring by ring and the mirrors flash one after another. Nine nights, nine colours: through the festival the whole shop takes the colour of the night, one after the other from orange to peacock green, and the hero says which night it is; in the fortnight before, a row of mirror tiles counts down to the first night; on the ninth night each visitor is greeted once. The rest of the year the nine colours sit together as a band and the shop wears garba indigo, with no dates. Cream cloth by day and a deep indigo night sky after dark, with mirror silver and gold thread throughout; a carved poster face for headlines and a clean sans for reading. Mirror tiles for countdowns, the kutch hem along every panel, winners on mirror-work tiles around the circle, a pair of dandiya sticks that click when you bid or add to the cart, "This step is missing from the circle" for a missing page, and a dark/light switch where two dandiya sticks click and one sweeps a full turn, laying the nine colours round the circle before the night turns over. The dates, the festival's name and an off switch live on the theme's own admin page.

A rain-slicked city street at night, lit by neon: on the homepage, a street-corner vending wall in a chrome cabinet where each of your live prizes glows behind its own lit window, a magenta, cyan or acid-lime tube round the glass and its name on an LED strip beneath, the whole wall reflected in the wet asphalt at its feet. When the page opens the signs flicker on one by one and buzz into full glow. Hot magenta, cyan and acid lime on deep blue-black at night, the default; by day the same street at dawn, concrete and a pastel sky, chrome in the morning light and the tubes unlit, the signs painted on. A scoreboard of LED digits above the street for the winners, a prepaid city pass with a holographic foil stripe for the wallet, a neon 404 whose zero keeps flickering out, a vending window for every prize you have won, and a power surge for the dark/light switch: a spark runs along a cable across the screen, the neon blows out to white-hot, and the signs buzz back on in the new mode. Every other page of the shop is built from the same street — bent-glass tubes with a soft halo, LED price boards, chrome bezels, roll-down shutters, holographic stickers and scan lines — with a small neon drawing on every empty or waiting screen, from an empty vending slot to a parking meter run out. For stores selling electronics, gaming gear, gadgets and prizes to a young crowd, all year round.

The last night of the year: on the homepage, fireworks burst over a city skyline with its windows lit, a split-flap board counts down to midnight and your prizes are golden tickets, each one an invitation to the party. The countdown runs in the days before 31 December midnight, to the shop's midnight or to each visitor's own, and on New Year's Day the board turns over to the new year with a greeting. Midnight ink and gold foil by night, an ivory morning after with confetti still falling by day, with engraved small-caps lettering, the city along the footer and a rocket launched from the switch that bursts and floods the screen for the dark/light change. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a midnight-and-gold shop.

The Persian New Year: on the homepage, a tiled pavilion of three arches in turquoise and cobalt glaze with your prizes set on glazed medallions in its niches, and the haft-sin laid out before it on a termeh cloth — sabzeh tied with a red ribbon, a goldfish bowl, the mirror with three painted eggs between two candles, a hyacinth, an apple and gold coins. A countdown to the very minute of Sal-e Tahvil, the March equinox, in the two weeks before it, worked out for every year in your own time zone, and a Nowruz Mobarak greeting through the thirteen days to Sizdah Bedar. Glazed white and spring light by day; after dark the table at the moment of the new year, lapis night lit by the candles. A goldfish bowl with the fish gone for the 404, the haft-sin on the edge of the cloth along the footer, and a pattern of glazed tiles that lays itself across the screen for the dark/light switch. Full right-to-left support. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a shop under tiled arches.

Your shop dressed for Onam, Kerala's harvest festival, ten days from Atham to Thiruvonam. The whole look is a pookalam laid on kasavu cloth: cream with a woven gold border along every edge that matters, banana-leaf green for what you press and the pookalam's flowers for colour. On the homepage a flower carpet fills the hero with three of your live prizes laid as petals at its centre, and when the page opens it lays itself ring by ring from the centre outwards, each ring a different flower. Two weeks before Atham a swing hangs over it with the countdown to Thiruvonam on its plank; through the ten days the carpet gains a ring each day, the real day of the festival in the kicker; and on Thiruvonam the plank says "Happy Onam" and each visitor is greeted once with the theme's own swing. The rest of the year the pookalam is complete and the theme is simply a warm, festive shop with no dates. Kurale for headings and prices, Manjari for reading. A sadya on a banana leaf for the winners, a kasavu purse for the wallet, a palm grove with a swing and brass lamps along the footer, "A petal is missing from this pookalam" for a missing page, a shower of petals when you add to the cart or bid, and a dark/light switch where a swing sweeps across the page on long ropes, laying a palm grove at dusk behind it, and swings back onto the other mode. After dark it is the evening after the feast: palm-green night with the gold catching the lamplight and the flowers glowing. The dates (from a Kerala calendar table through 2036), the festival's name and an off switch live on the theme's own admin page.

An estate agent's window on a bright street, for agents, property sales and prize-home draws, open all year. The homepage opens on a row of three house fronts, a brick town house, a rendered cottage under a slate gable and a painted villa, with a lamp at the kerb: each ground-floor window shows one of the shop's live prizes, its listing card hung on the pavement below, and when the page opens the blinds roll up one after another and the rooms light. Headings are set in an engraved Roman capital and the rest in a clear modern sans, on cream render with an architect's floor plan drawn faintly across it, with listing cards behind a gilt mount line, brass rails, plates and key fobs, sold ribbons, brick and sage, and buttons like navy front doors; after dark it is the same street at dusk, the windows glowing and the buttons lit like lamps. The wallet is the agent's window with the balance on a listing card behind its navy-framed glass, prizes you win are handed over on a key fob, the winners hang on the agent's key board, the daily bonus is a terrace of front doors, the prize draw is a brass drum of numbered balls, whatever you buy or bid on throws up a few little houses, a missing page is a house number with no house beside it, and the dark/light switch closes a venetian blind across the window and opens it on the other light.

An eyewear boutique for opticians, frame shops and sunglasses stores, open all year. On the homepage the frame wall is lit from behind: three pairs of spectacles hang on steel rods, a round tortoiseshell pair, a cobalt cat-eye and a square mint pair, and in each the lenses frame one of the shop's live prizes, the left lens showing it whole and the right one close up, its kind and name on a clear acrylic price card beside it. When the page opens the rims drop onto their rods, the lenses click into place and the prizes come into focus. Headings in a crisp geometric display face, everything else in a highly legible sans with lining figures, on clinic white and cool frosted glass, with polished tortoiseshell acetate, cobalt felt, a mint lens cloth, steel rods and standoffs, swing tags and rows of tinted lenses, in cobalt, tortoiseshell, mint and a little gold. After dark the boutique closes its blinds and the frame wall stays lit: the floor turns deep navy, the wall glows and the buttons turn mint. The wallet is a hard lens case with a gold clasp, each prize you win comes in its own case, buttons are cobalt lenses with a glint that click in when pressed, whatever you buy or bid on sends a few tinted lenses spinning off it, a missing page is an empty trial lens hung from the rod, and the dark/light switch closes a lens iris over the screen, its blades turning in from all round until it is shut, then opens it again on the other mode.

A friendly, well-kept neighbourhood pet shop for every day of the year. On the homepage the shop's front shelf stands against a pegboard wall: a chalkboard hangs on its hook, the top shelf holds kraft food bags, tins and treats, and your live prizes stand on display cards on the main shelf, each with a kraft price tag tied on with twine, its kind stamped and its name written on. When the page loads three animals pop up over the shelf one after another to see who has come in. Choose the animals the shop keeps — dogs and cats, birds, fish or small pets — and the drawings change everywhere: a golden pup, a tabby and a terrier among bowls, balls and bone treats; a budgie, a cockatiel and a canary among millet sprays, perches and nesting boxes; a goldfish, a betta and a guppy rising in their bowls among plants and flake tins; or a rabbit, a hamster and a guinea pig among hay, carrots and little wooden houses, with paw prints, feathers, bubbles or carrots stamped on every tag. Kraft and cream by day with aquarium teal and a rubber-ball coral; after closing the same shop under warm shelf lamps and the glow of the tanks. A kraft loyalty card stamped with prints for the wallet, a prize on the shelf with its tag for each win, a show rosette board for the winners, the set's bowl, swing, fishbowl or wheel as the 0 of the 404, enamel buttons that sink onto their rim, a print stamped in brown ink on whatever you buy or bid on, and a dark/light switch where a trail of prints crosses the screen with kraft paper sweeping in behind it.

A clean modern garage for car and motorbike dealers, auto parts shops and workshops, all year round. On the homepage three open pit bays stand under their ceiling work lights, each live prize parked on a turntable in its own bay with a riveted plate below it carrying its kind and its real name; when the page loads the bay lights strike on one by one over the prizes. A tool wall with outlined spanners, tyre stacks, a work light on its tripod and painted bay lines on an epoxy floor; headings in a wide technical face, figures in a squared mono, cards as riveted steel plates, labels on embossed label tape, buttons as hi-vis yellow lift controls that sink into their housing. By day the workshop with its doors up, concrete and steel in daylight; at night the garage dark under the work lights, high-vis yellow and signal orange glowing on the asphalt. A key-fob wallet, a trophy cabinet for the winners, a prize on the turntable for every win, an empty bay with a lone traffic cone for the 404 ("this page is off the road"), a wheel nut spun onto whatever you buy or bid on, and a dark/light switch where a rev gauge's needle sweeps to the redline across the screen. No makes, badges, plates or race numbers, and no invented figures: every number shown is your store's own.

The Bengali New Year in red and white: on the homepage, the white of a festival sari edged with its broad red border, and your prizes riding in the Mangal Shobhajatra on painted papier-mâché figures — a ringed-eyed owl, a scaled fish and a long-necked Bankura horse on little wheeled floats, each prize in a painted medallion and its name on a sari-bordered placard — over a courtyard of white rice-paste alpona under a krishnachura tree in flame-red bloom at first light. A countdown on four painted shokher hari pots in the two weeks before the day, kept as Bangladesh keeps it on 14 April or by the West Bengal almanac on the 14th or 15th, and "Shubho Noboborsho" on the day, in Bengali calligraphy on Bengali pages. After dark the mela at dusk with hurricane lamps and lit stalls; a red cloth halkhata ledger for the wallet, a cracked clay pot for the 404, and an alpona drawn across the screen by one flowing white line for the dark/light switch. Bengali text is set in the theme's own faces. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a shop at the mela.

The Tamil harvest festival, held over four days in mid-January: on the homepage, a courtyard on Thai Pongal morning, its red earth swept and washed, a great pulli kolam drawn on it in rice flour, its line looping round a grid of dots, and your prizes set in the kolam's cells in front of a new clay pot boiling over, the rice and milk foaming up past a turmeric plant tied round its neck, sugarcane stalks either side and a toran of mango leaves strung overhead. A countdown on banana leaves in the two weeks before Bhogi, then each of the four days by name, Bhogi, Thai Pongal, Mattu Pongal and Kaanum Pongal, with a Happy Pongal greeting, kept as the Tamil calendar gives Thai Pongal for 2027 to 2036 or on your own date, for Tamil Nadu and Puducherry, Sri Lanka, Malaysia, Singapore and the Tamil diaspora. Turmeric, cane green and cane purple, terracotta and sun orange on rice-flour cream by day; after dark the hour before dawn, the courtyard silver under the moon and the sky beginning to turn. A banana leaf for the wallet, a kolam whose loops trace 404 round its dots, a toran with cattle bells over the footer, and for the dark/light switch the pot boils over until white froth fills the screen. Every other page of the shop is dressed in the same materials — kolam borders, mango-leaf torans, sugarcane, banana leaves and clay — with a small drawing from the courtyard on every empty or waiting screen, from an empty pot to a kolam half drawn. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a warm, sunlit shop.

A florist's potting shed and plant nursery for every day of the year, made for plant shops, garden centres, florists and seed sellers. On the homepage the potting bench stands against the lime-washed boards of the shed: seed packets hang on a string, the watering can, a ball of green twine and the secateurs hang on their hooks, and your live prizes stand on the scrubbed bench in terracotta pots, each on a florist's card pick with a twine label tied round the pot and a plant label pushed into the soil. When the page loads, seedlings unfurl and leaves open beside every prize. Lime-wash, terracotta, moss and fern by day with a peony pink for the flowers; at dusk the same shed under its hanging lamp, the leaves turned to silhouettes. A seed packet for the wallet, a pot and its label for each win, a flower-show bench for the winners, an empty pot with a single sprout for the 404, terracotta buttons that settle onto their rim, a sprout that comes up wherever you buy or bid, and a dark/light switch where a curtain of ivy creeps down over the page and is drawn aside.

The festival of brothers and sisters, on the full moon of Shravan: on the homepage, your prizes set as the jewelled centres of great rakhis laid out on a length of rani-pink silk brocade — each medallion a rosette of gold zari and silk petals ringed with seed pearls, kundan stones of ruby and emerald and little mirrors — their twisted silk threads curling across the cloth to tasselled ends. A countdown on four diamonds of kaju katli in the two weeks before the day and a Happy Raksha Bandhan greeting on it, kept as Indian calendars give Shravan Purnima for 2026 to 2035 or on your own date, for India, Nepal and the diaspora in the US, Canada and the UK. Saffron, marigold and rani pink on warm cream by day, peacock teal at the edges; after dark a warm festive evening of deep plum silk with its zari glinting. A brass thali of roli, rice and mithai for the winners, a length of brocade for the wallet, a rakhi whose medallion is the zero of 404, and a rakhi tied at the middle of the screen whose rosette blooms into the new mode for the dark/light switch. Every other page of the shop is dressed in the same materials — zari borders, scalloped gota lace, kundan stones ringed with seed pearls, twisted silk thread and tassels — with a small drawing from the festival on every empty or waiting screen, from an empty thali to a rakhi posted to a sibling far away. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a rich, warm shop.

Lantern-lit nights for Ramadan and Eid: hanging lanterns and a crescent moon that fills night by night through the month, a daily countdown to iftar, a countdown to Ramadan before it begins, and an Eid Mubarak greeting on both Eids. Night teal and lantern gold after dark, ivory and deep teal by day, with an eight-point-star border and full Arabic support. Use it all year: outside the season the homepage is simply the lantern-lit night.

New bids, prices, ticket sales and balances appear on every open page within a second.

An independent record shop for stores that sell music, vinyl and instruments, open all year round. On the homepage a plywood crate stands under the shop lamp in front of a wall of sleeve spines, and your live prizes are the sleeves in it, each with its photo as the cover, its kind on a tabbed divider and its real name on the shop's sticker. When the page opens the sleeves flip forward one after another and a record slides half out of the front one. Cream sleeve card with its ring wear, crate plywood, black vinyl grooves and centre labels in plain patterns, round price-gun stickers, guitar picks for list markers, a cassette counter for every clock, headings set like a gig poster, catalogue numbers and prices in a typewriter mono. After hours the shop goes warm black with the listening-booth lamp on. A record mailer for the wallet, a listening booth for the winners, a sleeve with its record for every prize you win, an empty sleeve for a missing page, deck buttons whose lamp lights when you press them, and a dark/light switch where a record spins in under the tonearm and away again. No festival, no dates, no made-up figures, no lettering on any sleeve or label.

A country sale yard for farm machinery, livestock and produce sold under the gavel, and for the agricultural supply stores beside the ring, open all year. On the homepage the barn stands behind its ring, red boards in white-painted trim with a weathervane cockerel on the ridge and the loft door shut, and in front of it three pens of weathered timber each hold one of the shop's live lots on fresh straw, its name on a manila lot tag tied to the rail with orange baler twine and its kind chalked on a little lot board, with square and round bales stacked at either end. When the page opens the five-bar gates swing back one after another to show what is in each pen, and the cockerel turns into the wind. Headings in the heavy wood type of a sale bill, the rest in a plain sturdy sans and every price and count in its condensed cut, on limewashed boards with a few stalks of chaff, manila tags, paper lot slips, chalk boards and lengths of twisted twine, in barn red, hay gold, weathered timber and pasture green. After dark the barn is lit by hurricane lanterns: the boards go deep brown, warm pools of light fall on the straw and the doors turn the gold of lamplit hay. The wallet is a feed sack with its label sewn on, each prize you win comes tied up in a sack with a lot tag, buttons are barn doors in their white frames that roll down a little when pressed, whatever you buy or bid on kicks up a few stalks of straw, a missing page is an empty pen with its gate left open, and the dark/light switch runs the two big barn doors in along their iron track until they meet with a bump, then rolls them apart again on the other mode.

A heritage salesroom on sale day, for stores whose heart is bidding: antiques, collectibles, art, cars and every other high-value lot. On the homepage the room's wall is hung in heritage-green damask (or oxblood, your choice) and your live prizes hang on it as catalogue lots, each in a carved gilt frame under its own brass picture lamp with an engraved lot plaque below, while the mahogany rostrum stands in front with the gavel resting on its sound block; the sale's title page sits beside them on cream catalogue paper with deckled edges, lot numbers and estimates set in small capitals between letterpress rules. When the page loads the catalogue opens, its pages turn to today's lots and the lots lift off the page onto the wall. Every lot card is a catalogue entry, bidding paddles rise when a bid lands, the live timer runs from "going once" to "going twice" in the last seconds and a red "Sold" stamp comes down when the hammer falls. Cream paper and ink black by day with oxblood and gilt; after dark the evening sale, lamplit, the wall deep and the gilt frames catching the light. A bidder registration card for the wallet, a sheet of hammer prices for the winners, a paid collection slip for each prize, a withdrawn Lot 404 for the missing page, and "going once, going twice, sold" for the dark/light switch: three catalogue sheets slapped down with three taps of the gavel, the last stamped sold, then swept off the rostrum. Set the sale number, its title and the wall colour in Salesroom → Sale; it is a good-looking shop all year, with no dates to keep.

Your shop dressed for 11.11, Singles' Day, the biggest day of the year for treating yourself. The whole look is built from one numeral: on the homepage four giant 1s stand side by side like tall shop windows, each holding one of your live prizes, and when the page opens they drop into place one after another and light up from the floor. Before the day a split-flap board counts down to midnight on the 11th; through the warm-up from 1 November it keeps counting, the last day dropping to hours and minutes; and on the day itself the hero reads "It's 11.11", greets each visitor once with the theme's own flap-board moment and counts down to the sale's last second. The rest of the year it is simply a bright, confident shop with no dates. Hot coral for what sells, deep plum for the ink, white for the floor and one acid lime kept for the 11; tall condensed numerals for headlines and every price, a clean sans for reading. Split-flap cells for countdowns, a receipt for the winners, a tall price tag for every prize you win, "Page 404 is sold out" for a missing page, a 1 that drops into the button when you add to the cart or bid, and a dark/light switch where four tall flap cells swing shut over the page, each carrying a 1, and fall open on the other mode. After dark it is midnight on the 11th: plum-black with the four 1s glowing. The dates, the sale's name and an off switch live on the theme's own admin page.

The water festival of the April heat: on the homepage, a great silver basin of jasmine-scented water under a phuang malai garland of jasmine, marigold and rose, your prizes floating on it in little embossed silver khan bowls among frangipani flowers and drifting buds, each named on a tag edged with the stripes of a pha sin, while drops of water arc and sparkle overhead. A countdown on four drops of water in the two weeks before the festival, and a greeting through its days, day by day, kept as Thailand keeps Songkran on 13–15 April, as Laos keeps Pi Mai, Myanmar Thingyan or Cambodia Choul Chnam Thmey, or on your own dates. Jasmine white, silver and water blue with marigold and rose by day; after dark the warm festival night, garland lights strung over the water and their reflections trembling in it. A sheet of pha sin silk for the wallet, an empty bowl letting fall its last drop for the 404, and a drop that splashes into the page and ripples the new mode outward for the dark/light switch. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a cool, bright shop.

A potting bench in a little greenhouse on the first warm morning of spring: on the homepage three of your prizes stand in terracotta pots along the bench, each one tagged with an illustrated seed packet on a stake, while tulips, daffodils and a blue hyacinth come up around them, seedlings crowd a wooden tray, a galvanised watering can waits beside a ball of garden twine and dew runs down the white-framed glass behind. In the two weeks before your sale four wooden plant labels pushed into a crate count down to its start, and while it runs the crate says the sale is on and how many days are left; the dates are your own, or every year for your hemisphere: 1 March to 30 April in the north, 1 September to 31 October in the south. Fresh leaf green, terracotta and the bright inks of old seed packets by day; after dark the greenhouse at dusk, string lights along the frame, the glass holding their reflections and the plants in silhouette. A tray of seedlings runs under the header, pots stand along the shed shelf in the footer, the wallet is a seed crate with its balance stencilled on the side, three seed packets numbered 4, 0 and 4 make the 404, and for the dark/light switch seedlings sprout along the bottom of the screen and grow into a hedge, the mode changes behind the leaves and the hedge is clipped away from the top. Every other page comes from the same shed: banners and galleries behind greenhouse glass, cards and tickets as seed packets, badges as wooden plant labels, icons in little terracotta pots, a flower bed seen from above for the spin wheel, soil to scratch away on the scratch card and a small garden scene for every empty page, payment result and error. Use it all year: outside the sale it is simply a fresh, green greenhouse shop.

Your shop's own birthday, kept like a party at a good patisserie: on the homepage, a grand three-tier cake on a gilt stand — mint fondant hung with blush swags and strung with sugar pearls, a blush tier scattered with gold dragées and tied with a satin bow, a vanilla tier under a chocolate ganache drip — with presents opened either side of it, your prizes rising out of the tissue paper, balloons on curling ribbons above and party hats and sprinkles on the table. Enter the day the shop opened and the theme does the rest: in the two weeks before each birthday the shop's age stands on the cake in striped number candles and the homepage counts down — "Kiwi Mart turns 3 in" — then through a birthday week of your length it wishes "Happy 3rd birthday, Kiwi Mart!", in the shop's own name and in each language's own way of counting. Buttercream, strawberry and mint by day with chocolate for ink; after dark the party after the lights go down, the room lit by the candles on the cake. A strawberry fondant tier under a ganache drip for the wallet, three number candles with the middle one blown out for the 404, and candles that are blown out — their smoke curling up as the room goes dark — or lit one by one with a match until their glow fills the screen for the dark/light switch. Use it all year: with no date set, or between birthdays, it is simply a party.

A seaside holiday sale: on the homepage, a row of striped beach huts stands on the boardwalk by the sea, each with its doors thrown open on one of your prizes and a painted sign hung beneath. In the week before your sale a postcard counts down to its start with ice-lolly numbers, and while it runs it counts down to the last day; the dates are your own, or every summer for your hemisphere. Sea blue, coral and sunshine on warm sand by day, a warm summer night by the sea with lantern light by night, with a shoreline of waves under the header, surf rolling up the sand in the footer, a message in a bottle on the 404 page and a wave that washes in and out for the dark/light switch. Use it all year: outside the sale it is simply a sunny shop.

Your shop dressed for Tanabata, the star festival of 7 July, when wishes written on strips of coloured paper are hung on bamboo. On the homepage a tall bamboo branch leans in over a summer sky, and your live prizes hang from it on long paper strips that sway in the breeze; when the page opens the strips unroll down the bamboo one by one, then the river of stars fades in behind them. A fortnight before the strips go up on 1 July the hero starts counting down to the 7th on little paper strips of its own; on the day it wishes every visitor a happy Tanabata and greets each of them once with the theme's own moment. The rest of the year it is simply a calm, summery shop with no dates. Bamboo green for every button, deep summer night for the ink, and the strips' five colours, red, yellow, blue, white and violet, for everything that hangs; brush-written headlines and a clean sans for reading and for every figure. Washi paper for cards and dialogs, a strip tied to every prize, a wish strip for each winner's name, "This wish blew away" for a missing page, a strip that unrolls on the splash, a paper star that drops into the button when you add to the cart or bid, and a dark/light switch where a bamboo pole runs in along the top, the wish strips drop from it edge to edge over the page and rise away into the sky on the other mode. By day it is a summer evening; after dark it is the night of the 7th, the river of stars glowing across the sky. The dates (or your own, every year if you keep the festival in August), the festival's name and an off switch live on the theme's own admin page.

A working tea trader's tasting room above an estate, for tea estates, tea traders, tea shops and tasting rooms, open all year. On the homepage the long counter of tea-chest wood runs under a tall window onto the terraced hills, a brass lamp hanging over it, and along it stand the shop's live prizes as lots, each on a square of sample paper in a brass stand with its kind on a lot slip, a white tasting mug and its bowl in front of it, a brass scale waiting at one end. When the page opens the lots are laid out one by one and each bowl fills with tea in turn, a little steam lifting off it. Headings in a lively serif, the interface and every price in a clean grotesk with tabular figures, on laid sample paper with tea chests in their tin corner fittings, foil linings, caddy tins lacquered tea green with a brass pinstripe, the broker's ruled catalogue and lot tags, in tea green, tea amber, tin silver, paper cream and chest wood. At night the hills go dark and one lamp burns over the counter: the room turns the green-black of the night hills and the presses turn the amber of fresh-brewed tea. The wallet is a caddy tin with a paper label holding the balance, each prize you win comes as a sample packet on its foil, buttons are lacquered caddy lids that sink when pressed, whatever you buy or bid on lets fall a few flakes of dry leaf, a missing page is an empty tasting cup ("this lot's been tasted and gone"), and the dark/light switch steeps the screen: a pinch of dry leaf falls across it, each leaf bleeding its brewed tea until the whole page is one infusion, which then drains away on the other mode.

Your shop as the ticket kiosk on the street corner, the one everybody stops at on the way home: a painted green kiosk under a striped awning, its roll-up shutter clattering open when the page loads, the awning dropping and your live prizes swinging into place on a string across the window, each one a printed ticket on a clip with its serial and its perforated stub. A felt letter board on the side spells out when the next draw is, today's numbers are pinned to the counter beside the receipt printer, and the draw itself is a hand-turned wire cage with the balls tumbling inside. Headlines in a tall condensed poster face, serials, numbers and receipts in a typewriter mono, and everything else printed on newsprint and ticket-roll cream: perforations, punch holes, rubber stamps in red and blue ink. Buying prints a ticket strip that tears off on its perforation, a winning ticket gets a scratch panel and a WINNER stamp, the wallet is a loyalty punch card, a win is a cash-in receipt, the winners are this week's tickets pinned to the board and a lost page is "Ticket 404", stamped VOID. After dark it is the kiosk at night: the shutter half down, a warm lamp inside, the street blue-black and the letter board lit. The dark/light switch prints a giant ticket over the page, stamps it with the sun or the moon and tears it away along its perforation. Evergreen: no dates to set, it is open all year.

A stake-and-climb game: players pick one tile on each floor

A well-loved wooden toy shop for toy stores, kids' shops, games and hobby stores anywhere in the world. On the homepage your featured prizes sit in the cubbies of a beech-wood shelf against a pegboard wall, each on its own painted block with a paper tag tied on, while alphabet blocks tumble out of the air and stack themselves on top of the shelf and a pull-along duck winds its key. Warm cream and honey beech with painted enamel in red, yellow, blue and green, chunky painted lettering and a clear, friendly hand for the small print; after dark it is the same shop at night, a ceiling of painted stars over shelves lit by a nightlight. Prices and counters are painted on wooden number blocks you can read at a glance, buttons press down like blocks, badges spin like tops, a train track runs under every heading, and a little star on a spring pops out when you add to the cart or bid. A painted money box for the wallet, a podium of number blocks for the winners, a cubby for every prize you win, three blocks reading 4-0-4 with one tipped over, and a dark/light switch that builds a wall of blocks across the screen, row by row, and knocks it down again. Every other page is dressed in the same toys, with a small wooden still life on every empty or waiting screen. No festival and no dates: it is a toy shop all year.

Your shop as an old exchange floor at the opening bell, for any store all year round. On the homepage a split-flap quote board in a brass frame lists your live prizes, each with its photo, its real title and where it is on offer, and a ticker tape runs your real headlines and counts along the top. When the page opens the desk bell rings and the flaps turn over row by row, and the next draw's real closing time sits on a brass plaque under the board. Ledger paper with feint green ruling and a brass double margin, brass rails with their bolts, engraved candlestick charts drawn as pure line work with no axes and no figures, headings in an engraved serif, figures in a board mono. After the close the floor goes dark green and the board glows amber. A ledger page for the wallet, a winners' board for the winners, a share certificate for every prize you win, "Page 404 has been delisted" for a missing page, a desk bell that rings whenever you buy or bid, badges posted like entries in the book, and a dark/light switch that strikes the closing bell and cuts an engraved chart across the screen. No festival and no dates, no invented prices or figures: every number on the floor is your store's own.

A higher-or-lower game: every car of the train carries a

Your shop as an unboxing studio, filmed from just above the table, for stores whose heart is opening boxes: blind boxes, prize crates, collectibles and loot drops, anywhere in the world. On the homepage a seamless paper backdrop curves down into a matte tabletop under a soft ring light, and the day's boxes stand on it with their price tags tied on, the one in front half open with its best prize showing in the crinkle shred. When the page opens the ring light clicks on, the boxes slide into frame and the front box's flaps pop open as its tissue lifts. Headings in a chunky, friendly grotesk, every price, tag and odds line in a clean label mono, and rarity told the way an unboxer knows it, by the colour of the tissue: common kraft, uncommon mint, rare blue, epic violet and legendary gold foil. Opening a box is the show: printed cartons with their rarity stripes, the box on the table beside its printed odds card, a conveyor of prizes slowing to a stop under the light, and a result where the box opens, the shred bursts and the prize rises on tissue in its rarity colour, with gold foil confetti for a legendary pull. After hours the studio goes dark, the ring light is the main light and the rarity colours glow in the shred. A studio pass for the wallet, a shelf of the latest pulls for the winners, a packing slip for every prize you win, an empty box with a "Nothing in here: 404" slip for a missing page, a tear strip that rips when you buy, and a dark/light switch that folds the box shut over the screen and pops it open on the new mode. No festival and no dates: it opens all year.

A letterpress stationery shop for Valentine's Day: a love letter on the homepage whose wax seal breaks as the letter slides out, with three of your prizes written on it as a wish list. A countdown in the three weeks before Valentine's Day and a greeting on the day itself, on 14 February or your own date. Blush paper, wine ink and gold foil by day, deep wine and rose gold by night, with an airmail border, drifting paper hearts and an envelope that seals for the dark/light switch. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a shop for gifts.

Your shop as a 1980s video arcade, played for real: on the homepage a row of upright cabinets in purple side art and yellow T-molding, each CRT bulging behind its bezel with scanlines across the glass, running one of your live prizes in attract mode — the prize with its name lit on the marquee, then a blinking INSERT COIN — above a control panel of joystick and buttons and a coin door with its token slot glowing. When the page loads the screens power on the way old tubes do: a white line splits the dark glass and opens into the picture. Headlines in a pixel face drawn on a strict grid, scores and counters in the square bitmap of the cabinets, and sprites of tokens, tickets, trophies and plush prizes drawn pixel by pixel, never blurred. After dark it is the arcade at night, cabinet black-purple glowing in magenta, cyan, yellow and green phosphor over a cosmic carpet; by day the same arcade with the shutters up: sunlit carpet, cabinet art in bright inks and the prize counter in daylight. A token cup for the wallet, prize-counter tickets off the roll for your winnings, a CRT scoreboard of the latest winners, "GAME OVER · 404 · CONTINUE?" counting down to home, buttons that travel when pressed, a token that drops into the slot when you bid or add to cart, and a dark/light switch that powers the screen down to a line and a dot and back on again. Evergreen: no dates to set, it is an arcade all year.

The gift table of a South Asian wedding: the homepage opens like a wedding invitation, ivory card and printed vellum under an embossed double rule of gold foil, three of your live prizes set into its die-cut arch windows, while marigold garlands swag from a mango-leaf toran above it and long strands of marigold, rose and jasmine hang down either side. In the two weeks before your sale a “save the date” card tucked into the corner counts down to its first day, and while it runs it says the wedding season is here and counts the days left; the dates are your own, or every year from 1 November to the end of February, the season shops in India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Nepal and the diaspora fill with gifts, jewellery and sweets. Ivory and vermilion-maroon by day; after dark the evening of the celebration, an emerald night with the garlands lit by fairy lights. A toran hangs under the header, the footer is maroon velvet with garlands swagged across it, the wallet is a shagun envelope sealed with gold foil, the 404 is a garland whose three hanging rings read 404, and for the dark/light switch long strands of marigolds cascade down the page until they hang edge to edge, the evening comes or goes behind them, and they are drawn back up. Every other page is set from the same table: banners and product pictures on vellum in a gold-ruled card, rows and badges as gift tags, icons in arch windows, a brass urli of floating flowers for the spin wheel, gold foil to scratch on the scratch card, mithai and dry-fruit boxes, envelopes and gift trays for every empty page, payment result and error. Use it all year: outside the season it is simply a festive gift shop.

The January sale at a mountain lodge: on the homepage, three of your prizes are seen through the frosted panes of a pine-framed window, snow falling on the peaks outside and a mug of cocoa steaming on the sill, each prize named in the frost at the foot of its pane. In the week before your sale a knitted scarf counts down to its start with the numbers knitted into the wool, and while it runs it counts down to the last day; the dates are your own, or every year for your region: Boxing Day to the end of January in Europe and North America, the saldi from early January to the end of February in Italy, or June and July in the southern hemisphere. Fjord blue, lingonberry red and wool cream on fresh snow by day, the lodge by firelight in charcoal wool and ember by night, with a fair-isle band under the header, icicles hanging from the eaves in the footer, a lone mitten in the snow on the 404 page and frost that creeps across the glass and melts away for the dark/light switch. Use it all year: outside the sale it is simply a cosy winter shop.

A well-kept workshop for hardware, DIY, tool and home-improvement shops, open all year. On the homepage a pegboard of tan hardboard hangs in a frame of planed maple, and each of the shop's live prizes hangs on its own pair of hooks over a place painted in blueprint blue, its name on a kraft tag tied to the hook, among a claw hammer, a combination square, a spirit level, a screwdriver and a yellow F-clamp, each over its painted outline, with a plan pinned up beside them and a tape measure and a few curls of shaving on the bench below. When the page opens the outlines are painted in, and as each prize and tool clicks onto its hooks its shadow fills. Headings stencilled, the rest in a sturdy grotesque and every price and count in a technical mono, on paper-white plywood with masking-tape labels, kraft tags, graph-paper notes, the ticks of a folding rule and the yellow blade of a tape measure, in pegboard tan, planed-maple honey, safety yellow, blueprint blue and graphite. At night one bench lamp is on: the shop goes graphite blue, the plans glow and the presses turn safety yellow. The wallet is a clipboard of maple with a sheet of graph paper under its steel clip, each prize you win comes in kraft paper tied with string, buttons are blocks of planed maple that sink when pressed, whatever you buy or bid on throws off a few curls of shaving, a missing page is an empty outline on the pegboard, and the dark/light switch drops a folded plan onto the page and opens it out panel by panel until it covers the screen, then folds it away on the other mode.

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