• A small chime sounds as I push open the door and step into the dimly lit shop. Creepy dolls lined the walls and sat on the cracked glass counters and seemed to follow me with their dark beady eyes. Every single one had a smile that sent shivers down my spine; their porcelain lips were sewn together and painted a florescent green that appeared to glow in the darkness. They all wore the same dress, too, a frilly black Goth dress that flared out at the skirt, a chain that served as a belt and a corset top. Their blond hair was all curled and pulled into a ponytail that hung over their right shoulders.

    “Can I help you?” A raspy female voice sounds with a faint hint of an Irish tint. “If that’s you, Devarian, I have your order, but you’ll have no use for it unless you found yourself a Seamstress.”

    I walk back to a counter that had the only light in the building, maybe even the whole town, and find the owner of the voice. An elderly woman sat perched on a stool and stared at me through a pair of round spectacles that had a crack that branched through the middle of the left lens. Her dark blond hair was tied like her dolls and her lips were a faint pink. A simple white T-shirt hung from her shriveled shoulders and a pair of loose jeans protected her legs from the multiple needles and scissor points that hung from the counter on thin metallic thread.

    “You’re not Devarian,” the old lady notes and takes a doll from the wall and fusses with its hair.

    “No, ma’am, but I am here to pick up his order.”

    She eyes me and places a doll back in its spot with her sisters. “So he found himself a Seamstress.”

    “That’s what he tells me.”

    “Such a scrawny girl. Doesn’t he feed you?” she ducks down and retrieves a crisp white paper bag and sets it on the counter.

    “I have yet to spend a whole day with the brute.”

    “So, the Warlocks sent you today?”

    “No, ma’am, he kidnapped me.”

    “Oh, well he had to get you one way or another. Need anything else, Ducky?” Her sharp emerald eyes flash behind their glass shielding and dart to the window where Devarian was waiting. He had lit a cigarette and was leisurely leaning against the fragile window, one hand shoved into his jean pocket, the other supporting his smoke.

    “He also told me to pick up some patching needles.” She nods and ducks down again. A few seconds later she resurfaces and places a wooden box by the bag. It was about six inches long, four inches tall, an inch thick and made of white ash wood. Two sliver hinges propped up the back and a small matching clasp held it shut with a tiny padlock. She plops the long slender key into the bag and holds out her hand.

    “One hundred and forty dollars.”

    “That’s a lot of money.”

    “Frankenstein equipment is never cheap, Ducky.”

    Fishing in my soaked pants, I find the money had given me and count it out; I was five dollars short. Grumbling, I pull out my thin wallet and take out some of my own money. “Here you go, ma’am.”

    “Thank you, Ducky.” She pushes the items to me and snatches the money from my hands. After counting the money and shoving it into a metal box that sat next her on the counter, she looks back at me and leans over the counter as I gather the items in my arms. “Take good care of our Devarian.”

    “Our?”

    She closes her eyes and smiles as she points to a figure that stood in the far corner. It had the shape of a man but his clothes were so baggy and loose, that it hid his true shape from my eyes. His eyes glinted in the dark and revealed two beautiful mahogany orbs that somehow broke through the darkness and kept their natural splendor.

    “Stavel, don’t be shy. Come greet our customer.”

    I breathe a sigh as he stays where he was and just looks at us blankly. Somehow I didn’t think Devarian would like it if this man started talking to me. Looking over my shoulder, I catch Devarian glancing inside out of the corner of his eye, the cigarette resting in the corner of his frowning mouth.

    “I should get going now.”

    “Be careful, Ducky. He wouldn’t have claimed you unless you were in danger.”

    “Or unless he liked you.” The man named Stavel voices. He had a British accent, but it was lighter than expected. The elderly woman cackled and bobs her head up and down as I slowly make my way back past the dolls and through the door to where Devarian was waiting.