Mannequins

A short story about the mannequins in a store.

(Hank)
I always loved clothing stores, even when I was growing up. My friends always found something creepy about the mannequins, but I found something stunning about them. Simply because they look so much like humans- just for the sake of modeling clothes to catch your eye while walking down a street or browsing the mall. They would put their best outfits on display and give the mannequin's some interesting pose and let them stay that way for a week or two, then would change the outfits and pose and sell some other design that had been shipped recently.Needless to say, I ended up working at a clothing store when I was the ripe age of sixteen. At this point I had recently come out of the closet- although no one was surprised- and was altogether a very happy person. My name is Hank. I had a lot of friends and was rarely, if not ever, bullied. My school was a pretty nice place, and my town was a pretty beautiful place. People had a habit of planting flowers wherever there was an extra patch of dirt that was looking lonely. I don't mean wildflowers, I mean the store-bought stuff. Tulips, roses, Lillie's, marry-golds- the list goes on. All in all, it was one of my favorite places in the world and remains to be to this day.
I became loved by all of the people who worked with me in the clothing store. It wasn't a chain store, but an original. It was called Flower's Clothing. Many original stores and restaurants mentioned some kind of flower, but weather it was because of the flowers around town or the flowers around town were because of these names had been forgotten.
One day, the original owner of Flower's Clothing, named Sally, retired. She was old and happy, but we were sad to see her go. She, shocking to me alone, announced that I would be the new owner of the store. She then kissed me on both cheeks and bid us luck, although she knew we would be fine running the store.
And for years we were. I never thought about collage, or getting a new job. I had no intentions of leaving the store- it was my home. I put more thought than most people would into it. I rarely hired new people, and when I did I spent hours at each interview. I didn't want any teenagers simply looking for a job to run the store. It wasn't just a clothing store like Macy's or JCPenny's; this place had a legacy. We often hand-made clothing, or designed them by ourselves.
The top worker next to myself was a young man named Wren. We also had seventeen other workers; a couple worked part time, some full time, a few night shifts. Typical. It was a pretty small store, but we all loved it equally. And everything was lovely.
Until one night everything went horribly wrong. Wren seemed to vanish into thin air.
It was a night like any other night, really. Me, Wren, and the two other workers who were there that night (Delila and Calia) were joking around and picking on each other. The four of us were the closest knit group out of the workers, and the four of us usually worked the night shift together. It was a Sunday night, about eight o'clock, and we had no costumers. Delilah and Calia were, as usual, accusing me and Wren of having some secret relationship. I was gay, as they all knew, and Wren was too- but only the three of us knew this. Thanks to Wren's abusive parents, he didn't want to risk them figuring it out.
I, honestly, did have certain feelings for Wren. But I hadn't a single clue how he felt about me.
"C'mon. Just admit it." Calia said, laughing very boyishly. I gave her a dark look, "And you ought to just admit you like girls."
She shrugged, "Fine. Cue honesty hour. I do like women, thank you very much. Now. Your turn."
The room was silent for a second- no one expected her to admit the obvious so easily. Breaking the silence, Wren said, "I'd love to play honesty hour, Calia, but really there's nothing between us."
His words hurt more than they should have, I knew, but I shrugged the feeling aside, "Exactly. Not a thing."
Delilah rolled her eyes and pulled her hair over one shoulder and began to untangle it, "Fine, whatever you say. But I have something to admit." She paused, letting the silence thicken- she was always one for the dramatics- before, finally, "I really love cookies."
I chuckled, "We know, Delilah. No shocker there."
She pouted and patted her belly, "There's nothing wrong with a few extra pounds. Keeps me warm in the winter. Unlike Calia, she's practically skin and bones."
"There's muscle there too!" Calia cried, looking offended. We all chuckled. "Yes, yes there is." Wren agreed, probably thinking back to the time Calia had to carry him home like a sack of potatoes because he had too much caffeine and passed out in the middle of a rack of clothing.
I sighed and watched the clock, "Well, we might as well close down for the night. I'm tired, and I can tell you all are, and it's Monday tomorrow. I doubt much more people will walk this way tonight."
With that, we all left.
That night, I slept very well and was up early. Me and Wren had the morning shift, and Delilah, Calia, Cage, and Samantha had the afternoon shift. When I arrived at the store, I found the door was already unlocked, and the "Open" sign off; the mall itself was still closed for another hour. I gazed around- something seemed slightly off, but I couldn't decide what. I shook my head, dismissing the matter.
"Wren?" I called out, spinning in a full circle. I didn't see him. Perhaps I had forgotten to lock the door the previous night- all of the clothing were still on their racks.
I dug my phone, looking for the usual text from Wren telling me he was on his way. I frowned when I didn't have one. I checked the clock- 6:00am. He usually left around 5:45 on morning shifts. I shrugged it off- if he was late he would have a good reason. I set my coat under the main counter, and headed off to my little office that was built on the far end of the store. When I walked in, I was concerned and confused. All of my extra mannequins were gone. That's when I realized why the store hadn't felt correct when I'd entered. The mannequins. All of them. They were gone.
I was more hysterical at first than confused, looking at the empty windows and missing plastic bodies. Someone must have taken them for some reason- Wren, maybe. I pulled out my phone again- he would have called, right? Not sure what else to do, I dialed his number.
I could hear my phone buzzing as it tried to connect to the other cellular device, but soon enough I heard a familiar ring-tone echoing in the ear that I had uncovered. Wren's phone. I ran hurriedly towards the sound, not sure what I expected to find.
Near the dressing rooms, was Wren's phone laying carelessly on the floor. The screen was shattered, and wasn't lighting up even as it was receiving the call. Uncertain as to what exactly I was dealing with,  I ended the call and picked up Wren's phone. He always was careful with it, it was like his baby. He would probably protect the phone with his life. My mind was whirling, but I made the decision to check out the dressing rooms.
That was where I found each and every one of my mannequins. Fully dressed, just standing around the dressing room. Of course, with one problem- they were alive. And somehow seemed to be staring at me with the cold, dead hollows in their white faces. I opened my mouth to scream, but my throat was suddenly too dry to managed anything but a small squeak of concern.
"I- uh- what-" I stammered, unsure of what to do in a situation as I was in. The mannequins took a step towards me, faces twisted up in impossibly large smiles. I knew, easily, they weren't happy to see me.
"Look what you've done to us," one in the back moaned. It's voice pierced into me like nails. "We didn't want thissssss." another one, wearing a cowgirl's outfit hissed angrily.
My face felt pale. They began to advance, slowly but surely. Moaning barely audible phrases. After about half a minute, I got to my senses and took off running. I didn't know where Wren had gotten to, and I was too distraught to want to know. I made for the door, but when I went to throw it open I found it locked. I fumbled in my pocket desperately for my keys.
"Looking for theeeesee?" The cowgirls hissed, making me turn. In her hands she held my keys. And as I watched, breathless and panicked, she bent and destroyed them. I swallowed hard, "L-listen. I don't know what you want. I'm just a man running a clothing store is all. I never hurt you in any way. I always took care of you and-"
"That doesn't mean anything!" A mannequin dressed in red, white, and blue roared. He advanced on me swiftly, shoving me into a wall and smashing my head into it. My head stung, and I gasped out in pain. Two others walked stiffly up to his side, and pulled back their somehow fully-functional arms and punched me in the face. Once. Twice. I began to lose count as my mind fell into nothing but swirling thoughts and inaudible whispers. Blood pooled out of my mouth and dripped down my chin.
"Please," I mumbled, sending blood splattering their plastic faces, "Just tell me what you want."
The mannequin who was holding me up dropped me, and I slumped to the ground, groaning.
"To become humaaannn." The cowgirl hissed, cocking her head sideways at me, "of courssse."
I fliched- her world seemed to be impossibly loud to my throbbing head.
"H-ow doye do 'at?" I slurred. My vision was slipping in and out of blackness. I still had the mind to feel nervous about this, and I reached up to feel how bent my nose was. Being punched by non-hollow plastic with human force behind it- definitely on my top ten never do again list.
The mannequin's grinned that freakishly large grin at me. There was twenty of them, at least. "Killing the store's owner."
My head rolled back and into the wall, "F'ntastic." I mumbled, blood still dripping out of my mouth. I could feel myself giving up. My mind was too far away to even try to fully comprehend what exactly had happened, and why, and how.
"You ssssee." Hissed the cowgirl, even though at this point I basically couldn't see, "Sssssomeone put a ssssspell on usssssss when walking by thisssss ssstore lasst night. Do not know wwho.. But they ssseemed rather fffond of ussss. Ssssshe chanted some fancy words, and the nexxxt thing we knew, we could not only jussssst think, as we alwaysssssss have. We could move, and ssssspeak, and sssssmile. But ssssshe told usssss, if we sssssacraficed the ssssstore's owner, we would sssstay like thissssss. And become real, flessssh and blood humansssss."
Her voice grated on my head, and I let out a loud moan. I was slipping out of unconciousness. The mannequins grins somehow got larger. The mannequin who'd shoved me into the wall pulled out the pocket knife I'd kept in the drawer in my office. He knelt down next to me and ran the blade along my lips,
"You really are a handsome fellow," he told me, showing a small amount of emotion in his voice. "It's a shame I have to kill you." He ran the blade along my lower lip, drawing blood. I looked up at the empty places his eyes would be,
"'S long as you take care of the store." I managed, closing my eyes. My head still hadn't fully caught up to what was happening yet, but all I knew was it was over. I was done for.
But it never game. The stab to my chest, or my gut, never came. The blade never slit open my throat, or my wrists. I never got to open my eyes to figure out what had happened- I'd already lost consciousness.

(Wren: about 10 minutes before)
White. All around me was white. I gasped, standing up and spinning in a circle. My head was spinning- what had happened? Damnit, Wren! What had happened. I heard a shout at the edge of my hearing. My head snapped up. Hank.
The memories came flooding back. Mannequins. Coming towards me. Shoving me into the girls dressing room. In a room with an old lady. I cocked my head to the side, gazing at the still unconscious lady sitting next to me. I furrowed my eyebrows, prying at a memory that hadn't quite surfaced.
Until it hit me. Witchcraft. That's what this was.
My family had studied witchcraft. Always had. I knew the spell she was using- a spell that made inanimate objects live. At a cost- they'd have to murder the ruler of the place they came from. A lump caught in my throat- in this case, that would be Hank.
Another memory went along with this, I knew. It was one of those spells my parents explained I ought to avoid, if I ever were to use witchcraft. Why, I thought, feeling angered, what category was this wretched spell be in?
Thankfully, I was having a decent time with my memory that day. It clicked like a switch- kill the Castor. Often, there were plenty of other ways to reverse a spell. This was not a usual spell, though. It was typically unused, as most found it pointless and time-consuming. Exactly why this witch wanted the mannequins to live was beyond my train of thought, but I knew one thing. Either the witch died, or Hank died. A light burned brightly behind my eye that hadn't been awoken for many months. It was an easy decision to make.
I wasn't a simple young man, as most people didn't realize. I was kicked out of his house at the age of fifteen for reasons unknown to me. Lost and alone, with no where to go, I joined the army. I faked his age, and, well, a lot of things. I trained, fought, saved men, got wounded, suffered through nightmares, and became a hero. Until last year, when I had left thanks to a massive wound to my knee. I had served for nine years, and me and my captain agreed I had done well.
Currently, I had a metal kneecap and was the age twenty-five. Me and my parents had made up several years before when he had gotten to return home for a couple months. But I insisted I still go back to fight. They accepted this, and let me go, with tears in their eyes. Currently, we were on good terms. But they had not a clue of their son's sexuality.
I pulled a blue Kobalt pocket knife from my pocket and flicked out the blade, facing the witch. I found, however, that she was no longer laying limply in the corner. I only had a moment to register exactly what this meant, before I was tackled from behind.
I was launched forwards, and smashed face-first into the mirror. I managed to get my hands up in time, avoiding my face being sliced to ribbons. My hands, however, got punctured with all kinds of glass. But I didn't have any time whatsoever to yank them out. I bunched up my back legs and threw myself off of the ground, hurtling the witch off of me. She landed not far away, and was quickly on her feet, charging again. I instantly understood she didn't know any spells that were short enough to use now- they tended to be harder to master, and harder to find. She seemed young, around my age. Which was good- otherwise she would have been able to rip out my guts with an unknown force by now.
Before she could tackle me again, I lept towards her, and jabbed the pocket knife forwards, hoping to find purchase. She noticed my movement, though, and pulled out a dagger of her own. The dagger's blade was much larger than that of my pocket knife, but I instantly noticed I had better skill when it came to close-range fighting. I waiting until the witch went for a direct stab as I had, and stepped smoothly to the side. Not foreseeing the movement, she stumbled forwards. She was only off balance for a split-second, but it was enough. I grabbed her by the hair, and twisted it. She cried out in pain, but kept a firm hold on the dagger. I slammed her body into the ground, and stomped on her hand. She clenched her teeth, but kept firm hold on the deadly weapon. I twisted my foot, still holding onto her hair. Blood was starting to swell up from her scalp, and I yank harder.
I closed my pocket knife and yanked the dagger from her hand.
Somewhere outside of the dressing room, I heard the hissing of that bloody cowgirl mannequin speaking. Seeing that I was distracted for a moment, the witch grabbed my arm and bit my wrist. I yelped, and stupidly let go of her hair. She stood up and began to run- a smart move in her situation- but I was quicker. She raced to the edge of the changing room.
"You really are a handsome fellow," I heard a robotic voice from the other side of the store, "It's a shame I have to kill you."
"No!"  I hissed angrily, kicking off of the ground with as much force as I could possibly muster and hurtled myself into the witch. Without a seconds thought, I slammed the dagger into her back. The sickening crunching of her ribs breaking told me the amount of pressure I had managed on the blow. The squishing sound when the dagger finished creating it's wound told me it'd found its correct destination. The witch died instantly.
I heard the toppling of plastic and the cracking noises it made when it hit the ground. Abandoning the dagger and the witch's body, I raced across the store.
Mannequins were piled lifelessly in a semi-circles around the unconscious man we called Hank. His nose was crooked, his face beaten and bloodied. Bruises were already starting to form on his face. Tears formed in my eyes at the sight of him. I grabbed his wrist, and checked his pulse. It seemed fine for a moment, but soon it stopped. Before I had time to panic, it picked back up steadily growing quicker and quicker. After half a second, it slowed down and started this pattern over again. I grabbed his phone from his pocket and quickly phoned the police, explained that he'd been beaten by thugs, told them we were at the local mall in Flower's Clothing store. I then discarded the phone as nothing but a hunk of metal and wires and tossed it carelessly aside.
"Hank?" I asked softly, pulling him into my lap and cradling his head. "Hank. Wake up," I ordered, much more loudly and forcefully this time. I snapped my fingers by his ear, "Hank, listen to me!"
I stopped, staring at him as each unsteady breath left his body. Until, miraculously, his eyes fluttered open. "Wren..?" he mumbled, his eyes struggling to focus.
"Yes! Hank, it's me." Relief was flowing out of my voice like a tidal wave, and I did nothing to stop it. I felt my shoulders relax. "I-I'm alive?" he stammered, trying to grasp hold of the current situation.
"You are." I said. I made no move to explain, and he didn't seem all too curious. I knew Hank well- he was the kind of man who would live more happily if everything was left unexplained. He closed his eyes, and sighed. "No, Hank, I need you to stay awake. Stay with me. Open your eyes."
He did as I instructed, and he met my gaze, "You saved me." It wasn't a question, just a fact. A small smile tugged at my lips and I nodded, "Yes, you fool, I suppose I did." My voice cracked and I drew a shaky breath. My vision became blurry and I blinked away the tears.
"Hey, hey," Hank uttered, reaching up with a shaking hand and cupping the side of my face. "It's okay. I'll be okay."
Then I broke down. I gripped the hand that he'd laid on my face and a choked sob escaped my throat. Before I knew it, tears were pouring down my face.
"Don't cry!" Hank cried quietly, "You saved my life, you should be happy."
"They still hurt you," I mumbled, swallowing back another sob. Hank smiled at me, and pulled his hand away. Before I could wonder whether to be hurt or not, he wrapped his arms around my neck and pulled himself up, hugging me close. I wrapped my arms around his lower back and buried my tear-stained face into his neck.
Off in the distance somewhere, we heard the faint blaring of sirens.

Author's Note

I'm new to all of this, so any critiques/advice are highly appreciated :D

Reviews

[Emma Anderson]

You have big blocks of text and that makes it difficult to read and a little uneasy on my eyes. Try separating paragraphs more and making the text a little bigger (but not too big). It may help you to read more so you can see how professional writers layout their books and see how they set out the characters speech.

The concept reminds me of silent hill and how in the game and film the man or woman has to fight mannequins and other strange creatures. It is still an interesting idea and has potential.