The Seamstress

The Library

The woman scowls, pacing impatiently. She's tired of waiting, tired of things being the same for so long. She desires change, wants it so much she wants to pull out her hair from waiting for so long.

"I don't like to wait," she hisses. "Old women take too long."

And if she didn't hurry up, she would have to do it herself.

*

"Aunt Queenie, do you know someone named Abby?" I ask during dinner. Aunt Queenie freezes, her soup spoon suspended inches from her mouth.

She quickly puts down the spoon and glares at me. "Where did you hear that name?" she asks.

I swirl my spoon around my minestrone; clearly I didn't think this conversation through. Zinnia is eyeing me with a confused look, and I look down at my shoes.

I don't have any excuse except for the truth, so I say, "I found a box under your bed. It was while you were out shopping."

Aunt Queenie makes a strange sound. "I specifically told you not to go in my room!" she says through gritted teeth. I look up. Underneath the furious mask she wears I can see panicky terror in her eyes.

"I'm sorry!" I cry, standing up. I can't bear this anymore. I can't bear witnessing so many wrong things, so many things that should be completely and utterly impossible. I can't bear having been sent to live with a strange aunt I had never met before, and I can't bear this wild fear that something is going to sneak up behind me and clutch me with cold arms; the cold pale arms of the girl I saw in the alley. The cold black arms of Sylvester. And the cold arms of fear itself, like a cage that I can't break out of. Not until I get out of here. And I want to get out now.

"So many things keep happening!" I sob. "I've seen so many things that can't happen! And I'm trying to find out why but all I get is more and more questions!"

Before I can say anything else Aunt Queenie rises from her seat and walks around to me, tightly grasping me by the shoulders. Her palms are cold and her fingers dig into me as she says, "What are you seeing? Exactly what? Tell me now!"

I only hesitate for a fraction of a second before saying, "N-nightmares. I'm h-having nightmares. And I thought... I thought that you m-might have some sort of b-book that could help me in your room. So I found the box by accident but I o-only looked at the photo," I said, taking in deep shuddery breaths as I try to console myself. "I-I didn't touch anything else."

Aunt Queenie lets go and walks back to her chair, hiding her face as she stares down.

Zinnia clears her throat as I sit down. "Well," she says cheerfully, holding up her spoon, "on a much happier note, I've finished knitting my socks!"

I groan and rest my head on the table.

I am just about done with Zinnia and her socks.

*

"Books on... needles?" the librarian, Ms. Andilet says as she cocks her head.

"Why do you want a book on needles?" Zinnia asks from beside me, looking up from a Sherlock Holmes mystery. She tosses it back on the shelf with a look of distaste. "Bleh. This is too hard to read."

I nod. Ms. Andilet looks politely confused and pushes her blue glasses down to the tip of her nose, her soft brown chestnut curls wiggling slightly. "I don't think we have any," she muses.

Then I shake my head. "I mean, I need books on some sort of... creature," I say. I clear my throat and step closer, waiting for Zinnia to be out of earshot before saying, "Books on clothes who strangle people."