Memory627

Sally Finklestein cried pearls. She didn’t know why, she just always had. She had also spent every second since her creation under the stern, watchful eyes of her parents, as she supposed she must call them. Doctor Alric, who had stitched together her pale blue fabric flesh, stuffed her with crisp autumn leaves and used yards of rust-colored yarn for her waist-length hair. His wife, Jewel, who had named her, taught her to sew, clean, and cook. Together, they had taught her how to speak, to think, to feel, though there were many nights she wished they hadn’t. A heavy sadness had circled her phantom heart for as long as she could remember, an aching longing that she couldn’t understand. It grew worse every night, when the ever-full moon was highest, casting its bone-colored beams across the slumbering streets of Samhain, a realm inhabited by monsters, creatures, specters and demons. Furthest away from the lonely gray tower on the hill was the looming palace of the Pumpkin Queen, a being

Jack must have done two weeks’ worth of work the last three days, but it had put them far enough ahead that the mayor had finally stayed calm when he had brought up their excursion to the other realms. Sally wasn’t sure how long they’d actually be gone, but she had packed extra clothes just in case, and had filled the largest picnic basket she could find to the brim. Jack had the notebooks, a small tent, two pillows and a blanket, his page of door sketches tucked in his pocket. Zero spun in circles by the door, eager to get going. They were leaving much later than they had planned, as, after going to bed as soon as he’d come home, Jack hadn’t woken up until almost noon. Of course, he’d apologized for delaying them, but she had shut it down, saying she wouldn’t let him be exhausted on this trip. She was glad to see the path leading to the manor empty as they headed out, everyone having already sated their curiosity about their king leaving. The mayor hadn’t been able to keep the news

Sally had spent the last two days preparing for their trip, wanting to leave as quickly as possible when the time came. She’d found an entire bookcase that was nothing but journals, glancing through them for blank ones to record any new ideas. Knowing how Jack got when inspired, she had grabbed one for each realm, along with two extras, hoping it would be enough. She bit her lip as she remembered the first several she’d pulled off the shelves, every page packed with his neat, looping handwriting. She’d snapped them shut once she had realized what they were, feeling shameful that she’d even glanced at his private thoughts, even if she hadn’t caught more than a word of them. Maybe she would ask about the books in the future, but until he gave her permission to read them, she was going to pretend they didn’t exist. She had also looked at every title in his personal library, curious if the former Pumpkin King had left anything about the other holidays, but other than the Christmas books

Sally had stayed in Jack’s lap until his paperwork was finished, then he’d excused himself to bring it back to Town Hall. She’d watched as he straightened the piles, securing them with bat-wing clips to ensure nothing caught in the breeze blowing through the windows. He’d finished his tea and set the dishes back on the tray—she’d carried it downstairs after him, noticing she no longer had to watch every single step to avoid stumbling. He’d had to help gather her leaves more than once when she had tumbled down the stairs and ripped her seams. He wasn’t much for sewing, there just wasn’t time for him to develop a skill like that, but he’d been able to keep everything aligned properly as she’d stitched herself back together. There were times she thought about replacing her leaves with some other stuffing, like wilted flower petals or scraps of cloth, but the leaves were the easiest to replenish, since there was always an abundance of them outside. She had also come to enjoy the faint

Sally put the finishing touches on the lunch tray she had prepared for Jack—black tea brewed with the finest swamp water, cream of thistle soup with perfectly spoiled vegetables, a-dark-as-the-grave chocolate tart topped with pumpkin clotted cream. She breathed in the mixed scents as she carried it upstairs, thinking back over the last several weeks. Dr. Finklestein had all but forgotten she existed once he had created Jewel, and she couldn’t help but feel happy that he had someone who wanted to care for him. Even if she did literally have half a brain, his brain. They had let her come and go as she pleased, as long as she was back in her room before midnight. That had all changed one cool March evening, after she and Jack had watched the sun set over the cemetery from Spiral Hill, as they had whenever he could get away from his duties. “Sally,” he turned to her as the waxing crescent moon began to rise, the stars twinkling to life around it. “How would you like to move into the

He stared at the contract, the same he had tricked people with for so many centuries; he supposed it was only fitting it’d be used against him now. He tried to tell himself it didn’t matter, that he could just rip it to shreds and forget all of this, but he knew that he couldn’t. It had been a long time since he’d been able to think clearly where Dice was concerned. He felt his gut clench, his jaw sore from how hard he’d grit his teeth. How had he missed all these signs before? How had he been so blind? He jumped to his feet, the contract gripped tightly in his fist. There was only one thing he wanted now, only one thing that mattered. “Dice, wait!” To his surprise, the man stopped, his wide shoulders squared, his posture stiff. He didn’t turn his back, wouldn’t even glance at him. He felt something inside himself tear, and he couldn’t stop the tears that pricked his eyes. “Dice…” he’d never heard his voice crack like that, never thought it was possible he could feel like this.

Good for nothing lackey, that’s what he called me. After everything I did, everything I scarified for him, that’s how he repays me. I don’t know why I expected anything else, him being the Devil and all, I should have known being his right hand man wouldn’t mean a damn thing in the end. That’s just how he is. And now I’m laying here in the casino, staring at the ceiling. It’s blurry, and all the gold stuck up there is blinding me right now, but I can’t do anything about it. I can’t feel anything except the pain in my head, like my skull cracked when I went down. I can still hear everything, though, part of the deal I signed away my soul for. I run this place for the Devil, make sure he never runs out of souls to snatch up, and I never have to go through what my father did. What I didn’t know was that it would leave me with a door in my head, one the Hell man can open whenever he damn well pleases. I try to laugh at the irony, how not wanting to wither away in a wheelchair ended up