The Midnight Hour & Other Scary Stories

Mannequin

On the corner of fifth and Langstrom, there was a small shop that sold simple clothing. The owner of this shop, likewise, was an old man with a kind heart. He had opened his shop many years ago and his name was well known. He would display his clothing on mannequins.

These were not the mannequins that people were used to seeing. They were of a simpler sort, and he had collected them long ago from an estate that had fallen into ruin. Though they were crude in design, they modeled his clothes well and so he thought them a fine addition to the store. The old man took great care of them, even going so far as to talk to them on late nights when he was alone. He would then lock up his shop, bid them goodnight and go about his way.

This was the old man's routine for many years.

That changed, however, one fateful night as the old man was closing up shop. A group of bandits and thugs robbed the poor man of everything he owned and left him dying in the street. His final words were, "My friends! Help me!"

To those who might have heard them, his plea would have been confused with a cry for help, perhaps to the constable. But to his murderers, it would mean something else, entirely.

They stole away to a great big warehouse to parcel out what they had taken. This included the mannequins. The killers quickly stripped them of their clothes and began sorting through the coin that they had gathered. This all happened fairly late in the night and except for the candles strewn about the warehouse, there was very little light to go by.

As the bandits finished counting their gold and sorting their stolen goods, they began to drink and share stories around the furnace in the bottom of the old warehouse. It was especially dark down there, and the furnace flames threw hesitant light from behind aged iron teeth. Finally, one of the men stood and went to relieve himself outside.

As he left the warehouse, he went to use the bathroom by some old trees. He hummed to himself, not looking anywhere but up. When he finished, he turned and noticed someone was standing next to the building.

The figure was just out of sight, hidden behind a corner. The bandit only had moonlight to help him see. Had someone followed them to their hideout?

"I'm gonna hurt you somethin' fierce if you don't say who you are!" He said.

But as the bandit made his way to the figure, he realized that it wasn't a person at all. It was one of the mannequins! Someone had placed it there as if it were watching him. He grumbled at the joke and patted the mannequin on its blank face.

He thought the simple figures were eerie. No eyes. No mouth. No soul. The bandit would have taken it back inside were he not a little afraid. Which of the boys would have taken the time to place it out here? He would have to ask them when he got back.

Wary of the figure, he went back the way he had come.

"Did one of you lot think that's funny?" He asked.

The other bandits seemed confused. They asked him what he meant.

"The mannequin. Which one of you decided to put it out there and scare me?" The bandit said.

The others looked at one another. He had known each of them long enough to tell when they were being honest. Now was one of those times. A sliver of fear stabbed at his chest. The bandit brushed it off, however, and took a seat with the others.

It was now the small hours of the morning and they were dreadfully tired. As they started to gather the candles and put out the furnace, the men heard something. Footsteps. The sound came directly overhead. Whoever they belonged to was very, very fast.

The bandit looked at his friends. At first, he thought that one of them had snuck off to play a prank on them; yet, as he counted, he saw that all of them were there.

None of them made a move. These were men with blood on their hands, and yet they were rooted to the spot. Something wasn't right.

"Alright." The bandit said. "Enough of this. Let's go up and see who's makin' that racket. We'll outnumber 'em. Quit yer shakin'!"

They nodded and followed him up the stairs.

Most of the candles were still lit, scattered around the warehouse's main floor. The bandits split up and began looking for whoever had made the noise. Each carried their own candle.

It was very quiet. All that could be heard were their footsteps. The bandit that had led others up the stairs walked through the crates slowly, moving only as far as the candlelight would let him.

Then, he saw one of the other candles go out.

It was like a wind had snuffed out the tiny flame. He heard footsteps.

"You don't scare us none!" He said to the dark.

Another candle went out.

More footsteps followed. The bandit watched as his friend's lights were snuffed out one by one with a rush of wind. Soon, his light was the only one left. He called out for them, but they didn't answer. Finally, when he heard footsteps walking away from him, the bandit decided to follow.

He was much slower than whoever was in front of him. Bit by bit, he managed to make his way back to the stairs. He took them slowly, calling out for his friends. At the bottom of the stairs, something rushed by him in a flurry of footsteps and the candlelight went out.

That was okay though. The furnace still burned brightly ahead.

The others were there!

The bandit felt a surge of relief as he approached his friends. However, as he neared them, he realized that he recognized the clothing, but not the figures in them.

They were the mannequins.

Each wore the clothing his friends had been wearing. When he neared the firelight, their blank faces slowly turned to look at him. The last thing the bandit heard were swift footsteps coming from behind him...

The bandits' bodies were never found, and while the old man was mourned by those that knew him, his shop went on to do surprisingly well. You see when the relative of the old man had come to open up the shop once more, they found that all the goods that had been stolen were returned. Furthermore, the mannequins wore strange clothing not made by the old man; clothing that had belonged to a group of thugs and bandits, no doubt. Stranger still, the clothing seemed stained red in places.