Very many decades ago, Quentin, a young man owning a clothing shop in a medium sized town, found something strange on his daily walks by the river. While he was walking, feeling the cool breeze coming off the river rustle his short blond hair. As he reached the end of the river where it emptied into a large lake, he spotted something.
It was a girl. She was half-submerged in the river water. Quentin, terrified, ran over to her, only to find it was not a girl; it was a mannequin.
But she looked so real; she had real hair, that didn't look like a wig, and it looked as if it grew naturally. Her eyes were closed. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't open them. And, as he picked the mannequin up to try and move it, it revealed a large puddle of blood on the ground where the mannequin once lay.
It was as if at one point, this was a living girl. But it couldn't have been. It was impossible.
Quentin thought nothing of the blood. It shocked him when he first saw it, but tried to ignore it as best as he could. And, without a word, he set off, back to his shop, carrying the mannequin.
Quentin had found the mannequin wearing a vibrant dress. It was silky and white, that faded to black at the bottom. And, oddly, it wasn't stained by dirt or by blood. It was as if it was new. Like it was in some odd barrier that didn't let the dress get stained. But Quentin didn't think any more about it. There was no explanation, so there was no reason to wonder about it.
He replicated the beautiful white dress, and sold them in his shop. The mannequin stood in the only large window. She was the star attraction. She was so real looking- the only differance from her to a human was her obviously plastic skin.
Buisness was booming after the mannequin came to the shop. Nobody else had a mannequin that looked as real looking as his mannequin did, and nobody could replicate it.
That is, until Brooke figured it out.
Brooke was Quentin's long rival. They owned competing clothing stores, and Brooke was furious when he got that mannequin. She was so selfish that she believed that she deserved a mannequin just like that, because she was better than he was.
And so, Brooke dedicated two months into making a mannequin that was better than Quentin's mannequin by far. And she got it.
Brooke's mannequin was so great, so elegant, it was impossible to tell the differance between it and a real human. It looked real. It had real-looking skin, hair, and it's eyes were open.
And the dress it wore was far fancier than the one Quentin's mannequin wore.
So Quentin got jealous. He went to Brooke and demanded the mannequin. She rufused. Then playing with him, she made him a deal.
"Okay, Quentin. You may have my mannequin," she said while stroking it's brown hair. "At a simple cost. You admit your store is far worse than mine, and write it on a sign. And put that sign inside your window for all to see for three months." She laughed. "Oh, and you can never let another soul see that mannequin you found all those months ago ever again!"
Quentin, out of despiration for the mannequin, agreed to her offer. What a foolish mistake.
Quentin tossed the old mannequin in the back of his shop, in storage. She sat in a dark corner behind boxes that, over time, piled up, and toppled down on her. She was attention starved. And, little by little, that mannequin became angry... very angry.
Quentin did as promised, but he still got buisness, but not as much with his old mannequin. But he didn't care; this mannequin was far better. It would only be three months, then buisness in his store would be booming once again. He thought it would be even better than when he had first gotten his old mannequin.
It had been five weeks since Quentin tossed his old mannequin in the back room. The boxes had toppled on her. She was furious. Her once white dress and the once black tips of her hair now were both a shade of bright red; the shade of fresh blood.
She wanted Quentin to pay for the pain he'd caused her.
It was nealy midnight over the shop. Quentin was counting his money, and straightening up around the store. But, in the back storage area, the boxes were scattering around the room. The old mannequin pushed them out of her way. And she finally got up. The plastic creeked when she stood.
"Who's there?!" Quentin shouted frantically after hearing the squeak of the plastic. Realizing he was being stupid, he went back to work.
The mannequin stood in the dark storage room, in front of the door. From each of her eyes dripped a stream of bloody tears.
She wanted Quentin to suffer for the days she'd spent alone in the back.
She placed her hand on the doorknob, and turned it quietly. Before he realized she was there, she grabbed a decorative sword that was mounted on the wall. But it was a real sword.
Quentin was about to face the consequences of what he'd done.
After cleaning the window, Quentin focused on the reflection. He realized somebody was behind him. It was a girl. With a blood red dress, black hair that faded to red, and a sword.
No, it wasn't a girl; it was his old mannequin. He immediately froze with fear, then quickly turned.
"Oh, my dear mannequin! Don't kill me, please! You'll regret this, you will! Help!" But there was nobody there to help. They were all asleep, unaware of what was going on in his shop. Quentin pleaded with her. "I'll put you back in the window! You don't want to kill me! I was the one who found you! You had been abandoned!"
The mannequin stopped. Quentin was relieved. But then, a young girl's voice rose from the direction of the mannequin. Her lips didn't move, but the voice echoed though the room.
"Don't kill me, you say! You caused me so much pain! How would you like it if you were trapped under a pile of boxes! How would YOU like it if I shoved you in a dark room with nobody to talk to for five weeks!" The mannequin moved again.
Quentin realized then that once he saw that pool of blood, he should never have taken the mannequin. "Please!" He squealed in a weak voice.
But he was too late. The mannequin had made up her mind. He would die. And that he did. She chopped his head off in one clean strike, and chopped up the new mannequin, and threw the remains of it outside.
And after gazing upon the dead Quentin, she resumed her spot in the window.
And nobody ever knew what happened. They saw the sword, but there were no finger prints on it. But somebody had actually suggested the truth.
"You don't think..." an elderly man had said as he looked at the mannequin, who's dress, hair and eyes had not returned to nomal. "That thing... it's not like it used to be... maybe... IT killed Quentin?"
But everybody looked at him like he was crazy. He laughed off his odd idea.
But that man was right. That possesed mannequin had killed Quentin. And it was never solved.
Quentin's death remained a mystery.
- Title: The Psychopathic Mannequin
- Artist: reshi xx
Well, I submitted an avatar with the same title as this one and a story of it in the description, but it was very short, and someone said it would make a good short story. And, well, I agree.
The mannequin's picture after she went crazy is in the reference.
(It's a screenshot of the avatar I submitted!)
- Date: 03/13/2011
- Tags: psychopathic mannequin
- Reference Image:
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