Chapter Text
Andrew sighed as he opened the door to his meager home. The door creaked on his way out, though he paid it no mind. Something always made noise in this place, whether it be the door, the windows, or the floorboards. Andrew continued to scrape together his meager savings, but the cost of living and the tithes that Lutz demanded were simply too much to allow for him to afford a more comfortable life. Each day, Andrew thanked the Lord that Lutz had given him his job and home, for without the gifts they had provided he did not doubt that he would have been long dead.
Even though he has little to spend, his change purse jingles occasionally on his hip as he wanders down the dirt road and into town. The dim light of dusk envelops him, and Andrew feels safe in its embrace. He makes a habit of going out after the sun had started to set, as he was less likely to run into other shoppers. It helped Andrew avoid the sun as well, so he didn’t have to bring an umbrella. Oh, he couldn’t begin to imagine the amount of attention that carrying an umbrella on a sunny day would attract. It would be unbearable, having all those eyes upon him. He shudders at the thought. As he’s yanked out of his mind, Andrew realizes that he’s made it to the shopping district, and goes to the bakery to buy his bread for the week. The woman that works the counter is kind to him, and while he doesn’t know how to react to kindness, he vastly prefers it over animosity or disgust.
The bakery is warm and it’s heaven. The October air bites at his skin despite his heavy coat, and any respite from the cold is welcomed. Behind the counter, the young lady waves him over. Aside from the two of them, the store is empty.
“Hello, Mister Kreiss!” The woman smiles down at him warmly as she speaks. “The usual?”
Andrew nods, mumbling a hello in return as she bags the day-old bread before handing it off to him. He places the coins on the counter and turns to leave, though he’s stopped before he can leave. The baker reaches beneath the counter and pulls out a small paper bag, handing it over to the grave keeper. “Happy Halloween, Andrew.”
He points a finger towards his chest, a silent “for me?” which gets a smile and a nod from the baker. He thanks her profusely before she politely shoes him out the door, telling him to “get home before it gets too dark!”
Peeking inside the bag, Andrew gets a better look at its contents. He pulls out a sugar cookie, orange icing smeared over the face with black details, to make it look like a jack-o-lantern. A small smile graces Andrew’s face before he feels something hit him in the ankle. He hisses, the pain is mild so it’s more of an instinctual reaction than anything. Looking down, he sees that it’s a small stone. Another pain, this time in his shoulder, prompts him to look in the direction of the projectile.
There’s a group of men standing nearby, outside of the bar. Another stone is hurled in his direction by one of them, though he’s too drunk to aim and the stone falls short. “Hey, freak!” One of them calls, causing the others to burst into laughter. “The circus is in town, why don’t you go join ‘em?”
He hurls what’s in his hand at Andrew, who has already begun his retreat. He hears the beer bottle shatter on the ground behind him. Andrew blinks away the tears that well up in his eyes. This has happened before, and it will happen again, but that knowledge doesn’t soothe the sting any less.
He pushes open the door to the nearest storefront, hoping that the men at least have the dignity not to chase him inside a store. As long as the shopkeeper was kind, he supposed.
Again, the store is warm. When Andrew looks around, he notices that none of it is familiar. Dolls line the walls and are stuffed onto every shelf. They stare at him, with button eyes, and Andrew tries his best not to look too closely. How creepy.
He doesn’t enter shops that he doesn’t need to be in, so this must be an expensive store, shit, had he wandered into the upper city? Oh, that was no good. The people here hated him for the additional reason of his low salary, not just his looks. He turns, attempting to leave, but jumps when he hears a voice to his left.
“Hello, dear visitor! What brings you here, to Otis’ Doll Shop?”
Andrew whips around, startled. Surely he didn’t miss the man before? The place had been empty upon his arrival, hadn’t it? He also notices a soft tune pumping out of a nearby gramophone, one that he had again, overlooked.
The man (Otis, perhaps?) steps out from behind the counter, his motions practiced and theatrical. He talks with his hands as well, splaying his arms wide open as he welcomes his perceived customer into the store. “You look rather down, good sir! Please, let me help. Why not take a look over here?”
Before he can protest, the man wraps his arm around Andrew without hesitation. He guides him over to a shelf and points at a doll, it’s porcelain face neatly detailed with a smiling face, pink cheeks dotted with gold freckles. “What do you think?” The man asks, smiling in his direction. The ears of a cat- or dog, perhaps- sit atop the shopkeeper’s head. ‘Some people get very into Halloween, don’t they?’ Andrew muses.
“Are- are you making fun of me?” Andrew asks, venom seeping into his voice. “I’ll have you know that I’m no clown-”
“No, of course not my good sir!” The man bows deeply in apology, removing his hat and clutching it to his chest before replacing it atop his head. ‘The ears must be barrettes’, Andrew thinks, because they don’t budge even with the man’s excessive gestures. The man’s apology seems genuine if a bit theatric. “I thought you could use some cheering up, is all! If not him, perhaps this one suits your fancy more?”
Andrew tries to speak up, he really does, but the man is energetic and intense, intent on showing him the many dolls lining the shop’s shelves. He points out one after another (“This nun, perhaps?” “No? Why not the train conductor?”) but Andrew continues to politely shake his head. After the man is through with this tour, he’ll get fed up and make him leave, and Andrew will have to run home in the dark. The sun had long set, and his stay in the market was becoming much longer than usual. He only hoped that Lutz wouldn’t lock the gates on him… he’d left his gate key at home and wasn’t fond of climbing.
The shopkeeper frowns, tilting his head. ‘Here it comes,’ Andrew thinks. ‘He’s kicking me out.’
But instead, the man’s hands reach up and grasp his face, and Andrew jumps back. “What are you doing!?” He gasps out. The man simply cocks his head and looks at him.
“I was trying to get a better feel for you. My apologies if I’ve startled you! It will help me match you with a doll. Please, let me know if and when you’re ready to try again.”
Andrew frowns slightly, not believing it. How would touching his face help this strange man with anything other than making him uncomfortable? But the man… something about him is trustworthy. He treats Andrew like a person, just like the baker. Like how his mother did. Andrew hasn’t known a friendly touch in so long that he worries he’s forgotten it, memories of hugs or hands held now too far in his past to be anything but a fleeting feeling. And it hits Andrew just how lonely he is, standing there in this strange shop. So what’s the harm in letting this man do this? It’s not as if Andrew will have to visit this shop again. Dolls are not something he finds himself wanting.
“Mmh… You can try again, if you really want…”
The shopkeeper’s eyes light up, and had Andrew not been staring at his feet, he would have seen the ears atop the man’s head flick briefly and perk up. He reaches out, gently placing his hands on Andrew’s cheeks, turning his head this way and that. “What is your name, dear visitor?” The man asks, voice softer than before.
“Andrew. Andrew Kreiss.” He doesn’t know why he’s doing this, telling a stranger his name. But he does so anyway, letting his eyes slip closed as the man examines his face.
“A wonderful name.” The other man says, his jacket sleeves tickling Andrew’s face as he moves his hands around. “Here, I am known as the Dealmaker, or Specter, though I use a different name when away from my work.”
Andrew makes a noise in his throat, confirming that he’s heard. Specter continues to talk. “Such a wonderful night, is it not? All Hallows Eve… How I’ve missed it. But it comes again, and again.”
Specter continues to talk softly. Andrew can feel his head getting light, and he sways slightly before catching himself. It feels as if his head is made of cotton, and the music on the gramophone fades in and out of his perception. Then, all at once, Specter’s hands are yanked away and everything comes back to him.
“My apologies, mister Kreiss. I was in there longer than usual, such an interesting life you must lead!” Specter smiles, turning and motioning over his shoulder for Andrew to follow. His voice is cheerful and peppy again, none of the softness from only minutes ago remained. “But I’ve got just the thing for you!”
Andrew only has a second to dwell on what Specter meant before the man reaches up onto a shelf packed with dolls. “We don’t see this one out too often!” He says, smiling down at the doll in his hand. “So I’m sure he’ll find a lovely home with you.”
The doll is passed over to Andrew, who holds it in his hands. It’s a gorgeous doll, with soft cloth skin and button eyes. It’s dressed like it jumped out of some sort of western film, the kind of picture show that Andrew heard advertised around town. A tiny leather jacket drapes over it, and the mouth is hidden by a brown bandana mask. A tiny lead pistol sits on its hip, and gold accents litter the fabric, stitched in with shiny golden threads. It’s beautiful. And it must be way, way out of his price range.
He turns the thing over, a weight now settling in the pit of his stomach. He’d forgotten that this had to happen.
“I… I don’t think I can afford this. I’m sorry.” Andrew genuinely feels bad, unable to look the shopkeeper in the eye. He holds the doll back out in his direction. “I had meant to buy food today.”
A laugh comes from Specter. “You won’t even try it on? Come now, look at yourself.”
The man’s slender fingers pluck the doll's coat off of its shoulders, and as Andrew looks up he sees Specter flourish the fabric like a cape. He’s surrounded for a moment by a swirl of colours. He’s dizzy and wobbles on his heel. And then, Specter turns him around to face the mirror.
It’s a completely different person. He gazes at the person standing there. They wear the same gorgeous clothes that the doll did, and when he moves his hand they move theirs too. Andrew reaches up to touch his face. Invisible behind the bandana, his mouth hangs open in shock.
“A hero, you see?” Specter smiles, placing his hands on Andrew’s shoulders. One of his hands moves to point at the gun resting on Andrew’s hip. “He punished those consumed by greed. Or at least, that’s how the story goes. You look quite handsome.”
His aches and pains have dissolved. Andrew’s back, normally sore and crooked, now lets him stand tall. He feels different on another level, no longer giving in to the desire to curl in on himself, he feels content to stand there, just as worthy of the space as any other. The feeling scares him, making his heart somehow both heavy and light. It’s a relief, this reprise from the grief he feels each and every day of his life.
And so, Andrew can do nothing but stand there completely overwhelmed. “Y-you… Are you magic?”
For a moment, Specter’s smile is sad. Then it’s replaced with a grin as if nothing happened. “Perhaps, some may say it’s magic. The spirit of Halloween, you could say? Though I’m not so sure myself. This shop is only open for a few hours each year, anyway, so I can only do these things within its working hours. So why bother with the details?”
The grave keeper continues to stand stock-still. Specter’s fingers card through his hair, no longer unkempt, now shiny and combed through. As his hands examine the elaborate outfit, Andrew focuses on something other than magic.
“You said… I look h-handsome?”
Again, that sad smile crosses Specter’s face, though this time for a different reason. “Of course.” He says, stating it like it’s obvious. “You look quite nice. Not to say you don’t normally, of course. But isn’t it always more fun to pretend to be someone else?”
That gets a small hum of agreement from Andrew. He can feel Specter pressing against him as he stands behind Andrew, pointing out the details of the costume. The small dream-catcher, or the red pointer finger on his gloves. Andrew feels warm, both because of the nice jacket and from Specter’s body heat.
“I mean what I say, Andrew. You’re a handsome man, despite what you may think. People… they’re so quick to judge. They lie, they hurt… They say such awful things.”
There’s a beat of silence. Andrew wonders if maybe Specter is someone like him. Cast out and hated.
“But I know you don’t wish to hear me speak on the evils of humanity.”
Specter leans away from Andrew, walking towards the counter. “Now, without payment, I can’t let you leave like that. And I won’t ask you to pay what you cannot spare.”
There’s a pause and Andrew visibly wilts in the costume. He knew this was coming, but…
“Though you’re free to come into the back with me for tea? I won’t make you give it all up that quickly. ”
After a moment of thought, Andrew follows the man into the back of his store. Climbing the cemetery fence later was a fine price to pay for a friend.
A friend? The word catches in Andrew’s mind. No, he’s merely a customer in this mysterious man’s life. Nothing more. And yet, the man has invited him to the back, which appears to be his living quarters. There’s a small wood burning stove with chopped wood piled alongside it, as well as a pair of chairs positioned close by. The room is warmer than the store, and although it might be too hot for the regular person, both men seem to enjoy the cozy temperature. A table next to the stove is filled with letters, some spilling off the top and onto the ground. Specter nudges them underneath the table with his shoe. “Please, excuse the mess. I don’t get visitors very often.”
Andrew shakes his head. “I don’t mind at all… It’s a lovely home.” There’s a clink as a metal teapot is put on the woodstove and Specter busies himself with a pair of teacups. Andrew looks around the room as he does, unsure of whether he should make a conversation or leave the man alone.
Luckily, he doesn’t think too long, because Spector asks his tea preference (he has none) and the kettle sings, prompting the shopkeeper to lift the kettle and pour, handing Andrew a hot mug shortly after.
“I’m glad to have met you, Andrew Kreiss.” He says, startling Andrew out of the comfortable silence that had settled between them. “I think, had I met you any other day, we would not have gotten on quite as well.”
“What do you mean?” Andrew asks, head tilting to the side. He knows the Dealmaker is a kind man and has no doubts that he’s just as kind on any other day. Specter smiles sadly, turning his face down to stare into the teacup clasped between his hands.
“I’m not always tending the shop, unfortunately. This store, it’s only visible for a day each year. In my normal life, I’m a postman.” He gestures to the piles of letters strewn about the room. “And not a particularly talkative one, either. Otis is kind, he lets me man the store. One day of being someone so… loud. I can talk as much as I could want. It’s a freedom, being someone else. But it’s only one day… Otis has cursed me, but at the same time he has given me a gift I could never hope to repay.”
Specter looks up again, and Andrew can see that his eyes are wet. “I… I understand.” Andrew says, reaching a hand out to place it on the man’s leg in an attempt at comfort. He falters at the last moment, but Specter places his hand atop of Andrew’s and allows them both to rest atop his knee. “The people, they say I’m a monster. I’m bad luck, a c-curse.”
His voice cracks, ever-so-slightly, but Andrew continues, determined to finish. “But s-some people… They don’t believe that. My mother, she was nothing but kind to me. I’m working hard to help her rest well, now. Being someone else… It was my dream for a long time. Now that I am, even for a bit, going back seems awful.”
The two sit in silence for a long time, mulling over their words. Andrew breaks the silence.
“When you s-s-said I was... Ah, handsome? You’re the first person to say that since... my mother. Thank you.”
“I meant that you know,” Specter says, his thumb running over Andrew’s knuckles. “Just because you’ve taken on a new persona doesn’t mean you weren’t handsome before.”
He stands up, reaching over towards Andrew. Where he would have flinched before, he holds still, allowing the shopkeeper to run his fingers through his hair.
“See? Gorgeous.” He moves to trace his hand along Andrew’s jawline. “You’re strong too, Andrew. Not just physically. You’ve been through so much.”
The words stun Andrew, who is only able to sit there and let the man point out his features. He had never been strong, he’s been gangly, and freakish, but never strong. Never gorgeous. He can feel his eyes leak tears onto the leather coat he wears and frantically wipes them away. The Specter’s hand rubs his shoulder comfortingly as he gets himself back under control. He mutters his thanks to the man, embarrassed by his emotions. When he looks up, Specter presses a gentle kiss to his forehead. Red blooms across Andrew’s face at the gesture. His heart beats fast in his chest, like a bird, and he struggles to get himself back under control. He doesn’t say anything, he can’t, but that’s okay because Specter just smiles like he knows and leans back to sip his tea. He seems entirely unbothered by Andrew’s lack of action and allows the grave keeper time to process his thoughts. He sits there, watching the warm glow of the wood fire inside the oven until Andrew finally manages a sentence.
“I won’t see you again, will I?”
The words are stated plainly, but the sadness behind them is clear. And at that moment Andrew knows, this man, who showed him love after so long of going without, is going to leave. He has a life, a job, probably a family to go back to.
And Andrew has nothing.
Specter looks kind of shocked that this is the question that Andrew chooses to ask.
“Well...” Specter says, eyes downcast. “You won’t see me for the next year, at least. I don’t control the towns that the shop pops up in, but I don’t live in town either. There’s no way of knowing when we’ll see each other next.”
Andrew nods. He knew it was too good to be true. A night, one night, that’s all he has with the man who makes his head spin and his heart beat out of his chest. Perhaps he’s fallen a bit too quickly, the rational part of his brain knows that love takes time. But Specter’s presence is so warm and inviting, so kind, that he wishes he could spend all the time in the world with him.
“You can spend the night here though,” Specter says, tentatively. “And please, take this.”
He presses a letter into Andrew’s hands. “I have one too,” Specter says. “With the same wax crest. It’s invited me to a manor out in the countryside, although it’s far from my hometown and will be a hard journey for you as well… I’d like to see you there.”
Andrew cracks the seal, reading over the letter slowly. His eyes aren’t great, and neither is his literacy, but he can make out that indeed, his letter is an invitation as well. When he shares this with Specter, a wide smile spreads over the man’s face.
“I will see you there then, Andrew. Now, what do you say about a game of cards? A primer of sorts, to the game that comes in our future.”
The night is still young, and the two play for what feels like hours. After the games, they sit together in front of the fire, talking about their normal lives. Andrew learns that Specter has a dog waiting at home, and the man promises to introduce Wick to Andrew at the manor. Specter will occasionally rest his head against Andrew’s leather-clad shoulder, and Andrew will pretend not to notice how red it makes both of their faces, or how hard it makes his heart pound. He finds the sugar cookie from the baker in his pocket, split roughly down the middle in his haste to get away. He hands half to Specter, who accepts, but refuses to take the bigger piece.
The sun begins to kiss the horizon, and the two say their goodbyes, promising to meet up at the manor when the game is hosted. Andrew manages to hold himself together, the hope for the future keeping him from getting teary-eyed. He’s missed his shift at Lutz and will have to work in the daylight to compensate, but he doesn’t mind. Not when he’s traded time for something like this. When he arrives home, he finds the doll’s tiny golden pistol has been slipped into his pocket, along with a note. It’s not signed, but he knows who it’s from.
And when Andrew arrives at the manor months later, the first person he meets is the postman, Victor Grantz. He’s never met the man, and can’t understand the hand signs he directs towards the others, but Andrew is determined to learn. Especially after the man delivers a note beneath his door, and Andrew sees the familiar swooping calligraphy of Specter’s letter.