The Tale of the Twisted Toymaker, page 1
PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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ISBN 978-1-4197-6347-2
eISBN 979-8-88707-613-3
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Cover illustrations by Sam Wolfe Connelly Book design by Brann Garvey
Published in 2024 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS.
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To the many neighbors I had throughout the years who let me come over to watch Are You Afraid of the Dark? back when I didn’t have cable. I swear that wasn’t the only reason I hung out with you.
PROLOGUE
The cloying smells of vanilla and almond swirled around Addison’s tiny apartment kitchen. The windows were so fogged with heat from the oven that the glass looked white, but Addison didn’t have time to wrest them open. If she didn’t hurry, she was going to be late for her Midnight Society meeting.
She dashed from the stove to the counter to the fridge and back again, hands covered in sticky cookie dough, flour dusting her baggy jeans and thrift-store T-shirt. She was new to the Midnight Society, but even she knew that Reese, the head of the society, hated when people were late. And tonight was going to be Addison’s very first turn telling a story.
But Addison couldn’t show up empty-handed. She had planned to stop by her favorite bakery in town for a half dozen of their famous cupcakes, the ones frosted to look like zombies and vampires and mummies, but her mom vetoed that idea. Too expensive. She suggested Addison bake something instead.
But everything was going wrong.
Addison pulled another batch of ruined cookies out of the oven, and a cloud of smoke wafted out with them, making her cough. She slammed the oven door shut, her frustration rising.
Addison’s mom stopped at the kitchen door and wrinkled her nose. “What’s burning?”
Addison sighed. “Does it really smell that bad?”
“It doesn’t smell bad, just . . . burnt.” Her mom glanced at Addison as she moved the kettle to the back burner to start her tea. She was a neonatal nurse at St. Bernard’s Children’s Hospital. Twice a week she worked the night shift, which was why she was dressed in her favorite lemon-yellow scrubs and Dansko clogs, her fresh-from-the-shower hair knotted in a tight, no-nonsense bun on top of her head.
“Is the oven acting up again?” she asked.
“Are you surprised?” Addison muttered. She began shaping the cookies for her next batch. “Mom . . . I think we need some new baking sheets. These are as thin as paper. There’s no way to cook anything without burning it.”
“What if you tried putting the sheets on a higher rack?” her mom offered—a touch too cheerfully, in Addison’s opinion.
Addison glared at her. “I’ve already tried that. And before you ask, I’ve also tried lowering the heat and baking them for less time, and now I’m making bigger cookies. Nothing works.”
Her mom sighed. “I know it’s hard having to make do. Life would be a lot easier if we could just buy whatever we wanted.”
“It really would,” Addison mumbled, picturing a box of monster-frosted cupcakes fresh from the bakery. Was it so wrong to want something nice every once in a while? Her whole life, she was constantly reminded of all the things she couldn’t afford.
It had always been just Addison, her mom, and her nonna, but that had never bothered her before. She’d never actually wanted new clothes and shoes and stuff like that. As far as she was concerned, they already had everything they needed.
But that all changed earlier this year, when her nonna Francesca moved out of their spare bedroom and into an assisted living facility about twenty minutes away. Her mom had warned her that the place was expensive and money was going to be tight. Addison just hadn’t expected it to be this tight.
“I’m planning to pick up some extra shifts at the hospital this week,” her mom announced. The teakettle released a high-pitched whistle, and she plucked it off the back burner and began to pour steaming water into her to-go cup. “Maybe we can get some of those cupcakes for your friends in a week or two?”
Addison perked up. “Really? You mean it?”
“Maybe,” her mom said. She kissed Addison on the top of her head. “But honey, you know your friends are going to love you even if you bring them homemade cookies, right? People are more important than things.”
Addison smiled. “That’s what Nonna always says.”
“Well, your nonna’s a smart lady. It’s true.”
People are more important than things, Addison thought. All of a sudden, she straightened, her mind whirling. The saying had triggered something in her memory, a line from one of her all-time favorite scary stories. It was a story about a girl—one not so different from her, who was never satisfied with what she had—and a really creepy doll.
A shiver ran down Addison’s spine as she packed up the rest of the cookies. She’d been trying to come up with the perfect story all day, and now she was sure she had it. The Midnight Society was going to love this one . . .
With a final, reassuring squeeze from her mom, Addison hurried out into the chilly night, the cracked Tupperware of cookies tucked under one arm. Her apartment building towered behind her, blocking the silvery light of the moon. She hurried down the familiar path toward the woods, sneakers crunching on gravel. An owl hooted. Wind rustled through the trees. Addison’s heartbeat quickened, and she smiled a little wider.
She loved being scared.
The woods loomed ahead, the trees standing tall, creating thick shadows below. Addison ducked under a low branch, her breath clouding the air as she moved deeper into the forest. The tree trunks were gnarled and twisted, their branches reaching out as if trying to grasp her. Addison walked even faster. It had been like this at every single Midnight Society meeting she’d been to so far. Creepy. Dark. She loved it. She could practically feel the excitement humming in the air.
Gradually, the flickering light of a campfire came into view. The glow danced against the surrounding darkness, casting long shadows that played tricks on her eyes. Addison could see the outlines of her new friends all huddled around the fire, their faces glowing in the soft light. As she stepped into the circle, a chorus of greetings welcomed her.
“Addison! Over here!” Xavier called, patting the empty log next to him. His sketchbook was open on his lap, and Addison could make out a detailed drawing of what looked like a two-faced monster.
“Is that a Kuchisake-onna or a Mulher de Branco?” she asked, dropping onto the log beside him. Xavier chuckled, brushing back a lock of hair from his face.
“Can’t a guy just draw a regular monster without it being folklore-inspired?” he teased, but the twitch at the corner of his smile told her she was probably right. Xavier loved folklore. He always seemed to be sketching some monster he’d read about in one of his dusty old books.
Xavier’s younger sister, Zoe, sat next to him, her tiny form bundled in a thick coat. And Blake, the resident sports enthusiast, was across from her, poking at the fire with a twig. He looked up at Addison’s arrival, a friendly smile on his face.
Next to Blake was Reese, engrossed in a thick, antique-looking book. The golden light from the fire highlighted the delicate lines of Chinese characters on the page. Reese’s passion for old traditions and ghost stories was the backbone of the Midnight Society. Addison knew it was why they’d started the club in the first place. And across the log from her sat Levi, the only other member as new to the group as she was, his guitar propped against his knee.
A gust of wind rustled the leaves overhead, scattering embers into the inky night. The comforting aroma of smoke mixed with the earthy scent of the woods. Addison breathed deeply. She loved that smell.
“Hey, guys,” she said, clearing her throat. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Three minutes late,” Reese pointed out, raising their eyebrows.
“I know, I know,” Addison said. “But I wanted my first-ever story for you to be perfect. And this one is going to give you all some serious nightmares.”
She cast a glance around the circle, taking in each of her friends’ faces illuminated by the flickering firelight. One by one, they all leaned in a little closer, their eagerness almost tangible.
Okay, this is it, Addison told herself. She placed her hand into the Midnight Society sack and withdrew a handful of midnight dust. As w
The flames sparked and turned a deep, rich amber. All around the fire, everyone had gone perfectly quiet. Waiting.
“In the heart of our town, there used to be a doll store. I bet some of you even remember it from when you were really little,” Addison began, slowly peering around the circle to look each of her friends in the eye. “It was called Ms. Mabel’s Doll Emporium. You know the one. It was tucked down that old cobblestone alley, an innocent-looking store with ornate floral wallpaper, antique fixtures, and rows upon rows of the most enchanting porcelain dolls you ever saw.
“But what you might not know is that Ms. Mabel had a dark, twisted secret.”
The flames of the fire flickered higher, casting eerie shadows on the surrounding trees. The crickets in the forest seemed to hush as the story began to unfold, as if they too were listening.
Addison paused for effect, her eyes dancing around the circle, locking on to her friends’ wide-eyed expressions. She relished the moment, the anticipation hanging thick in the air.
“Tonight,” she finally said, “I present . . .”
CHAPTER ONE
The doll shop was tucked down a narrow alley lined with gas lamps, the streets made of crumbling cobblestones. Fluted Victorian columns framed an oversize door, its glossy black paint so deep and dark it seemed to swallow the early morning sunlight.
A sign that read MS. MABEL’S DOLL EMPORIUM creaked in the wind. One of the clasps holding the sign had snapped and now the sign hung crooked, which made it look like all the ornate golden letters were about to slide off the end and crash right onto the sidewalk.
Fourteen-year-old Layla Griffith stared at the doll shop sign, a slight smile on her lips. She moved her gaze to the floor-to-ceiling display window, where row upon row of dolls peered out at her through the glass. She must’ve walked past this window dozens, if not hundreds, of times before, but she’d never really studied the dolls’ intricately styled hair, their unblinking eyes, the little curls of their smiles, like they had a secret they wanted to share with her, if only she’d lean just a little closer . . .
All the other shops in town were new and brightly lit. This place was different. It had character.
“Layla? Are we going inside?” Her little sister, Emily, asked.
“I can’t tell if it’s open,” Layla said, taking a sip from her thermos. She’d been drinking hot tea and lemon obsessively ever since one of the older members of her new a cappella group, Free Verse, told her it was a good way to protect her voice. She’d even started to like the taste. The bitter, bracing flavor of the lemon really woke her up, and the herbal tea made her feel all cozy inside.
She leaned closer to the glass. She often walked down this block on her way home from the bus stop or the corner store where she and Emily sometimes stopped to buy sour gummies. She couldn’t remember how many times she’d fantasized about actually going into the strange, beautiful shop and picking out a doll of her very own.
“Layla?” Emily tugged on her shirt. At eight years old, Emily looked like Layla in miniature. She had the same long brown hair that was so dark it appeared black in a certain light, the same big green eyes, full round face, and chubby cheeks. But, unlike Layla, Emily had a thick dusting of freckles across her nose, and a large gap between her two front teeth that made her look like a jack-o’-lantern.
Layla reached for the brass doorknob. “Last chance. Are you sure this is the toy you really want?”
Emily nodded, excited. It’d been her eighth birthday last Friday, but she hadn’t gotten a lot of presents because their mom was working less these days. Instead of taking more hours at the Little Learners preschool—where she’d been a teacher ever since Layla and Emily had attended themselves—she was taking an extra course over the summer so she could finish college a semester early and get her teaching certificate for older grade levels before the beginning of the next school year. It meant money was really tight right then. Layla had even overheard their mom pull Emily aside a few days before her birthday and warn her not to expect too much this year, that they all had to make sacrifices. Emily had flashed a brave smile and said it was okay, that she didn’t need anything, but Layla could tell Emily was disappointed. Anyone would be disappointed not to get presents for their birthday.
Luckily, for the last year, Layla had been saving all the money she’d earned from babysitting her next-door neighbor’s five-year-old twins, Gretchen and Henry. She’d been planning to buy something for herself, maybe a pair of Doc Martens—specifically the cute, Mary Jane style—like all the other girls in Free Verse wore. Or she could upgrade her ancient cell phone, or sign up for voice lessons . . . the list of things she wanted was endless. But turning eight was a big deal. Emily deserved something special. So this morning, Layla told Emily she was going to get her whatever she wanted. And Emily had announced that the thing she wanted most of all was a new doll from Ms. Mabel’s Doll Emporium.
The only problem was that those dolls were expensive. Buying one was going to drain her savings. Layla would have to pick up a few extra babysitting shifts if she was going to be able to afford the performance dress she needed for Free Verse.
“Remember how your old friend Quinn used to let me comb her Ms. Mabel’s doll’s hair sometimes?” Emily reminded Layla, practically jumping up and down with excitement. Emily wasn’t someone who could easily hide her feelings. When she was excited, she didn’t stand still but wiggled and jumped and danced around. Layla felt exhausted just watching her.
“Quinn’s doll was so so so pretty,” Emily said now. She spun in place and then hopped around on one foot before turning back to Layla to add, “You remember her doll, don’t you, Layla?”
“Uh, yeah, sure. Of course I do,” Layla said, forcing a smile. Thinking of her old best friend was bittersweet. She thought of the day Quinn had first gotten her Ms. Mabel’s doll. Layla could still remember how she’d obsessed over it, gazing at it like she was hypnotized, wanting to study every detail. Layla would call her name over and over, but it was almost like Quinn couldn’t hear her.
Quinn used to carry the doll with her everywhere and snap at anyone who tried to pick it up or even move it. It was sort of funny that Emily remembered brushing the doll’s hair. Layla couldn’t remember Quinn letting anyone else touch it.
“Emily, are you sure you don’t want to get a newer toy?”
The store was still beautiful, but it was starting to look a little run-down, as if it hadn’t seen a new customer in months. Maybe even years. It wasn’t just the crooked sign. Thick cobwebs stretched across the top corners of the entryway, and a layer of dust coated the doorknob.
Ms. Mabel must be getting old, Layla thought, sadly. It was probably a lot of work keeping up a store like this.
“No,” Emily said, tugging Layla toward the door. “This is the toy I want, I’m totally sure.”
Emily’s jack-o’-lantern smile was absolutely ridiculous. Layla couldn’t help smiling back. She grabbed Emily’s hand, squeezing. “You ready?”
“So ready!” Emily chirped.
Flashing her a smile, Layla turned the dusty doorknob.
Hinges creaked as the two girls stepped into the shop, their footsteps echoing off the cracked black-and-white tile. Layla stared in awe. The shop was otherworldly, a forest of glass eyes reflecting the light trickling in through the dusty, stained-glass windows. Even the air felt different. It was heavy and warm, like a thick blanket, and tinted red and yellow and green from the sunlight streaming in through the multicolored glass. It smelled like old wood and dust.
Layla looked around, taking in the walnut bookcases that stretched up toward the ceiling, the hundreds of dolls crowded onto every shelf, the rolling ladders and ornate damask wallpaper. It was like a shop from a storybook.
“Whoa.” Emily breathed. “It’s so beautiful in here.”
“Yeah,” Layla agreed. But she couldn’t help noticing how chipped all the bookshelves were and that the fancy wallpaper was peeling away from the corner near the ceiling.
The dolls themselves seemed different from how Layla remembered them, too. Granted, she hadn’t thought much about the Ms. Mabel’s dolls since she was in elementary school, but she didn’t remember them seeming so eerily lifelike. Their porcelain legs dangled from the shelves, their painted smiles stretched wide across their faces, and their eyes were positioned ever so slightly too close together. Layla’s skin tingled as she made her way past them. It felt like those eyes were following her.
