I own a boutique that offers full body transformations to customers in need of a new identity. [Final]

Hello and welcome again, my friends, to Fran Hart?s Fabulous Frocks and Happy Haberdashery!! I hope you?ve had a nice couple weeks since we last met; I?ve missed you all dearly. Ren and I have been working our fingers to the bone putting out some new summer styles ? the floor is fully stocked with brights and florals, linens and chambrays, sundresses and chino trousers? and Ren?s just finished the cutest set of tropical fish cufflinks!
Now, I had an incredibly moving tale all written up and ready to share with you but was asked to keep quiet on it for now? so don?t be surprised if you hear about me elsewhere in the near future! That?s all fine, though, because friends? do I have a story for you today. I admit I might not come out looking as refined as I strive to be, but I can only hope y?all will understand me and my reasoning.
Ren had just finished dusting and straightening up the jewelry display yesterday when a customer triggered the bell on the front door. I opened my mouth to shoo her ? the sign was turned to ?Ah, frock! We?re closed!? ? but I guess I forgot to lock the damn door. However, I stopped myself as soon as I caught sight of the woman who had entered the shop. A chill went up and down my spine as she occupied herself with a white sundress ? square neckline, broderie, midi length, decorative buttons down the front, very cute; but I digress.
After she?d idly examined the dress, she wandered up to the counter, appearing a bit confused; anxious. The woman was similar to me in age ? early- to mid-thirties ? and had her auburn hair pulled up into a loose ponytail. A permanent look of exhaustion had fixed itself upon her face, the fatigue reflected in her choice of clothing ? yoga pants and a loose tee advertising some school fundraiser she?d probably spearheaded.
Despite her seemingly innocuous appearance, something that I can?t quite explain now told me this was someone dangerous, someone who had a story to tell that would send anyone?s blood running cold. I waved Ren upstairs with one hand. Although by now Ren has sat in on several consultations ? even asking some of her own poignant questions ? and most all of the fittings, I didn?t want her to be exposed to the worst of the worst just yet.
?Are you??? the customer muttered meekly as Ren exited the shop, locking the door behind her. ?Are you Fran Hart??
?Well, depends on who?s asking!? I answered, laughing as I added, ?how can I help you, love??
?Uhm, I?m interested in a custom fitting,? she requested furtively, tone hushed despite the complete lack of customers? the ones who?d paid attention to the sign on the door.
?Absolutely,? I replied, sweeping back the black curtain and ushering her through to the back.
We both took our respective seats, and I explained the terms of the sale to her in no uncertain terms. Once she?d agreed, I settled into my chair, notepad laid in my lap, prepared to start the consultation.
?Okay, dear, start us off ? what brings you in today??
The woman breathed a heavy sigh, glancing up as if to look directly into her mind for the right words. ?Well? I, uhm, I recently? I lost my son,? she began, wide green eyes already welling with tears. She sniffed loudly. ?I got pregnant pretty young; I had him when I was twenty. His dad didn?t stick around, so it?s always been just the two of us.?
?I?m so sorry for your loss,? I offered solemnly. I couldn?t imagine losing Ren, and I?ve only had her in my care for a few years. ?If you don?t mind me asking, what? what happened??
She glanced both ways nervously before whispering, ?there?s? uhm? there?s something wrong with my house.?
Lifting an eyebrow, I asked simply, ?oh??
?Yes? I got the house as a gift from my parents when my son was maybe five or six. It?s nothing big or fancy, but they were tired of seeing us in a tiny apartment,? she explained before drooping her head. ?If I?d have known, though, what that house had in store for us ? for him ? I never would?ve accepted it. From the time we moved in, I knew it was haunted.?
I shuddered at the thought; there are few things in the world that Fran Hart is truly afraid of ? ghosts are certainly one of them. ?What kind of spirit were you dealing with??
Pulling the elastic from her hair, she let her loose waves fall to her shoulders before gathering her tresses back up to redo her ponytail, chuckling anxiously. ?Often, I?d startle awake in the middle of the night to the sound of soft footsteps wandering the hallways? the first few times, I was too scared to check. Worry for my son, though, forced me to confront the strange intruder; and, well? it was a little girl.
?At first I thought it might be my son?s schoolfriend Annaliese ? she had a dress remarkably similar to the little ghost girl?s. But the hair was different, and she was just walking around as if it was her own home. I thought, maybe it was her home in a past life. As soon as she noticed my presence, however, she fled? disappeared into the night.?
Nodding, I interjected, ?as ghosts are wont to do.? I count myself lucky for not having to experience a ghastly encounter myself; I swear I?d jump right out of my skin! Although frightened to hear whatever was to come next, I still urged her on.
?She stopped appearing for a while after that; I thought I was rid of her for good. Months later, though, I woke up again to those tiny little footfalls again ? it was the same girl,? she explained, tightening her ponytail. ?I brought it up with my son; not wanting to scare him, I asked if he?d snuck over any of his little girlfriends for sleepovers? he denied it, of course ? he was a good boy? but he hadn?t seen her. He was always fast asleep, of course.?
I realized I?d been so frightened up until that point that I?d hardly taken any notes; I took her brief silence as an opportunity to catch up. ?Did she ever go away??
Bobbing her head from side to side, she pulled her lips into a tight line. ?Never fully, but there?d be periods of time where she?d leave us alone, and other times when she?d show up more often. I honestly started to just ignore her ? she seemed harmless enough, maybe she was just? confused. I realize now, though, that my surveillance of her was the only thing keeping her from? from latching onto my son.?
?How? how so?? I inquired with a deep frown.
Tears collected in her eyes as she undid and retied her hair up again; must have been an anxious habit. ?My son started? changing. As a teenager, he was so? so sad; he slept all day, lost interest in church completely? He?d often get irritated, yelling nonsense at me, then it?s like a switch would flip and he?d be sobbing about this thing inside of him that he couldn?t find the words to explain? I told him he could tell me anything, but he insisted I wouldn?t understand.
?Many would write this off as teen angst, but it was more than that. I began to suspect the little girl?s spirit was affecting him, though such a thought was ungodly. So, the next time I was awoken by the sound of footsteps, I crept out of my room and into the hall? to my horror, all of my suspicions were confirmed.?
A lump grew in my throat and my palms started to sweat; I attempted to busy myself with furiously scribbling down notes, but the pen was slippery in my grasp.
?My son, my beautiful boy,? she moaned as tears began to streak her face. ?He had been taken over completely by the spirit ? I didn?t see a little girl aimlessly wandering the halls; I saw my son in a dress, wearing a cheap wig. He froze as soon as he caught sight of me? I rushed over to him and attempted to frighten the ghost out.
?I was scared of the ghost, but I was more scared of losing my son? of my son becoming whatever thing I saw that night. I grabbed him by the arms and held him still as I berated him, speaking to the blasphemy of a man costuming as a woman, of going against God by rejecting the body He?d given you. A moment of clarity came over him, and I assumed it worked because he just said? I?m sorry, mom, and wandered back into his room.?
My heart somehow sank while simultaneously racing, afraid of what would come next.
The woman tugged a tissue from the box on the table, dabbing under her eyes carefully as to not disturb her makeup. ?I woke up feeling refreshed? I thought my son would be back to his normal self, seeing as the ghost had released him. I knocked on his door to wake him and got no response; normally I could expect an exhausted groan, or an angry leave me alone, ma!!, but there was? nothing. Worried, I pushed his door open and he wasn?t in bed?
?No, he was in the closet, still dressed in? women?s clothes? and he was dead,? she breathed, shaking her head in disbelief, her gaze hollow and detached. ?He?d left a note; an apology for lying to me for so many years. He said there?d never been a ghost girl, that it?d always been him being his? true self. That he?d tried to ask for help but I never listened, that he couldn?t tell me exactly what was going on for fear of how I?d react. And now that his worst fears were confirmed, he couldn?t see himself going on?
?And this is why I came to you today? because I lost my son ? not just when he died, but so, so many years ago when he chose to defy God. Word is starting to get out and I can just feel all of the other moms whispering behind my back? I need to start over. I need a new identity ? please, Fran, please help me.?
I clicked my pen closed and folded my hands in my lap. ?And that?s all, my dear??
She nodded mutely.
?I got just the thing.?
I pulled a look that?d been tucked away in the deepest corner of the closet for nearly two decades, one I thought I?d never reassign. The process went without much complication, and I drew the blindfold over her eyes as soon as she?d been refitted. When she came to, I led her to the mirror for the grand reveal.
As the blindfold hit the floor, she gasped in horror at her new look ? one that appeared to be that of an eighteen-year-old boy. Though the previous owner was quite tall, I must admit the skin was a bit small for her. The seams had failed to close completely over her chest and hips, gaping and bulging grotesquely to expose the deeper layers ? the darker dermis with its network of nerves and blood vessels, the subcutaneous pockets of greasy yellow fat cells.
Although initially too startled to form words, she finally opened her mouth to start, ?S-?
?No!? I bellowed, clapping a hand firm over her mouth. ?You do not get to say that name.?
I breathed in sharply to steady my nerves, squaring my stance against hers so I could gaze down directly into her panicked eyes. ?It?s my turn to tell you a story, now,? I declared, blinking rapidly to fight off the tears I feared would come. I didn?t trust her to listen, so I kept my hand right where it was. ?I want you to imagine that you?ve never felt at home in your body. I want you to take the pain and suffering you may feel right now, and I want you to imagine feeling that way for your entire life.
?That was how I lived? how your daughter lived. I lived in confusion and fear, thinking there must be something wrong with me, simply because the inside of me didn?t match the outside. I fought it off for a long while, though I was always feminine. I was even bullied for it ? relentlessly ? most of all by you, Chloe.?
A hint of recognition flickered in her eye as she realized the skin she wore once belonged to me. She attempted to fight back ? I must admit I was afraid then, afraid of my bully. Luckily, she was still woozy from the sedative and only succeeded in stumbling; I took hold of one of her arms to keep her upright.
?In my last year of high school, I decided I wanted to be a seamstress? knowing this would only escalate the teasing, I kept it a secret. I learned all I know about sewing and design from the previous owner of this here shop,? I explained, a deep feeling of nostalgia piercing my gut as I recalled her ? Madam Mercy Abbott, the eccentric yet kind and gentle woman who took me under her wing. ?I?d almost made it out of high school alive ? broken inside but alive ? when you followed me here after school one day.
?And then, the next day you brought your posse, cornered me in an alley and beat me so severely I nearly lost my life just as it was about to truly begin. Your friends tried to stop you eventually, but you were so spiteful that you ? you just couldn?t.?
My breaths came shallow and unsatisfying as I fearfully recounted the assault I?d faced, shaking my head at her baseless hatred. ?I was lucky to survive by dragging myself on hands and knees the remaining distance? I collapsed behind the shop, where Madam Mercy found me. Only then would I come to understand what the back room of the store held, the nature of her custom fittings. She fixed me up with her tools, then put me under without explanation ? I trusted her, because she was the only person I could trust. I woke up in this beautiful, wonderful, new look.?
To this day, I still gaze upon my appearance with gratitude. I admire my full figure ? the curves of my waist, my stomach, my legs, my chest; I appreciate my thick raven hair, my heart-shaped face, my plump lips, my bright jade eyes, even the little gap between my front teeth.
?I didn?t even have to tell her who I was inside; she just ? she just knew?? I breathed. ?She knew my secret, the one I whispered to only myself when I gathered up the courage to try on my mother?s makeup, to slip on her heels? the secret I whispered to myself as I saw my true self beginning to emerge in my reflection, the secret I whispered to myself first with shame, then with an overwhelming giddiness as I introduced me to myself for the first time? Fran.?
After all of these years, I?ve learned that appearance is only skin-deep, I can recall Madam Mercy cooing as she revealed my new look with pride. I?ve learned to look deeper, to see people as they are within? and inside, you are just like me.
My tone began to waver as I added, ?I?ve always been Fran ? I was never that boy you ridiculed? and you never had a son. You had a daughter; the only ghost in that house was the idea of a son that you refused to let go. I only wish I could?ve gotten to her before you did.?
I dropped my hand from her mouth, letting my arm fall slack against my side. ?Don?t you see it, Chloe? Now you?re in the wrong body? do you still know who you are??
?God help me,? she groaned, peering around my shoulder at her reflection. ?God help me, that my son would end up a pervert like you, S-?
That was all I needed to hear. I pulled my knife from the pocket of my dress and drove it into the side of her neck, halting her speech before that last, horrific word fell from her lips. As I released my hold on her arm, she toppled onto her back onto the floor, bleeding out.
I realize many of you may react negatively to me or what I?ve done now, and I? well, I accept that. However hurtful it might be, I?m used to being questioned on the basis of who I am. All that matters now is that I know myself? even before Madam Mercy refitted me, I already knew and loved Fran, because I have always been ? will always be ? her.
And listen ? I don?t condone murder, but she?d nearly taken my life in more ways than one. Sure, she left me for dead that day, but mostly it was her continued denial of my personhood that could have ended my life all those years ago? and tragically, it took her daughter?s life.
It was a hasty decision to kill Chloe, so I hope you understand why I need to keep a low profile for a while. I might pop back in sometime in the future, but for now? I?m flying under the radar. Hope to see you soon, my friends. If you?re ever in town, make sure to visit me here at Fran Hart?s Fabulous Frocks and Happy Haberdashery - the boutique where you won't necessarily get what you want, but you'll always get what you need.
And sometimes ? just sometimes ? you get what you deserve.
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