At exactly six o’clock that morning, the lights inside the shop flicked on.
Whilst tying the apron that acted as his self-appointed work uniform around himself, the craftsman walked through the curtained doorframe that separated the residential side of the building from the front. His heavy-soled shoes clacked across the hardwood floors as the burly man passed by shelves upon shelves of his beloved creations; ranging from entire houses to individually carved chairs and teacups.
And yet, out of every miniature the man had ever constructed, there was one shelf in that shop that he made sure to check on each and every morning. It was a favorite, per say, though it notably was not his, nor his customers.
Like clockwork, he approached the aforementioned shelf, eyeing the most recent pieces up and down in a mental game of spot the difference. The amount of squinting being done required him to readjust his glasses a few times as they attempted to escape down the bridge of his nose, but it had all been worth it. Because what he seemed to witness so often lately never failed to bring a warm feeling to his chest and bright smile to his face.
On the third shelf up from the bottom, the slide he’d placed down just last week had since been worn down the middle, where its blue color became noticeably lighter. There were also metal scratches around the knotches where the swing set’s chains had been attached, the kind you get from doing just that—swinging back and forth on it. Other pieces of equipment had been altered in much the same way; items not left in the same place he’d put them, springs worn and ropes run taut.
The leftmost swing set, most of all, appeared to have significantly more wear and tear on it than the others he had attempted to build. Notably, it was the only one suspended by braided twine ‘rope’ instead of the usual metal chains used for jewelry and the like.
Despite having been involved in this particular craft for over a decade, there were about as many new things to learn as there were objects in the world, thus there was always something the craftsman did not quite know how to make. Playgrounds and toys were undeniably on that list when this whole affair had started some weeks ago, and it had certainly been… something of a wake-up call, to put it mildly.
He made a mental note to himself to use more braided twine from now on. Perhaps he’d even try purchasing some colored variations. Kiddos enjoyed colorful things, didn’t they? He could only hope the same applied to presumably non-human children as well, as the man wrapped up his investigation with a quick dusting off of his hands still in the quiet hours of the morning, long before the shop had to open.
He already knew today was going to be a slow day. The shop area was small, located along a length of several others all packed together like sardines. Not to mention his craft was certainly not an ordinary one, and so the bulk of purchases he received were typically specialized orders rather than the typical walk-in customer.
Nevertheless, the craftsman had become newly aware that he was hardly ever alone in the shop. Just as well as he’d deduced that this was information which he should not have been privy to. If the way they ran and hid in his presence was any indication. Then again, the man could hardly bring himself to call them ‘subtle’ in their attempt to hide their presence from him. Ah, kids.
He was just about to rise to a stand from his admittedly awkward crouch, when all of a sudden, something unfamiliar caught the man’s attention. Obscured underneath one of the bench seats, which was such a tight spot that he genuinely had to go wander in the back for a moment to grab himself a spare pair of tweezers, was a pink ribbon. The sort of thing worn in somebody’s hair, and yet—“good lord,” he breathed—the thing was smaller than his thumbnail.
After a second or two, the initial wide-eyed realization had softened into a tender sense of recognition; any remaining tension leaving him through a small, humored sigh. Then, with the same amount of care taken to retrieve it, the craftsman wordlessly placed the lost item on top of the bench it had fallen under, with the hope that whoever it belonged to would have an easier time finding it that way.
It wasn’t as though he intended to catch them in the act, or meet these tiny, young, mysterious admirers of his creations. To be completely honest, their enjoyment of his work gave the man about as much joy as he reckoned it made them. What a gift it was to know that this silly hobby-turned-career of his was indeed making someone else happy, and how incredibly lucky he was to have such direct feedback on his work.
In some ways, he had begun feeling like a younger man himself, dreaming up colors and playing around with new ideas in his head. The latest on his mind was the idea of trying to recreate a functioning merry-go-round in miniature, which he’d been thinking about basing off one from his own childhood, like so many of the other playground pieces were. Thing was, the physics required to achieve that level of mobility was, as of yet, entirely out of his wheelhouse.
Fortunately, the craftsman knew just who to call in times like these.
Calloused fingers drummed mindlessly on the glass surface of the front counter, where the apron-adorned figure sat leaned back in a chair his own size with the shop phone hugged up against his ear. With each passing ring, more details stood out in his mind regarding things he might need to add to this current project or tweak in some the older ones according to the ‘feedback’ he’d received last night.
Finally, the line clicked, the voice of a very tired and surely yet-to-be-caffeinated woman chiming in. “Mornin’, Lenny,” she yawned. “This another question about your seesaws?”
The smell of fresh baked goods had been drifting in from the shop next door for several hours at this point, so he figured she must’ve gotten up even earlier than he had to prepare for morning rush.
He fumbled awkwardly with the phone a moment, the beginnings of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Ah— no, actually, those turned out fine. Thanks again for the assist, by the way.” It was the best he could admit to without openly confessing that his mysterious new customers hadn’t been interested in that particular build at all. He tried not to let the disheartened tone in his voice show through before continuing.
“I wanted to ask you about spinners. Have you got a minute?”
There was an audible sigh on the other end, sounding a bit more fond than exhausted. “Of course you do. And yah, I have got, just ask away. Wait, actually—“ she cut him off before he could speak, her voice lowering and growing hushed, acting as though she were about to breach a potentially sensitive subject.
“What’s with the sudden obsession with playground equipment?” She caved. “I mean, I’ve known ya to go through a phase or two, but this is serious if you’re willin’ to listen to me yap about pivots and motion for the better half of an hour.”
“Now hold on,” he chuckled to himself, “I asked for a minute, not an hour. But yes, I suppose I…” the craftsman found himself trailing off, his thoughts drifting to the lost ribbon he had held so briefly in his hand. “I just felt they were necessary to build,” he answered after a pause, shrugging his shoulders casually before realizing the other person couldn’t see him.
This, apparently, was not as satisfying a response as the baker was hoping for. He could practically hear her pinching her forehead together through the speaker. “Whatever you say, Len,” she then leisurely agreed, clearly unconvinced but willing to let her curiosity go for now.
“Thanks, Cheri,” he hummed sweetly back at her. “Now, spinners: how do they make ‘em?”
The phone call had been immeasurably helpful, and the craftsman had taken to work as soon as it was over. Meanwhile, the miniatures shop had opened and closed with about the anticipated amount of customers, though an order or two had been placed later in the evening that he would have to get an early start on that night to be ready in time for tomorrow’s pickup.
Undeterred by any of such paying customers, the man was far too excited to ‘test out’ his new creation, and thus opted to take his work upstairs for the night, flicking the lights off as usual as he finished locking the place up. Wishful thinking told him that this one would turn out a lot better than the seesaw had.
With one last peek at the shelf, assuring that everything there had been neatly arranged, the craftsman hung up his apron and disappeared behind the curtained door from which he came in, his shoes clacking up the stairs noisily until the kids were certain he was gone.
That’s when they went in.
“Shh!” One kid, no more than eight or nine years old, urged to her friend with a finger shoved harshly to her lips. “You don’t want our parents catching us, do you, Simon?!”
The small light attached to her hip bounced and spun with the girl’s energetic movements as the group made their way through the pitch dark corridor of the walls. It wouldn’t be much longer until this lesser-traveled path led them toward a slight crack in the walls, just the right height and width for a person no greater than four or so inches to pass through.
“Nuh-uh!” Simon muttered back, crossing his arms over his chest with a huff. Then remarking under his breath, “…I’m not the one who left something behind, anyway…”
The girl gasped in shock, a hand placed dramatically against her chest as if to illustrate the figurative stab to her heart. “Oh my god I am so going to murder you!” She faux-whispered through a set of gritted teeth. “For real!”
“Both of you are going to wind up killed by that human if you don’t stay quiet,” another girl, the oldest of the group at a proud twelve years of age, silenced the two bickering kids. “And aren’t you supposed to be leading the way, Vi? Do you want me to take the—“
Instinctively, Violet whipped the light out of the older girl’s reach, turning to walk backwards just to cast her a pouting glare. “No way! You said I could take it this time, so I’m taking it. Back off,” she finished with a second flourished spin, facing the front again before running up ahead of the group.
With a half tired, half annoyed sigh, she felt a light tug at the hem of her shirt. Beside her stood her younger brother, practically adjoined to her hip, who their parents were actively convinced she was simply ‘watching’ at home while they were off on a borrowing trip elsewhere in the adjoining bakery.
“Emmie?” He whispered timidly up at her. “Is there really a human out there?”
The six year old’s round brown eyes were wide with worry, being at an age where the most he’d heard of humans were the stories and cautionary tales their parents had told him. Without missing a beat, his sister promptly ruffled his hair in her palm, causing his hand to retract and the front to fall messily into his eyes; blowing it away from his face as he continued to peer up at her.
“Obviously not,” she declared, a bit too confidently for her own liking. Not that she would let that part show. “Why else do you think we go this late? It’s so we don’t run into any nasty, evil humans.”
Her brother shrugged once, followed by an incoherent noise of “I’unno” while his gaze shifted back down to the floor. The kid began fidgeting nervously with his hands. “Isn’t it weird that there’s a whole playground for borrowers lying around, then?”
Emmie blinked in surprise, her pace slowing just enough that someone further up ahead turned to glance at her, ushering her forward again. “Uhh, well… yeah,” she admitted, both to herself and to him. “It is weird. Guess it’s lucky we discovered it then, right?”
With that, Violet’s light vanished ahead of them into the crack in the wall, signaling to the rest of the group that they’d arrived at last.
The very first thing that caught pretty much everyone’s attention upon exiting the walls was the strange, brand new structure sitting idly just a few feet away. Immediately, three or more kids ran off to go try it, already arguing on the way about how the thing might work.
Violet, on the other hand, wore a stunned expression on her face for an entirely different reason.
“My ribbon!” She exclaimed, an air of confusion evident even in her overwhelming relief. Dropping the light on the ground with a distant “hey!” from Emmie, the younger girl jogged straight up to the bench she’d been sitting on last night.
All at once she recounted the chill that had gone down her spine once Simon pointed out to her that her favorite hair ribbon was missing. The scolding from Emmie, the crying to her parents, the lying about where she might’ve dropped it and the dread that she had probably doomed their secret nighty recesses forever.
Yet tonight, there it was, as perfectly unharmed as they all were. She wanted to squeal with happiness and tear up all over again.
Quicker than anything, Violet tied the pink hairpiece back into her long, auburn colored hair, feeling the familiar weight of it with a smile that could outmatch the sun.
“See?” Some older kid called to her from close by, though she was far too busy smiling to herself to care who it was. “Told you it wasn’t gone forever.” Their voice grew farther away as they added, “why don’t you come try out the new spinny thing with us?!”
Instead, Violet plopped herself down onto the bench seat, swinging her legs out in front of her to emphasize her unwillingness to move. “No thank you, I’m good,” she replied, still grinning brightly as the kid left with a soft grunt of acceptance and hurried off to the slide.
Tonight, she was feeling far too relieved to have to lie to her parents again. Maybe she’d tell them simply that she found it exactly where she lost it. They’d probably roll their eyes and chide her about not being careful, or tell another tragic tale about the dangerous humans that stalked outside the walls.
But Violet knew better, she figured. Because late last night the girl had bolted upright in her bed, remembering exactly where she’d left the thing and feeling incredibly guilty over having possibly condemned her and everyone else’s families to a death so alike those tragic tales she’d heard.
Until a human, of all things, had given it back to her; put it right in her line of sight where they knew she would spot it. Something that made her curiosities absolutely soar.
With the whole world on her mind, Violet watched the show. A kid even younger than Emmie’s little brother had been placed in the center of the newest structure, while three of the older kids spun them around, chanting their name through bursts of playfully mischievous laughter. “I-an, I-an, I-an,” until the kid grew dizzy and had to get off.
“How fast do you think this’ll go?”
“Hey, give that back, it was mine first—“
Young, squeaky voices layered over one another, giggling and squealing with their very best ‘quiet voices’ on, all the while the craftsman upstairs was busy pretending not to notice the commotion in the slightest.
