A Suit To Die For

"A Suit to Die For" is a flash fiction story with some fun point-of-view changes and some experimental formatting. Content warning for slight horror and definite death.

The studio consisted of one large front window, where Margaret put her most prized designs on mannequins; a few dress forms in seemingly random places with unfinished work on them; and a drafting desk towards the back, under a window. Her desk was messy, chaotic even, but such was typical for her line of work. Half-finished sketches lay strewn about, some were even pinned to the wall, with the most organized bit of the desk being the glass-jar-turned-pencil-holder that sat in the corner.

I’ve got to tell you the truth here. Margaret (lovingly called Margo by her mother) wasn’t a very good fashion designer. Her clothes could be described as “bland”, “plain”, or even “boring”. Honestly, people should be grateful for normalcy, but that’s besides the point, because Margaret wasn’t normal. 

Now I’m going to tell you about the funeral parlor next door, and maybe you’ll understand why I say that.

Eddie, Ed, Edward. He didn’t really care what you called him, and in fact, he’d pretty much respond to anything that started with “Ed” (Edgy comes to mind, as does Edema, although the latter was not a favorable nickname). In his line of work, the people that mattered most were the ones that wouldn’t be calling you anything.

Ed’s business had been proudly serving families in the area since 1979, and when Margaret moved in next door several decades later, Ed hardly paid any attention. She was just going to be another short-lived tenant, he was sure of it.

It wasn’t until after the funeral parlor made headlines that he came knocking on her studio door one night, furious.

“What did you do with him?” (an extreme opening line, to be sure)

Margaret looked up at him sweetly.

“Hi, Ed. Good afternoon. Do what?”

“You’ve seen the headlines?” 

“Oh, yes. I was sorry to hear about that.” 

“So what did you do with him? You knew about the spare key, right?”

Margaret feigned confusion.

“You think I stole a guy’s body? Why would I do that?”

Ed took a step back. Now that he was here, he realized how outrageous it sounded.

“Well, I-”

But something caught his eye, and he froze.

“Nevermind.”

Margaret furrowed her brow.

“What?”

“I- nothing. Sorry for asking.”

Margaret took a step forward, clenching her right hand around the fabric shears she’d snagged off her desk when Ed knocked. 

“What is it.”

Ed took another step back. 

“I, er, I just like your most recent design, that’s all.”

The biggest grin took over Margaret’s face. 

“Why, thank you Ed!”

And she bid him goodnight.*

*Well, she kind of bid him goodnight. It was a permanent goodnight, actually. And by “bid”, I mean she plunged the fabric scissors into his left eye, and as he fell down, screaming, his head ricocheted off of the curb and he was silent.

In the end, at least, he was right. Margaret was a short-lived tenant. After all, when the cops found him, she was long gone. 

And when they looked in the window, the most fabulous of suits decorated the most realistic mannequin they’d ever seen.