Horror Stories • Volume 1 •

Purses

Purses, purses, oh how I adore purses. Like kids who adore candy, or adults that adore football or any kind of pass time, I love purses.

The make, the feel, the structure, I just love to look at them, to behold them, to gaze upon them. I love the smile that curls on my lips when I twirl one of the many purses I have in my shop, feeling the leather under my fingertips, the smoothness of the material. I love pacing around the vast room of different collectable and delectable purses, smelling the air to pick up that fresh, leathery scent that they hold.

Every single purses I have in my shop were made with my delicate and loving hands, putting care into every stitch and knot that holds it whole. Every cut and trim was measure to pure perfection, because a bad purses is a purse I do not condone. That isn't to say I didn't have some mistakes when I perfected my recipe to make the most perfect and beautiful purses this town my shop is in has ever seen. No no, after all, nothing is born perfect, not even something as beautiful as a purse.

The people of this town, they love my purses, they adore them. Every single soul that has ever entered my shop told me how much they love the look and feel of my purses. I love to watch them come in with a big smile on their face, eyes warm and hands clutching purses of their own.

Every single person that buys a purse from my shop gets a special offer. Once they purchase a purse, I offer then a personal tour of my purse making station. I love leading them in through the back and watching their expressions as they stare in awe, looking at all the different machines and needles and materials that I use.

I love purses so much. They can hide so many things and store so many things. I love it when my customers don't see me pull out the syringe filled with Diazepam, because of well crafted my purse is. I love it when they drop their own purse of the floor when I inject the contents into their neck. I love how they fall unconscious next to their purse. Sometimes I envy that, it looks like heaven, but I don't have time for jealousy.

I smile, knowing that my collection will never go out of stock. Knowing that more purses will decorate my shop.

Now, enough daydreaming, my purse collection needs more purses of different colours and makes, and I hear the jingle of my door, so I cannot waste time.

I need to show them my purse making machine.