Quality Purchase...

It was the beginning of her busy season. End of August through October was when the shop was really swamped. There was a small trickle of true collectors year round, but the dabblers showed up in the Fall. 

And she was always torn. The collectors made her job her joy. They could recognize quality. They could have conversations about the history. They knew what they were looking for and were willing to pay top dollar when they found it. 

But the dabblers kept her in business. 

A true collector might buy a piece from her every few years, if that often. And they rarely told other collectors about her. They hoarded information. They wanted to make sure they had the market cornered on authentic pieces. 

Dabblers? They told everyone. They posted reviews on Yelp and took pictures for their Instagram followers. They did TikToks with music and dance moves. They bought t-shirts and keychains and coffee mugs. Anything to show that they were there.

At first she thought the dabblers might chase off the true collectors, but that's the thing about a true collector, the recognized quality even if it was sitting in the background of silly video of people doing the Wednesday Addams dance in front of a shelf full of trinkets.

The dabblers being so vocal actually seemed to be a draw to a certain level of collector. She knew they were thinking they could keep her a secret if other collectors thought she was just someone catering to the dabblers. Not a serious craftswoman. They could keep her to themselves. Of course they never considered that other collectors were thinking the same thing.

The collectors also assumed that she existed just for them. That when she found exactly the right thing for them it was because she only looked for things for them. Not understanding that she had spreadsheets detailing each of her serious clients, what they liked, what they were missing in their collections, what was on their biggest dream list. She knew who to call to get the top price for a new item. 

And she knew that there would be other collectors that found her through their own networks. The ones that didn't hoard information. The ones that wanted to share information with a large group of people so they had someone to talk to about their own collections. And to see other carefully crafted collections. The convention goers. 

She had been invited to a few over the years. To speak, or to run a booth. She turned down both offers. If even half of the vendors they invited were authentic it could be, well, dangerous might not be right, but not entirely safe. It wasn't in her nature to be imprudent. So she would politely decline, but would send a large quantity of business cards with her regrets. 

Today the store was full of dabblers. Oohing and aahing over her displays. The kitschy items, the mugs and t-shirts with her logo "What A Doll", a few of them actually being drawn to the authentic pieces she had on the floor of the shop. She watched them carefully. They could end up future collectors. Or they could end up buying something they didn't really want. 

There was one group she kept a particularly close eye on. Most of her clientele, the dabblers and the collectors, were female. Collecting dolls, even haunted ones, was not seen as a fit pastime for a man. But there he was. Not acting like he was drug along by a girlfriend or a wife, but there by his own choice. He was a good looking man as well, delicate features, a selling point if you are woman but he probably got teased most of his life for the same bone structure. Dark hair, bright blue eyes, pale, especially for the end of summer, but not an unhealthy looking pale, if he were a woman you'd say he had porcelain skin. Again, not a thing people would say about a man. Sexist societal pressures came from all directions. 

She wondered if he was gay. Not that it was any of her business, but sometimes she did get gay male customers. Though they tended to be interested in the more campy items she sold. The really obvious looking ones. The ones people would mock shudder at when put out for halloween decorations, "oh what a creepy looking doll!" He didn't seem drawn to those items though. 

He seemed to be having a good time with his friends. Looking at items they found, pointing out ones on his own. She could see the group was settling on buying matching t-shirts for all of them. Something to commemorate the trip. Not a bad sale, but nothing remarkable. While her assistant Lacy rang up the sale she took the time to chat up the group. How long were they in town, what all had they seen, how did they hear about her store or were they just passing by and wandered in? Yes she was the owner and yes she made many of the dolls by herself. Did she believe they were haunted? Well that would depend on what you meant by haunted. Some of them reminded you of your childhood or maybe looked like your best friend from kindergarten. Is a memory a haunting? Some of them looked well, off. Is uneasiness a haunting? 

They liked her answers. Dabblers usually did. The collectors wanted specifics and certificates of authentication. In this way she did prefer the dabblers. 

After the group left Lacy asked her what she thought. She said she wasn't sure yet. She would have to wait and see. It was too early to tell but she was hopeful. 

When he came back to the shop a week later her hope blossomed into more. 

He had worn the shirt and the balm she had put on the collar had done its job. He had come back to the store. He wasn't sure exactly why. He hadn't told anyone where he was going. He hadn't mentioned the store at all after the visit. 

She led him to the backroom, then through the door to the basement steps. Down to her workshop they went. He really was remarkable. She led him to the table and he laid down when asked. She strapped him down and he only wondered if maybe she should make the binds a little tighter just incase he tried to get away. He was stronger than he looked. He was very helpful. What a doll. She laughed at her own joke. So did he.

She started the incantation that would transfer all of his being into the plain porcelain doll laying nearby. She was a true craftswoman and remained focused on her work. But she knew when she was done Lacy would have gone over all of the spreadsheets and found the right collector. Male collectors were rare. So were male dolls; this one would pay her mortgage for the next year plus a healthy bonus for Lacy. 

It really was the dabblers that kept her in business.