A figure, A face

Hi new journal!

It was finally happening. My dream job: Visual Merchandiser. You know when you’re a little kid and your parents takes you to the nice neighborhood? And you see a really fancy store window? I feel like everyone has that moment. And when I had that moment, I decided I want to do that. I must’ve been all of five but I knew that’s what I would do when I grew up. And all of that work led me here. Six years of school and an endless line of crappy jobs had led me here. On the visual merchandising team of one of the biggest stores in the country. And the bigger the store, the bigger the store window.

Now that my dreams are coming true, I decided to start keeping this journal to map out my first week on the job. I haven’t had one since I was a kid but this job is a big deal. I need a place to work out all of my feelings. Let’s see if I still remember how to do this.

Day 1:

My first day was not what I expected, to say the least. Now that I’m thinking about it, I’m not sure what I expected. Glamour? Fashion? I thought about floating down the halls with fashionably dressed people, pitching ideas. What actually happened was that I showed up at what turned out to be a dark dusty basement. With all of the lights off, a store that big seemed eerie. It’s what I would guess a museum feels like once everyone was gone. For as old as the building is, it might as well have been.

My new manager and assistant manager led me through shadowy corridors and back staircases to my workroom. Watching their casual knowledge of the secret areas customers couldn’t see made me even more nervous. Suddenly the cute dress that I thought said “fashionable but professional” made me self conscious. Instead of a 20 something professional who had finally made it to the big leagues I felt like a student intern who could barely find the right end of a glue gun.

Once arriving to my workspace, it turned out that my predecessor had left a mess that barely left standing space. So I guess my first assignment will be to clean out my own workroom. Defiantly not the high fashion projects I dreamed of but I’d rather be able to, you know, sit down in my workroom so I can maybe actually work.

Day 2:

Wanna hear a joke? The interview for this job was the best interview I’ve ever been on. Hell, my best date was not as good as this interview. We instantly clicked. I told her about my experience and the logic I used behind anything I did in merchandising. She loved it. We basically spent ten minutes talking about how much we agreed on. When she asked if I had any questions for her, I went to an old standby: If you had to describe the person you want to take this job, what would they be like? And she actually said, no lie, “They’d be exactly like you. You are exactly what we’re looking for.” I swear, that has to be up until now, the highlight of my career. That someone who got to where she did thinks that I’m perfect for this? Gold.

Oh, so what’s the joke, you ask? The joke is that my manager got promoted so she’s not going to be my manager. But that’s not the funny part. The funny part is that her last day is TODAY. Like, two hours after I got it. I barely got to do anything yesterday other than look at my super messy workroom so I expected some kind of training today. When I met up with her it was pretty much:

“How is your day going? Great, today is my last day but it was so nice to meet you. Good luck!”

At least the assistant manager helped for a few hours even though she really didn’t seem like she wanted to. I still haven’t even met anyone else from this 10 person team that I’m on so I guess it’s the thought that counts. I guess it’s starting to sink in that this is a normal job. I mean, of course it was a normal job that I was doing for money. But I guess I’ve spent so long dreaming about doing this that it’s a little disappointing when things don’t live up to my expectations.

I’ll adapt, though. I wouldn’t have made it this far if I didn’t know how. I even wore pants today. 😊

Day 3:

This place is so strange. I don’t even mean it in a bad way. I’ve worked in a lot of old places. Its just part of the job. But this place doesn’t just feels old, it feels historic. Forget it. I’m not even sure what I mean by that. That’s not even the weirdest part of my day. As I was cleaning out my workroom (alone, by the way because I guess it would be too much to even have someone keep me company on my third day here) I found a bunch of books from the last guy who worked in here. I mean, I kind of already hate him a little for leaving this huge mess but apparently he was a legend here. He got his first job out of high school at this company and then worked here for FORTY YEARS. I know its only been three days but I don’t think I could take forty years here. This place would drive me insane. Yes, it is pretty much the size of a small town in here but it also seems like the kind of place that would eventually take over your life. Hell if I want that to happen to me.

I’m thinking about adding some pearls of wisdom that I find in here. Like I said, the guy was a legend around here. There must be something he left in his notes that I can learn from. It does seem like they go back at least ten years and I caught some really cool sketches and ideas. I even found a folder of old setups of the store! I think this might be a portfolio but I have to actually look through it before I get excited. But if that is what this is, think of how much I can learn from it. It documents so much of the process of a pro, hands down.

I didn’t want to get distracted so I didn’t look too hard and I didn’t take them home (because they’re from work and that would be weird) so I’ll start giving them a better look tomorrow.

Day 4:

I’m taking a break to read through a few of those notebooks. I feel bad about not being done with the workroom yet but I’ve been doing a lot more lifting and climbing than I thought I’d be here. My back can use a break and this is too weird not to write about.

Earlier, I went to pick up the stack of journals and pictures and this crazy note fell out of one of the books. And from that letter, it sounds like this guy completely lost it before he left. I feel bad. I know people looked up to him because he was a fixture here but from what I can get out of this he thought a mannequin was hunting him.

I know, crazy. It sounds like I got here right after the end of some cliché horror movie or a Twilight Zone episode. I’m going to add some of that letter so you can see what I mean.

You don’t know me but I have to get this out there. People need to know! You have no idea how many times I’ve told myself that I’m crazy. Maybe I’ve finally lost my last marble of sanity. I just need someone to hear me out. If nothing else, please just hear me.

I work in a department store. I’m not going to tell you which. If you’re as good a journalist as people say you are, you’ll be able to figure out which. I’ll just say they’re old and they have deep pockets. I’ve seen all kinds of stuff go down here disappear into a void. When was the last time you heard about someone o.d.ing in a national department store chain bathroom or shooting in an attempted robbery? Exactly. They clearly have friends in the media and enough lawyers to sue me into oblivion. And if I go around telling people that their local neighborhood department store has a killer mannequin running around I’m pretty sure they can have me locked up forever.

I can already hear what you’re saying to yourself:

“Of course he sees mannequins. He’s around mannequins all the time.”

Why do you think I said I felt crazy? Of course I know what it sounds like to say that there’s a mannequin haunting me when I work with them all the time.

At first I thought it was my eyes going bad. I figured it was nothing. I’m going on my forty-first year here and my eyes aren’t what they used to be. A shadow in the corner of the eye when all of the lights are off. But then, it would start to show up in places I hadn’t put it. I’d make a huge grand statement in the middle of the floor and come back a few hours later to find a random naked mannequin that didn’t fit in. At first, I thought it might’ve been some kids idea of a prank. Then I thought it might’ve been some kind of anniversary hazing, someone from the store. But even when I asked, people would give me side glances.

That’s when I started to hear the voices.

I’d sit in my workroom and see those shadows and hear these faint whispers coming from the mannequin storage. I went through all of those mannequins piece by piece and I knew that mannequin wasn’t there but any time I’d sit in silence I’d hear the cold, thin, whispers curl over my shoulder, just low enough that I couldn’t make out any words.

I thought I’d be fine. Lack of sleep, not eating enough, the banging of old pipes. I blamed anything and everything I could think of. I didn’t tell anyone my “ haunted mannequin” theory, not even my husband.

A friend on the team called my husband and told him he was “concerned” and I should stop working after retirement. The nerve of that guy. He knew I was showing my portfolio around town hoping to get into teaching and he had the nerve to try and stab me in the back.

I went on a interview that an old friend had set up for a teaching position. You know the whole “Those who can’t do, teach” thing. I figured I’d put my time in and it was enough to teach someone else. It seemed like it was going great. They’d already looked at my portfolio online but I had old fashioned physical copies for them to look over. Years of blood, sweat, and tears in a leather bound binder. Years carved out of my life.

She looked down at them, and then looked up at me like she was puzzled, like she couldn’t tell if I was playing a joke on her.

“I’m glad you showed me this because I showed a few of my colleagues and we were also puzzled. We love your composition and clear attention to detail, but I wanted to ask, what is the thought process behind the one mannequin?”

I’m thinking :One mannequin? What “one mannequin”?

She puts the portfolio down so both of us could see and I almost died of a heart attack right there on the spot. She’s talking about how she couldn’t tell if the one undressed glossy mannequin in the corner of all of my photos was some kind of statement. At that point, I couldn’t even hear her. I stared at the photo. I snatched the binder back and looked through every photo. And there it was. All of my work, beautiful and pristine…and one high gloss mannequin in a shadowy corner. Off toward the back. Head facing the camera. Always that one high gloss mannequin. In every single picture. Going back years.

I came back to the store, to my workroom, to write this. It’s probably dangerous with that thing hunting me but I’ve had this place longer than my actual house, longer than my husband or any of my friends. This place is practically my home. And I don’t want whatever this is to follow me to the people I love.

I’m writing this because I need someone to know. I need someone somewhere to have proof that I’m not losing it. I’m adding the portfolio. Look at it for yourself.

It stops there.

I wouldn’t exactly say I’m scared but this does freak me out a little. I texted the assistant manager to ask her what happened to the guy (I know, something I probably should have asked way before this) and she said that his husband reported him missing and no one had heard from him since.

I’m speechless. All I can say is I’m so glad tomorrow is Friday. I’m not going to look at the pictures. A week ago I would have killed to see that portfolio but now I don’t want to freak myself out any more than I already have. I’m going to spend the weekend knitting and reading and doing anything but thinking about this.

Day 5:

There’s more than just one. Dear god there’s more than just one.

I finally looked at the pictures. They’re creepy but, really, what can I do? I figured maybe someone on the team knew photoshop and was planning a joke on him or something. At the end of the day I took a selfie in my workroom. I wanted a cute “first work week” selfie. I’m such an idiot. So was he. So were all of us.

In the picture they were all around me. All of them the same glossy white. Blank faces staring out from the dusty shadows. Some of them even looked like they were reaching out for me. It looked like I was standing in a crowded room. This is why he left the room so crowded! So there wouldn’t be space for anyone but him. They must’ve been taking turns, trying to herd him back into that workroom. Something tells me they found a way to get him anyway.

My dream job is not worth whatever this is. I don’t know if that man was being pranked or if he was crazy. I don’t know if that hundred year old building is haunted or evil. All I know if I’m never going back there again.