The Tailor Who Sewed Souls into Coats

Prologue: The Shop That Wasn’t on the Map

The sign above the door read:

"MENDEL'S BESPOKE TAILORING – COATS FOR EVERY OCCASION"

But the townsfolk whispered a different name for it:

"The Shop of Second Chances."

No one knew how long it had been there. One day, the narrow alley between the butcher and the apothecary simply… widened. And there it stood—a cramped little storefront with a single moth-eaten coat displayed in the window.

The first customer was a grieving widow. She left with a fur-lined jacket that smelled of her late husband’s pipe tobacco.

The second was a thief. He was found frozen to death in an alley, his fingers sewn shut with black thread.

I was the third.

Chapter 1: The Bargain

My sister Elara had been dead for six months when I found the shop.

The police called it a suicide. I called it murder. Her fiancé, Victor, had a habit of leaving bruises in the shape of his signet ring on her wrists. The night she jumped from the clock tower, he was seen laughing at the opera.

The tailor listened to my story without looking up from his work. His needles gleamed like bone.

"Revenge is a heavy fabric," he murmured. "But I have just the thing."

From a locked chest, he drew out a coat—deep crimson, with buttons that shimmered like wet ink.

"Wear this at midnight," he said. "And you will have what you seek."

The price? "A thread of your soul."

I should have hesitated. But the coat smelled like Elara’s perfume.

I signed the contract in blood.

Chapter 2: The First Stitch

At 11:59 PM, I stood outside Victor’s townhouse. The moment the clock struck twelve, the coat tightened around me—not fabric, but skin.

Victor’s door swung open on its own.

He sat at his desk, counting stolen money. When he saw me, his smirk died.

"Elara?" he choked.

The coat pulsed. Suddenly, I wasn’t myself anymore. I was her—her voice, her gestures, even the scar on her left thumb from a childhood accident.

Victor screamed as I embraced him.

The buttons of the coat undid themselves, revealing not lining, but a void.

And then—the stitching.

Black threads lashed out, sewing his mouth shut. Then his eyes. Then his soul to the fabric, neat as a tailor’s seam.

By dawn, all that remained was a new coat on Mendel’s rack—one that whispered in Victor’s voice.

Chapter 3: The Collection Grows

I returned to Mendel’s shop, shaking.

"You said it would give me revenge," I hissed. "Not… this."

The tailor smiled, gesturing to the back room.

Hundreds of coats hung there, each humming with a voice:

A politician’s smug laughter. A cheating wife’s sobs. A child’s nursery rhyme.

"Every soul has a texture," Mendel said, stroking a velvet sleeve. "Some are rough with guilt. Others soft with regret. Yours, my dear, is deliciously frayed."

I tried to leave. The door wouldn’t open.

Behind me, scissors snicked.

"A deal is a deal," Mendel whispered. "You owe me a thread."

Epilogue: The New Display

The shop still stands in that impossible alley.

The display window now features two coats:

One, a man’s overcoat that screams when touched.

The other, a woman’s dressing gown stitched with silver—my signature color.

Sometimes, on quiet nights, the gown’s sleeves move on their own.

Writing letters.

Begging for someone to free us.

Want a Part 2? Maybe a new customer discovers the shop—and recognizes one of the coats… 👀

Let me know if you'd like any tweaks!