The Stitch in Time (and a Few Shades of Red)

Gripping the unraveling edge of the tapestry, Mildred saw a single, jagged tear running across the embroidered face of a unicorn that appeared especially grumpy. Her eyebrows knitted, reflecting the unicorn's never-ending scowl. She whispered, "A stitch in time saves nine," more as a mantra for the mythological beast than for her own waning spirits.

Here was one unusual seamstress in Mildred. Her main gift was in the morbid, yes, but she mended overalls and repaired socks with ease that belied her experience. She repaired tapestries that told the tales of the loved ones who had passed away, saving their last moments for future generations—or at least those who could afford it.

This specific tapestry showed the infamous miser Lord Edgar Grimstone, who choked on a particularly obstinate penny during a furious dispute about turnip prices. Like the gargoyle Mildred was currently using as a needle holder, the story was gory but somehow compelling.

Abruptly, a loud voice reverberated across the disorganized workshop. "Mildred! Where are you in Tarnation? My death requires instant documentation!"

Winced, Mildred winced. It was none other than Edgar Grimstone himself, or more accurately, his ghostly apparition, a translucent outline bearing a perpetual look of fury. Beside a dusty bust of his younger, slightly less constipated self, he hovered impatiently.

Lord Grimstone, Mildred remarked sourly, "Patience." "It will only cause a more unsightly rip in the afterlife if it is poorly repaired. Furthermore, you wouldn't want to be embroidered in a gloomy shade of brown upon your death, would you?

A translucent jet of air shot out of Grimstone, making him sputter. "Tan? Mahogany, darling! Mahogany with dignity! And for that very reason, I say, "A stitch in time saves nine... spectral teardrops!" because of this delay.

Mildred gave an eye roll. Like Lord Grimstone in reality, his ghost was prone to dramatic declarations and spectral outbursts. A strand of dazzling scarlet silk, a sharp contrast to the tapestry's already dismal brown, was threaded through her needle.

"Irrelevant. Red is the color of passion—exactly what your frugal ways were lacking!" she exclaimed, a playful twinkle in her eye.

Grimstone let out a cry, his shape quivering with rage. "Emotion? If I was more passionate, I wouldn't be dead from a rogue copper! The unfairness of it all! Mildred, you'll pay for this! It will haunt you..." His ethereal shape shimmered menacingly as his voice faded.

Mildred sneered. More aggressive than a grumpy ghost, she'd had hauntings from unpaid bills, a particularly aggressive spool of yarn that seemed to have a vendetta against her fingers, and the occasional wayward mouse that thought she was serving gourmet cheese buffet instead of stuffing.

She started to sew the tear with seasoned skill. She could not resist embellishing the scene as she stitched. A flash of lightning split the sky, a flight of terrified crows cawed dramatically, and a mischievously smiling cherub appeared to emerge from behind a particularly well-placed cloud.

By the time she was done, the tapestry had become a macabre whimsical masterpiece. Lord Grimstone's death was no longer a tantrum over a pennies worth of change, but rather a magnificently tumultuous scene suited for an epic poem.

But Grimstone was not amused. With a frown, he glared at the tapestry, his ghostly shape nearly pulsating with fury. "This is completely ridiculous! This bears no resemblance to my honorable end."

With a head tilt, Mildred pretended to be innocent. Why, Lord Grimstone, does it appear that in the hereafter, your memory has become a little hazy? Did you not get struck by lightning when you were trying to get a particularly shiny coin out of a crow's nest?

Grimstone stammered, his anger briefly overshadowed by sheer incredulity. A nest of crows? Lightning? Woman, what are you talking about?"

"Oh dear," Mildred tutted while putting on a brave face. It appears that the penny's effects extended beyond your esophagus. Allow me to refresh your memories right now.

She pointed to the tapestry, its crimson thread glistening in the faint illumination. Grimstone took at the scene, his eyes widening. He was positioned dangerously on a flimsy crow's nest, with one hand reaching for a coin and the other clutching an umbrella, a detail Mildred had included for laughs. An frightening lightning bolt crackled above a gloomy cloud.

Grimstone realized something awful. What people will remember was this absurd spectacle, considerably worse than the reality. Not the honorable death he had hoped for, but rather a warning about the perils of avarice would be his lasting legacy.

He groaned ghostly, a sound of complete helplessness. It was impossible for Mildred not to smile. The sight of complete dread on her ethereal clientele's faces when they knew the uncomfortable truth would be immortalized in thread was, after all, the sweetest part of her work.

"See, Lord Grimstone?" With a tone full of fake sympathy, she spoke. "A stitch in time truly does save nine... teardrops, in your case. I have another client waiting for me, a very irate chimney sweeper who met an untimely end at the hands of a very uncooperative bat. Excuse me now.

Grimstone's ghostly form whimpered and then faded away. Grinning to herself, Mildred looked over at a soiled canvas propped up against the wall. It had a man covered in soot sketched in a faint outline, his look a funny mixture of astonishment and irritation. With its wings stretched, a little bat appeared ominously out of scale.

A gleam of mischievousness reappeared in Mildred's eye as she picked up her needle and thread. Just for good measure, she would give the bat's eye a malicious gleam as well. A skilled seamstress, after all, understood the significance of a well-chosen detail, particularly when that detail involved incorporating a little poetic justice into the fabric of the hereafter.

As Mildred went to work, the sound of the gargoyle needle holder clinking against her thimble filled the workshop with rhythm. Outside, the sun painted the sky a vivid orange and purple as it sank below the horizon. Darkness held a new kind of beauty here, in the land of twisted threads and spectral clientele; a beauty braided with humor, a hint of the macabre, and the quiet satisfaction of a job well done.