Fixer Upper
By Laura Schiller
Based on: The Nightmare Before Christmas
Copyright: Disney
/
At first, Sally thought she must be dreaming.
Jack was leaning over her, calling her name, touching her shoulder with gentle, bony fingers. In her dreams, though, she'd never felt so cold … and he'd never sounded so horrified.
"Sally, wake up! I've been looking for you all over town. What in the name of all things creepy are you doing here?"
She uncurled herself from the tight ball she'd been sleeping in beneath the boughs of the Hanging Tree. Dawn was breaking, the pale sunlight touching the rows of graves with a hint of gold. Even Jack's face had an illusion of colour as he looked down at her with wide, worried eye sockets. Zero yipped and floated up to her, echoing his master's concern. She reached up to pet the little ghost dog, forgetting as usual that her hand would only fall through him.
"Oh, this?" She put on her best smile as she gestured stiffly at her surroundings. "I like cemeteries. What can I say, I'm a traditional girl."
"This is taking tradition much too far," Jack scolded. "People with soft tissue on their bones should not be sleeping outdoors at this time of year."
He held out his hand and pulled her up, not letting go until her wobbly ankles were steady. Her soft tissue tingled all over, and not only from the cold.
"Why aren't you at the Doctor's?"
"I'm not going back there," she retorted, in the firmest tone she could muster. "I know he's your friend, but nothing you can say will change my mind."
She could still feel her creator's clammy, gloved hand hauling her along, hear the clang of her cell door as he slammed it shut. She wasn't innocent either; drugging his food might be an emergency measure, but it was still wrong. She didn't care if it made her ungrateful, but she'd rather freeze to a second death than stay with the Doctor. And if Jack tried to drag her back, she'd simply have to leave an arm behind.
"Well, I respect that, of course," Jack said instead, with a shrug and a bemused tilt of his head. "He's more of a colleague than a friend, really. I wouldn't presume to know what goes on in that tower of his. You have a right to live wherever you want … but you can't honestly tell me you enjoy it here."
He pulled a dry leaf out of her hair and crumbled it between his fingers. She ran her own hands self-consciously through the auburn strands, knowing what a mess she must look. Even her thin dress was more ragged than it used to be. She was a good seamstress - she had to be - but there wasn't much she could do with fabric that was falling apart.
"Where would I go?" she asked.
It was a rhetorical question, but the moment she said it, Jack's face lit up with an irrepressible smile, brighter than the lanterns that bore his name.
"I know just the place!" He caught her hand again and tugged her along the twisted cobblestone path. Zero soared ahead of them, his red nose shining like a beacon.
"Jack, what - "
"Come on, Sally. Trust me!"
Gods of the underworld help her, of course she did.
/
They stopped in front of a house on the outskirts of town. It was a cottage, really, small and unassuming, made of the same grey wood as most buildings in this town, surrounded by what had once been a garden, but was now mostly weeds. Zero dived into it immediately, sniffing every plant that came his way. A lopsided sign said FOR RENT. Jack paused self-consciously and cleared his throat.
"It's a bit of a fixer-upper, I admit," he said. "No rats, no spiders, no creaky floors, no cracks for the wind to howl through … even the door hinges are quiet. That's why no one wanted it, but I'm sure you can manage somehow. You know that as Pumpkin King, I technically own all the real estate in this town, right? I'd be happy to rent it to you."
"It looks nice," said Sally, glancing wistfully at the garden, imagining a safe, quiet, and altogether un-Halloweenian place to call her own. "It really does … but I can't afford it."
"You can, if I hire you as a costume designer for Project Christmas. I still don't have a Sandy Claws outfit. I'm going to need uniforms, too, for my crew of elves. Pointy hats, curly-toed shoes ... "
And there was the catch. The Doctor always said that nothing came for free in this world, usually when he was reminding her of how much she owed him for bringing her to life.
"So that's why you were looking for me?" she said. "To make your costumes?"
For the life of her, she couldn't keep the disappointment out of her voice, even though she had no right to be disappointed. It wasn't as if they were close, after all. Watching him from behind tombstones and bringing him soup did not amount to a relationship anywhere except in her imagination.
"I looked for you because I was worried!" Jack said, with a warmth that made her forget November weather even existed. "I can find another tailor if I have to, but I couldn't find another Sally. Look, you don't have to do this, but I know what it's like to feel trapped and long for a fresh start. I'm only trying to help."
So he really did know, or at least guess, some of what her life with the Doctor had been. He really did see her as more than a servant, which the Doctor had never done.
She still had profound misgivings about Jack's project, ever since that nightshade vision had shown her a Christmas tree going up in flames. Still, she knew that if he'd offered her the house for nothing, she would have been even more reluctant. At least this was a bargain she could honestly keep.
"All right, Jack." She nodded. "Give me your sketch and I'll make it."
"You will? Oh, thank you, thank you!" He caught both her hands and whirled her around on the street, making her hair fly out like a red comet. From the sound of his voice, you would have thought that she was saving his life, instead of the other way around. "Where did I put it? Oh, here!"
After letting her go - she had to cling to a fence post, she was so dizzy - he rummaged in the pockets of his pinstriped suit until he came up with his notebook. The sketch inside it was the same one he had shown her earlier at the town meeting, of himself dressed in a red suit trimmed with white cotton.
"Hmm … " Nightshade visions aside, Sally could already feel her professional pride coming to life at this challenge to her skills. "I'm not sure where to find anything that shade of red, but I could always ask the vampires. As for cotton, well … the only place I've ever seen that is the Doctor's surgery, but … "
"I'll ask him myself," Jack interrupted smoothly. "Don't worry about the materials, I'll have everything ready for you by Monday. All you have to do is come to Town Hall and work your witchcraft, all right?"
"All right."
"Thank you again, Sally. You don't know what this means to me."
I could say the same thing, she thought, wishing with all her heart that she could understand what Christmas was, or at least why it would bring them so much trouble.
"Thank you," she said instead, and for all her misgivings, she meant it. "For giving me a fresh start. I won't let you down."
"I know you won't - and oh, by the way, that reminds me." He dived into his pockets again, fished out a key ring, and untwisted a small, surprisingly rust-free key. He handed it to her with an elegant bow. "Your property, mademoiselle. I hope you like it."
She laughed, curtsied as much as her flimsy skirt allowed, and took the key.
Her first key. Her first house. Her first door that she could lock and keep everything out instead of being kept in. Safety. Freedom.
"I do," she said, holding the sketch and the key close to her chest. "More than I can say."