It was only as a last resort did Mr. Oswald Parker enter the shop in the first place. He’d been searching for a birthday gift for his son, Jake Parker, who’d turned 17 the previous day. Oswald had walked up and down the square for the most of that day and seemed to purposely avoid the shop. Why, he didn’t know, but something about it just seemed out of the ordinary. Just not right.

The shop sat on the corner of the street that divided the two lanes. It wasn’t foreboding, in fact, quite the contrary. It was a cherry red with pleasant gold looping lettering reading Wallman’s Garden on the sign. It sounded too fluffy. It looked too girly. It was out of the question. It was the only thing left. After hours of searching among the various shops for something and only finding a cheese grater as the most appropriate thing, Mr. Parker found himself hesitantly going in through the frosted glass doors into the rosy shop that seemed to glow with warmth. If Jake had been there he would have said something along the lines of, “This is so damn queer!”

“What the devil is this?” Mr. Parker whispered to himself, as he looked around, a deep crease in his bushy brow. The tiny shop was filled to the brim with dolls, dollhouses, and flowers. Mr. Parker watched as groups of little girls bustle about giggling and pointing. Some ran up to their mothers crying, “Mommy! Mommy! Lookit’ dis’ one!”

Just as he was leaning towards the door to leave, Mr. Parker heard a cheerful voice cry, “Good afternoon sir! Welcome to Wallman’s! How may I help you?” A skinny man in somewhat odd attire was shaking his hand aggressively and grinning from ear to ear. His glasses, thin wire ones that were much too small for his face, sat delicately on the end of his crooked nose. His silver hair that was balding on the top was a wild mess around his face.

“Oh, uh, hello there. I was just looking for a gift for my boy but this is obviously the wro-“ Mr. Parker started.

“Oh, and how old is he?”

“Uh, seventeen.”

“Hmm, is he lazy?”

“Y-yes but I-

“Not sentimental at all?”

“No, not really… he-

“Doesn’t work? Seems bored with life?”

“Yeah…”

“I’ve got just what you need!”

“What?”

The strange little man who’d still been shaking Mr. Parker’s hand released it and hobbled away to the back motioning to him to follow. They went behind a curtain into the back room that was dark and dimly lit by a small oil lamp on a desk. Mr. Parker took it in with a slight bit of surprise. The room was small, cluttered, and the walls were covered with shelves that held boxes and dolls. On the center of the desk sat a wooden box. It was a jewelry box that resembled a large wardrobe. It was too dark to see what was inside.

“Here we go!” The odd man exclaimed. He was pulling a limp, beautiful doll down from a shelf that sat the highest in the darkest most forlorn looking corner. He brushed its white blonde hair back from its face. He admired it for a moment. As he handed it to Mr. Parker he said softly, “She’s a native princess.”

Staring at the doll that lay in his hand, Mr. Parker studied the outfit it wore. It was purple. There was no doubt it was native. It’s skirt as a cloth died at the hip and went diagonally down. It’s shirt started above the midriff and tied at the neck. Its hair was long and had two wisps in the front giving it the perfect touch. Its eyes were a deep green.

“Maybe you didn’t understand. You see I have a son.” Mr. Parker said slowly, looking quizzically up at the shopkeeper. “Oh, yes, I know.” He replied, “You see, this doll will do anything you wan, well, your son wants. She’s a bit of an orphan. She’s been to many homes, always comes back. No one’s quite appreciated her enough. Didn’t love her. I have a feeling though, that I won’t be seeing her again after this.”

Mr. Parker stared at the man for a moment, then realizing how late it was growing, shook himself slightly and sighed heavily. “How much?” He asked, caving. “Oh, she’s free of charge unless you bring her back.” The little man answered, “Now, I believe you must be going.” He ushered a dumbfounded Mr. Parker out of the back room and back into the shop, and towards the door.

“I’m sure Jake will love her.” The man smiled. “Wait a minute!” Mr. Parker cried as he was shoved out the door. “I never told you my son’s name was Jake!”

“Good day Mr. Parker!”

The door closed on his face. Mr. Parker stood staring at the door for a moment. His ginger mustache bristled slightly. He looked down at the doll resting in his chubby hand. “It’ll have to do for now.” He eventually sighed to himself. He carried the doll back to his Volkswagen and tossed her in the seat beside him. He glanced at his watch. “Damn, I’m late for supper!”