Narrator: So… who are you, really?
Spooky: I’ve had names, sure. But the one that stuck was Spooky McGee.

Narrator: And before that?
Spooky: My wife owns that one now. It was a wedding gift. She keeps it in a stitched little box with all the other things she’s rescued.


Narrator: Then who gave you *this* name?
Spooky: A boy. He caught me stepping through his bathroom mirror — poor kid was just brushing his teeth.
Called me spooky, screamed, dropped his toothbrush. I didn’t correct him. Didn’t stay long, either.

Narrator: So you just kept it?
Spooky: I liked how it felt. Light, silly, strange. A name that didn’t take itself too seriously.
Besides, it went well with the suit. And the hat. I’ve always liked a little style in my step.

Narrator: How long ago was that?
Spooky: Hard to say. The mirror didn’t show dates — just echoes. And I’ve walked through a lot of echoes since then.

Narrator Where do you come from?
Spooky: I'm a ragdoll that comes from a place between imagination and existence.
Narrator: What does that mean?
Spooky: Simple really. I was an abandoned ragdoll left behind in the woods. If I recall correctly, a bird carrying souls was soaring overhead. And a soul fell out of it's beak, and landed on me.
Narrator: So you were born from a soul?
Spooky: In a way, yes. But it’s more like I was *made* from a soul. Like a patchwork quilt, stitched together from bits of dreams and memories.
Narrator: But you look human?
Spooky: I do, but I’m not. I’m a ragdoll with a soul. I had to will this body after seeing the dangers of being easily unraveled in a wild world.
Narrator: How long ago was that? You look like you're in your mid to late 20's
Spooky: Time is a tricky thing for someone like me. I’ve seen centuries pass in the blink of an eye, yet I feel every moment like it’s a thread in my fabric.

Narrator: Have you ever left home?

Spooky: Once. Maybe more. But the first time... it was a carnival on the coast. White sand, grass growing sideways into the beach. A lighthouse standing crooked behind it all like it was holding its breath.

I lived inside that lighthouse. Survived, really. The ringmaster who ran the place — cruel man. Treated us like we were props, not people. I wasn't much back then. Just naive, yet adventure lived in my heart. But I knew wrong when I saw it.

One night, I stood up to him. Broke the spell. Broke *him*. Took his top hat after. Not out of pride — but to remember the kind of man I’d never become.

The suit? That was part of the job. All performers wore one. But I liked how it felt — neat, sharp, put-together. When your soul’s barely holding, sometimes a well-pressed coat is the only thing keeping you from unraveling.

Narrator: Is that where your story started?

Spooky: It’s where I *chose* to become a story. From there, I got swept into a mercenary band. Run by Evalyn Stockdale — sharp as glass, fast as myth. She wore flame-red coats and didn’t believe in rest. I followed her into wars I didn’t understand, just to be near the heat.
She was my first heartbreak. Not because she left… but because she didn’t look back.

Narrator: What came after that?
Spooky: After Nona sewed my heart back in? For a while, I served the High Spirits. A stitched outsider guarding royalty — Sara, Damien, all of them. They never said I belonged, but they trusted me with what mattered.
Eventually, I left. Not out of anger. Just… when you’ve stood between gods and ghosts long enough, you start wanting something smaller. A shop. A child. A little quiet. So I went freelance. Still do, in a way.

Narrator: Stitched your heart?
Spooky: Yes. After Evalyn, I was a mess. Heart torn out, soul frayed.
Narrator: And Nona?
Spooky: Yeah. Nona worked her magic, and suddenly I felt whole again. It was like being given a second chance — not just to exist, but to *live*.
Narrator: Did that change you?
Spooky: It did. I learned to love again, to trust. Nona taught me that even the most broken things can be stitched back together.
Narrator: And your child together?
Spooky: Our child? Oh, that’s a story for another time. But let’s just say, they’re a stitch of both our souls —