A/N: I know, shoot me, it's another story. It's a bad habit of mine to have over five-hundred stories going all at once. Oh well.

This is probably going to be my only story on here that includes an OC. I haven't used an OC since my Quizilla days, but I've had this idea going around for a few days and I decided, well, why not.

"9" belongs to Shane Acker, not me. However, the following DO belong to me:

-Uncle
-Rikki
-10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 21

I was a little disappointed that, when I went on DeviantArt, all of these numbers were already created. But, just be aware that this is a different story, and that the numbers used in this story are in no way related to any drawings on DeviantArt. Although, you should still check the stitchpunk drawings on there; some of them are really great.

Long author's note, let's get going on the story.

Hope you enjoy ^_^

EDIT: This story was edited on January 9th, 2010. Please re-read if you have already read the chapter before then. Because I make some pretty big changes when I edit.

+ Chapter One +

- P L A N N E D -

After every movie I see, I always find myself wishing that the characters of the movie would magically appear and become a part of my own life. Strange, right? Stranger than imagining those characters were actually there and interacting with them as if they were real?

Shut up, I know I'm weird. But, don't you dare tell me you never did that when you were a kid. Come on, you know Buzz Lightyear of Star Command was a figment of your imagination at one point!

Ahem. Anyway.

Most recently, my uncle (who lives with me and my parents - he was just recently divorced and his ex kicked him out and took majority of the money) bought me the newest release of a movie I had only heard of a few times.

The movie was called "9". I thought, what a strange name for a movie. Nevertheless, I slid the DVD in the slot, hit 'Play', and prepared myself for another weird movie bought by my uncle.

I had to give it to my uncle – he knew my tastes so well. 'Weird' was right up my alley. The first five minutes of the movie, which was only the main character walking around and talking to the next character, got me absolutely hooked.

The first five minutes also made me realize something familiar, as I looked at the main character and the others a little more closely.

My uncle's ragdolls looked exactly the same as them, if not only a few tweaks different.

After the movie was over, I consulted him about it while he was creating another one – "18", he called it – and he told me, "I was the inspiration for the movie."

I doubted him entirely, but even so, I was all the more fascinated. I watched him create these dolls that he called "stitchpunks", from the outline of the cloth and burlap to creating the insides of the doll. However, I noticed that he left them all to the side, unlike the inventor in the movie, who put a part of his soul in as soon as he finished creating one.

"Uncle, are you supposed to transmit your soul into them?" I asked. He put down the unfinished 18 and looked at me.

"Rikki, I'm not going to do that now," he told me with a laugh. "I still have a life to live! I'm just saving these guys for later."

"Later?" I asked, picking up the closest stitchpunk next to me – 11. "What do you mean 'later'?"

"When I feel the time coming for me to die, later." I put 11 down and picked up 12. "I'm going to put a piece of my soul into each of these guys, so, in a way, I'll still be living even after I'm long gone." He put a hand on my shoulder, and I looked at him, twirling 12's arm in between my fingers. "That means, Rikki, I want you to be in charge of them until they're ready to go out in the world." I put 12 down and stared at him.

"Me?" I asked, as if there was an auditorium filled with Rikki's behind me and he only mistook me for one of them.

"Yes, you," he laughed. I blinked. He blinked back, mocking my expression for a moment. I smirked, and his mock expression faded. He looked at the row of stitchpunks he had already created. "These stitchpunks are quite literally my life. I want you to take good care of them until they're ready to venture out into the world." He placed one of his coarse hands on my shoulder gently. "You think you can do that for me, kiddo?"

I nodded subtly, still staring at him, as if this were just a huge, terrible joke. I was in charge of them after he died? Was I supposed to look forward to him dying? He said it as if I were supposed to be excited – I mean, I was, but...

I certainly was not looking forward to my uncle dying.

My uncle smiled his "Alright? Good!" smile and looked at his finished stitchpunks again. He laughed a little.

"Keep a special eye on 16 and 17, though; they're going to be a rambunctious pair." He smiled at me, and I looked at 16 and 17. I picked 16 up with my left hand, and 17 in my right.

"A rambunctious pair," I muttered. They looked nearly identical – black and red striped cloth sewn together with white thread, their feet and fingers made of silver steel. Their hands were carefully molded copper, and their hair was curly grey mops of thin rope. "They remind me of 3 and 4 from the movie," I mused.

"Do they now?" he asked suspiciously.

"Well, I mean the fact that they're twins," I explained. I set 17 down and played with 16's fingers, letting them wiggle and move.

"Ah, I see, I see," my uncle smiled. He took 16 out of my hands and set him back down next to 17. "I hope they won't be too much trouble to you."

I rolled my eyes. "If I can reason with you, I'm sure I can reason with them." He reached over and ruffled my hair with his large hand, and I pulled away. "Uncle!"

"Sorry, kiddo," he apologized sarcastically, sticking his tongue out at me. I stuck my tongue out back. He stuck his out farther.

"Freak," I mocked, laughing at him. He put his tongue back in his mouth and turned back in his chair, smiling to himself as he put together 18's body. I smiled, and picked 11 up again. "Hey, are you making any girl ones?" I asked suddenly.

"Any girl ones?" he asked himself. He looked at his finished stitchpunks. "Oh, yes. Three are girls."

"Which ones?" I looked at the finished dolls and tried to figure it out myself. I looked down at 11. Already, a scowl was molded into it's red-and-yellow paint-splattered face.

"11, 14, and 17," he replied. Ah, so the angry one in my hand was a girl.

"17? So the twins are boy and girl?"

"There are such things as boy and girl twins, Rikki."

"I know that," I defended. I put 11 down next to 10 and I picked up the twins again. I looked at 17. "Well, I think that if she's a girl at least make her hair a little bit longer."

"But that means I have to do it all over again," my uncle whined. I shook my head, sighing.

"Don't be such a baby. I can do it, if you want," I offered. My uncle placed a spool of thin grey rope in front of me instantly. I looked up at him with narrowed eyes.

"If you don't mind." He flashed me a toothy grin, and I scoffed.

"I can't believe you," I muttered, although smiling at his childishness. I pulled 17's short hair out carefully. "It would take all of two minutes…"

"Well, I don't have two minutes," he strained, picking up a half-sewn together 18 and showing it to me. "I have to finish this guy!"

"You're not going to die anytime soon, so I'm sure you'd have plenty of time to do these guys," I explained. He shook his head quickly.

"No, no, no! I have to get these done as soon as possible and hide them away forever, until I think I'm going to die!" he told me anxiously. I stared at him. He stared back at me, took a deep breath, and sat back down in his seat, placing 18 down in front of him and pulling the thread to attach his arm. "If you could please fix 17's hair?"

I cut the rope and attached the new mop-hair to 17's head without any other words. The fact that he had gotten so afraid stunned me. My uncle was a strange man, I knew – he could change his attitude in the blink of an eye.

But that large of a jump?

I guess these stitchpunks were serious business.

-

I came to my uncle's workshop a few days later as he was in the middle of creating his last stitchpunk, 19.

"You make creating stitchpunks look so easy," I commented as he inserted a small voice box in 19's torso. Without looking up at me, he connected a couple of wires up to power the voice box.

"In the beginning, it was a little difficult," he told me. I heard sparking noises as the wires hit each other. "Which is probably why 10 looks much less advanced appearance-wise compared to the later ones." I compared 10 to 18 and noticed their differences instantly. 10 was a simple dark-brown burlap sack doll, with simple copper hands and feet. His middle was kept together by a line of five clear buttons, which looked like the buttons from my old Barbie doll clothing. Whereas 18 was made of a strong dark navy blue cloth, with a black and white necktie as a means of opening his torso. I picked 18 up and pulled the knot of the tie down. The torso was opened. His hands were made of teak wood, and his fingers and feet made of silver. In many ways, 18 was far more advanced than 10. "But, now it's just a matter of what I want them to look like."

"I see," I muttered. I looked past the nine finished dolls and saw the array of cloths and threads and metals that he used to make the dolls. "Uncle, you think I could try making one?"

He set 19 down only to grab another spool of red thread, then went back to the doll. "If it's for fun, sure. If you're being serious about it though, I would consider making more than one and not touching them for the next fifty years. They're dangerous, Rikki."

"I just want to make one for fun, uncle. Don't get so serious." I reached over for a bundle of light green cloth, but my uncle grabbed my wrist. "Uncle?"

"I'm serious, Rikki."

"I'm serious, too; I just want to make one for fun."

"Do you even understand what these do?" He sounded so angry. I flinched a little bit.

"I do. You take it and you put a piece of your soul inside of it – but I just want to do one for fun—!"

"Rikki, I'm not letting you make one." He let go of my wrist and turned back to 19. I narrowed my eyes.

"But, why!? I just want to do one for fun, uncle! It won't do anything wrong!" I was suddenly so angry at him. I didn't know why – it was just a silly doll, I probably could have bought one at the store. But, just the fact that he got so serious over a fake one pinched one of my nerves. It was stupid to be mad at him – but it was also stupid for him to be so over-protective over a doll.

"Rikki, please leave. I have a lot of work to do," he told me plainly, as if he decided to ignore me now.

"But, uncle!"

"Leave, Rikki."

I glared at him for so long, it felt like. My eyes hurt, but I couldn't stop. What was his problem?

Finally, I ripped my eyes away from him and stomped away from his workshop and up the steps to the main floor. He didn't even look back.

-

I rolled over again, dragging the bed covers with me. My eyes focused on the alarm clock next to my bed – 2:30 AM. I groaned and rolled over onto my back, staring at the ceiling.

I had finally calmed down about four hours ago, but, for some reason, something kept me awake. The air was still outside, no wind, no rain. The house was completely silent, excluding the music softly rumbling out of my stereo near my ear. I knew for a fact that my parents and uncle went to bed over an hour ago, so they wouldn't be walking around so late.

I tried going through other factors in my head that could have been keeping me up, but none of them bothered me enough to keep me awake, except for maybe the tablespoon of guilt I felt for being angry at my uncle. After rolling around another few times, kicking the covers off, and then pulling them back up, I swung my feet over the side of the bed and stood up. Maybe walking around would help me get to sleep, I thought.

I walked down the hall, quietly past my parent's room, through the kitchen and dining room, into the living room, out the living room, down another hallway, quietly past my uncle's room, then walking back to the kitchen. I lifted myself up onto the counter next to the stainless steel sink and leaned my head against the cabinet. I still didn't feel tired at all. I was better off just heading back to bed and trying to fall asleep again there.

When I picked my head up from the cabinet to leave, I yelped quietly as my hair got tangled around the knob. I fumbled with my hair, trying to get it undone, until I yanked on it hard enough to open the cabinet door and pull out a few strands of my black hair.

When the cabinet door opened, something fell into the sink. At first, because it was nearly three in the morning, I thought it could have been a cup. But, it didn't sound like glass breaking or plastic bouncing around. Of course, I could have imagined it. But who imagines something like that, no matter how tired they are? A deranged man, I suppose, I thought.

I decided to look into the sink, just to stop my mental battle. I blinked, trying to make my eyes focus quicker. I stared at the small lump of cloth.

I blinked several times to make sure the dark wasn't fooling my eyes.

I saw a small figure face-down at the bottom of the sink.

I saw the number 10 scribbled on its back in splotchy black ink.

I saw it move.

"Uncle!!"

---

"What can you ever really know of other people's s o u l s - of their t e m p t a t i o n s, their o p p u r t u n i t i e s, their s t r u g g l e s? One soul in the whole c r e a t i o n you do know: and it is the only one whose f a t e is placed iny o u r h a n d s."

-C.S. Lewis

A/N: Yeah, sorry for such a...weird, short chapter. My mind's totally out of my head today.

I hate being sick.

Well, even if it was bad, tell me about it in reviews - no flames, though. Helpful critique is appreciated.

I'll probably fix this entire chapter once I'm done being sick anyway.

-Abby