Crafty Granny Storage Caddy

Saidi the Crafty Granny is made from 100% cotton yarn, unless requested otherwise. Other color palates available upon request. Please allow two months of production time. Because Saidi the Crafty Granny is hand-made, expedited production time is not possible, although we don’t expect it to take a full eight weeks.

This Granny Storage Caddy is roughly 16″ tall, depending on the tension the given piece is made of.

Granny Storage Caddy comes with two pockets in her apron to hold things like scissors, fabric scraps, and more. Her head can also serve as a pincushion for needles, pins, beading needles, and more.

Ordering process

To skip the story and order your Granny, email me at dressedlilies@gmail.com, and we’ll get all the details sorted out! 🙂

Dress, hair, and skin colors can be specified via special order if you want an item other than this one. Custom orders bump prices up, depending on materials and complexity of additional details. Sizes can be adjusted, as well; price stands to adjust depending on size.

(If you’re like me, you’re not here for the product but the pattern. Well, my dears, this Crafty Granny Storage Caddy pattern is from Zhaya Designs on Ravelry. Have fun and happy making!)

Contact me

Always disregard instructions you find written on a public bathroom stall. It doesn’t matter what it is–a phone number, some weird chain email, or some strange anti-government club.

That shouldn’t have caught Shlomit’s attention, but it had. It had plucked at some cord in her mind that she can’t put a name to, but now she really wishes she’d just scoffed and left.

But, she hadn’t, and now she’s staring up at a wooden door in the cellar of her university.

“Are you sure about this?” Ashula wants to know.

“Of course I am,” Shlomit tries to shrug it off, but her friend knows her too well.

“You know, we could just leave.”

“It’s not that. It’s just… these gouges by the handle. It looks like they meant something at some point, doesn’t it?”

Ashula considers the door and then shakes her head. “Nope. Someone just didn’t sand down the door before putting it in. Your archeology major and the adrenaline coursing through you are making you see things that aren’t there.”

Shlomit shakes her head, “I don’t think that’s how that works.”

“You’re stalling–you don’t want to go in there.”

“Obviously.”

“So why don’t we just go?”

“I can’t. Not now that I’m here.”

“So go up to the door and open it.”

Shlomit hesitates, and, in that moment, they hear the click of a door unlocking. It’s not a sound they expected to hear, this far down in the bowels of the earth, and they both freeze for the briefest of moments. Then, Shlomit finds herself thrown to the ground as Ashula tackles her. The flashlight she’d been holding tightly goes flying and hits a rock, turning off. The women land hard and go rolling, one overtop the other, hands clapped over each other’s mouths.

The heavy-sounding door slowly creaks open, protesting the action. Stark white light and the sound of arguing pour through. Shlomit wishes she could ask if Ashula is hearing what she is–the argument sounds like it’s over whose jurisdiction an experiment falls under.

“Come on, already,” hisses a voice in the doorway, “if we’re going to go, we need to go now.“

“Faith, you’re making a mistake.”

“No, Heather,” the return voice breaks, but there’s a note of obvious determination. “You heard what they said–not only were we guinea pigs this entire time, but they stole what gave us these abilities in the first place! They’re every sort of ‘in the wrong,’ here! Human experimentation, theft of intellectual and physical property. And government corruption conspiracies, apparently! Who knows what else? Can you really trust them?”

“This is our home, Faith! A roof over our heads, decent food, and a good source of income. If you leave right now…” there’s the sound of snapping fingers. “Gone. In an instant.”

“I know, Heather.”

“Do you really think you’ll be able to fly under the–“

“We’ve discussed this before,” interrupts a new voice, “and we could go on discussing it until the cows come home before we all agree. And who knows what they’ll have done to us–“

“–or with us–” interrupts a second new voice.

“–or with us,” the other agrees, “before that happens.”

There’s a few long heartbeats of silence. Finally, Faith sighs. “Stitch is right. If you really want to stay, I can’t stop you. But I’m not about to condone this inhumane experiment, no matter how much money they’re paying me. And I’m not going to let them use me to hurt anyone.”

“They won’t–“

“Really?” Faith’s frown is audible, “you really believe they won’t? You heard the whitecoats, didn’t you? You read what was in those files. Do you really think they won’t use us to hurt people?”

Again, quiet.

“Come with us,” Faith continues, “please. All of you. We’ll find somewhere to live–support ourselves, somehow. We’ll manage–I promise. With all of us–all of our powers working together… we’ll figure something out.”

Again, quiet. “They said we’re going to help pe–“

“You seriously believe that story? There’s no way this is going to help anyone.” Shlomit can just about hear Faith shaking her head.

“You don’t know that, Faith.”

“I do. And I don’t know how you don’t.”

“Faith. They’re not going to come,” says a new, quiet voice, “their choice has been made. Just like ours. And if we’re going to leave before the whitecoats come–“

“Heather, please.”

“Stay, Faith. Please.”

“We can’t, Heather,” Stitch’s voice is firm, “we–“

Shlomit’s attention shifts from the voices to the new shape in the door. Hopping, as though it only has one foot. It looks maybe two feet tall. It moves slowly, as though making it a point to move quietly. Shlomit feels Ashula grabs her arm and squeeze tightly. Clearly, Ashula sees it, too. The small form slowly shakes what can only be a head, and seems to look around, as though trying to avoid being seen. Either they’re obvious, or the thing has night vision, as it starts right for them. As the figure gets closer, Shlomit realizes it’s a doll.

Sort of, anyway. It looks made of yarn. There are pins stuck in her hair, which seems to be made up so that it’s in a bun. A scissors sticks out of a deep pocket in her apron.

The doll just stares at them after having moved behind a boulder bigger than she is. Ashula pulls Shlomit’s hand away from her mouth. “Was that… you?” she whispers at the doll.

“Ash?” Shlomit asks hesitantly.

Ashula and the doll stare at each other for a long moment before Ashula speaks again.

“…not a knitted doll?”

More silence.

“Oh. Er… right. Sorry. Um… what’s the difference?”

“Ashula? What are you talking about?”

“The doll. It insists it’s crocheted–not knitted. And I was wondering what the difference–“

“Why would that matter?” A pause, before she realizes the more pertinent question, “and what are you talking about, ‘it insists it’s crocheted’? It’s a doll. It can’t ‘insist’ anything!”

Ashula blinks between Shlomit and the doll. “You know, normally I’d agree with you, but… I don’t see where else it’s coming from.”

“Where what is coming from?”

“Tell me you heard that,” Ashula demands.

“Heard what? There was nothing to hear.”

“The doll just–“

“You’re going nuts, you know that?”

“That’s not–“

“Fine, then!” a shout comes from the door, making both women fall silent and retreat into the shadows. The doll follows.

A sizable group leaves the room behind the door and takes a path other than the one Shlomit and Ashula had come down on.

“Theater wing,” Shlomit murmurs.

Ashula nods. “Not a terrible place to build a secret… whatever-it-is. With the number of students and visitors on the college campus, a few new faces aren’t likely to be noticed.”

“Especially with how many community theaters use that wing. Rather ingenious, really.”

“And notably not an anti-government club.”

Shlomit starts to agree, but Ashula interrupts her.

“What do you mean?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean? You’re the one that said–” Ashula’s hand claps over her mouth, and she stares at the doll for a long moment.

Shlomit sighs and sticks her tongue out, moving it along her friend’s palm. It has the intended effect of making Ashula recoil sharply with a disgusted noise.

“What was that for?” Shlomit demands.

“I was trying to hear what Saidi was saying.”

“Saidi?”

“The doll. She says it means ‘helper,’ most of the time.”

The doll in question crosses its arms, and Ashula sighs. “Okay, fine. The crafty granny. Happy?”

The doll nods.

Shlomit doesn’t know why that‘s what gets her. She can admit that it definitely seemed like the doll understood what was going on, but the nod was a very clear sign that she did, and kind of knocked her world off its axis.

“Okay, so, Saidi the crafty granny,” Shlomit turns her attention toward the crocheted doll, feeling ridiculous. “Do you have any idea what that was about? And why I can’t hear you?”

Silence for a long moment. Finally, Ashula translates. “She says she doesn’t know why you can’t hear her. Everyone she’s ever known has been able to–“

“Everyone in that room?”

“Sounds like it. She also says that Stitch had told her a bit about what was happening, but he wasn’t entirely sure he knew the full story, either. He and some of the others were apparently given powers, but the thing used to give them powers–“

“–was stolen intellectual property?” Shlomit finishes, remembering what she’d heard.

Shlomit sighs and sticks her tongue out, moving it along her friend’s palm. It has the intended effect of making Ashula recoil sharply with a disgusted noise.

“What was that for?” Shlomit demands.

“I was trying to hear what Saidi was saying.”

“Yeah. Some sort of serum, or something. Saidi says that Stitch said he’d hidden the leftover serum, but that a large part of the group didn’t want to leave the whitecoats any more assets than they had to.”

“…so… forgive me, this is going to come out harshly, but I can’t think of a way to soften it while still getting the point across.” The doll–Saidi the crafty granny, or whatever Ashula was calling her–nods. “…why did they leave you, then? A living doll… that’s got to be quite an asset.”

pile of test tubes within a hole in the wall

Saidi’s shoulders visibly slump, and she throws a gaze back in the direction the group had left. The look is filled with such longing that Shlomit itches to hug Saidi. Ashula reaches out and rests a hand on the doll’s back.

“Stitch made Saidi to look like his grandmother,” Ashula whispers after a moment. “He sometimes had a hard time remembering what she looked like and wanted a reminder–that was how much he missed her. But, every time he saw or interacted with her, he seemed so much sadder than when he interacted with one of the others.”

“So you chose to let him think he left you behind,” Shlomit finishes.

Quiet for a long moment.

“It sounded like you disagreed that this wasn’t an anti-government group,” Shlomit tries to change the subject, “how do you figure that?”

“It was the government that set them on this path,” Ashula conveys, after a moment. “They were told it was a clinical trial, and the serums were short-lived. Harmless. And, they were. Until they weren’t, and the powers stuck around.

“Several of them weren’t happy with that. Or with being told the whitecoats couldn’t do anything to help them. And that they couldn’t leave, now that the serums had begun to have an effect. There was apparently a clause or agreement in the paperwork they hadn’t read thoroughly.”

“…so the government made them into heroes and then turned on them?” Quiet, save for a few nods.

“And Stitch… this is the power he was given?” Shlomit guesses.

“Any creations or just crochet?” Ashula asks Saidi after a moment. Then, “I see.”

“Ash…? Some of us can’t hear, remember?”

“His creations can come to life. They don’t know how far it goes–crochet was the only creative thing he was comfortable with, and the white coats were satisfied with that.” Without missing a beat, she turns back to Saidi. “So, what’s your plan from here?”

Saidi looks away, and Ashula nods after a moment.

Shlomit pokes Ashula. “What if she comes with us?”

“Us?” Ashula blinks at her, “she said Heather–“

“You can understand her. That’s got to mean something.”

“So can Heather.”

“And Heather can also keep her under the eye of the whitecoats. Besides, what about the others? Stitch just left, remember? How well would it go to have a constant reminder of the other side? Er… no offense.”

Saidi shrugs, and Ashula hesitates. Shlomit continues.

“I understand why you didn’t want to go with Stitch–it’s admirable. But he’s not the only one whose well-being you get to watch out for. And, while it kinda wigs me out that I’m talking to a, er, ‘crafty granny’, I find myself liking you enough to try and figure it out. I just don’t like the idea of you throwing in with people who have such a different idea about what the whitecoats did than someone who made you.”

“…I may know someone who’d help us,” Ashula admits slowly.

Shlomit blinks at her. “Seriously?”

“You may be my roommate, but we only met four months ago–I’ve still got plenty of secrets.”

Shlomit shrugs. “I’ll figure them out. So, Saidi the crafty granny,” she grins at the diminutive figure, “what do you say?”