Marcus Garvey Park has always felt like it was populated by the serenest of ancient park spirits, nodding and hmmming at the antics of all the families and teenagers and drunks that play out around them. I used to sit there on an overnight ambulance – it was one of the busiest units I ever worked, sat right below 125th street in Harlem and they kept us moving with messiness – but the park was always a quiet sanctuary.

Part two of this story, my take on the classic House Of Dolls horror trope, actually comes from a real experience I had in high school dating a girl that lived in some masshole suburb whose mom had a dedicated an entire room of their house to her creepy American Girl doll collection and when you walked in you could feel them all staring at you with those glassy undead eyes. Of course it ended up in a short story…