“It’s just a plant stand, Margaret. What’s the worst that could happen?” David chuckled, placing the ornate Victorian piece in their living room corner.

Margaret clutched her sweater tighter, her eyes fixed on the antique’s elaborate iron scrollwork. “You don’t understand. When I was researching the Augustine Estate auction, I found… things. Dark things.”

“Like what?” David’s amusement faded slightly at his wife’s troubled expression.

“In 1886, the original owner, Elizabeth Augustine, collected plant stands. She had exactly thirteen of them.” Margaret’s voice dropped to a whisper. “This is number twelve. The thirteenth was never found after the… incident.”

David sat down, suddenly interested. “What incident?”

“Elizabeth became obsessed with completing her collection. When she couldn’t find the final piece, she…” Margaret swallowed hard. “She commissioned a local craftsman to make one. But she had very specific requirements. The iron had to be mixed with… other materials.”

“What materials?”

“Human bone ash. From her deceased husband.”

David’s face paled. “That’s impossible. Those are just stories people made up to sell antiques.”

The stand creaked slightly, though there was no breeze.

“Three days after the thirteenth stand was delivered,” Margaret continued, “Elizabeth disappeared. They found the craftsman dead in his workshop, his body twisted into impossible angles. Like he was trying to become…”

“Trying to become what?”

“Part of his creation.”

David laughed nervously. “Well, good thing we only have the twelfth one then.”

Margaret shook her head. “Don’t you see? These twelve stands were meant to form a circle. They’re incomplete without the thirteenth. They’re always searching for…”

The lights flickered.

“For what?” David’s voice cracked.

“A way to complete the set.”

That night, David woke to the sound of metal scraping against wood. In the darkness, he could make out Margaret’s silhouette by the plant stand.

“Hon? What are you doing?”

She turned, but something was wrong with her movement – too fluid, too curved. “We need to complete it, David. Elizabeth showed me how. We just need a little more… material.”

Her body began to bend and twist, bones cracking as they reformed. The plant stand’s scrollwork seemed to reach out, welcoming her.

David scrambled for the light switch, but his fingers found only warm, wet iron.

“Don’t worry,” Margaret’s voice echoed, no longer entirely human. “You’ll help us make it perfe—”