At the dark end of the pier, beyond the clattering arcades, lies The Dressing-Up Box. A faded sign on the painted white door reads, ‘Cast aside the everyday grind and step into the shoes of another life’. So far, so good, right? Who doesn’t long to lose the humdrum, to escape, if only briefly, the shackles of daily existence? To those of you who responded with a resounding ‘Yes, sign me up!’ a word of caution: this outwardly harmless establishment isn’t all that it seems.

Under ordinary circumstances, the proprietess (rarely a proprietor) of a fairground fancy dress booth will relieve you quite happily of a tenner in exchange for a 30 minute rummage amongst the costumes. The clothes may be stale and a little moth eaten, but in the denuded wardrobe you can indulge your inner fairy princess or become the Egyptian queen of your dreams. Then, once the initial excitement fades and awkwardness descends, the moment is captured for posterity, all sepia-tinted and yours for just £7.99. After reluctantly parting with your cash, you leave the proprietess, her costumes, and perhaps your dignity, behind.

But not so at this establishment: the proprietess of this particular seaside shack not only wants your cash, she also wants your soul. Now, it may surprise you to hear that in the East Sussex area there is a rather buoyant market in the sale and purchase of living dolls. For the uninitiated among you, a living doll has every appearance of a regular child’s doll, but behind the glass eyes and within the stiff limbs lives the soul of a woman who has been tricked, trapped and then sold to the highest bidder. The proprietess on the pier draws her victims with promises of temporary escapism, a bit of a giggle, but her intentions are entirely evil.

Once the unsuspecting women hand over their money, they are led through to a deceptively cavernous wardrobe. The artificial light is kept low to hide fraying seams and unsavoury stains. The women spend a few minutes (their last as free souls) browsing the rails, looking for a costume which captures the eye or inspires the imagination. After they have chosen, the proprietess coaxes them out of their ordinary clothes while she weaves her spell over the selected garments. Once they are dressed, the curse is fixed, and the terrible transformation begins. First, the clothes and the women began to shrink until they stand no more than a foot from the ground. The next, and most unpleasant stage, is the hardening of the skin. The look and feel of plastic is important to her clients and the witch has refined the spell over the years, the only imperfection being a faint smell of burnt rubber which accompanies the whole process and lingers always afterwards. The final step, and the most difficult to behold, is the transformation of the eyes, a terrifying process of calcification. The spell is then complete. The proprietess gathers her victims in her arms and places the living dolls in boxes ready for sale, making room for her next hapless victims.

Inspired by a trip to Brighton Pier and my cousin, Christine.