The following day, the little girl began to stir to the sound of blades scraping, slicing, and shaving wood. Silently creeping like a snake, a malodorous stench drifted inside the little girl's nostrils, waking her with a start, making her sit up and pinch her nose. Looking around her, she could not detect where the bilious stink came from. Upon seeing the Doll-Maker busily sculpting a limb, the little girl hurriedly asked, “Please, sir, please. What is that horrible smell?”
“First, my dear, I don't know how you were raised, but it is customary to wish people a good morning upon seeing them.”
“Sorry, sir,” replied the girl, too concerned about the awful stench in the air to feel remorse or embarrassment. “Good morning, sir. Did you sleep well?”
“I seldom sleep, as I find it a dreadful waste of one's time. Thank you, nonetheless, dear.”
Choosing to ignore the fact the Doll-Maker hadn't returned her “good morning”, the little girl repeated, “Please, sir—the smell.”
“Why, I'm not sure what you mean, dear,” replied the Doll-Maker nonchalantly. “Although, perhaps you mean my morning drink? I make it from the roots of the Elepine bush, found only to grow in Midnight Forest, you know. Very effective at keeping one focused on one's task...and at waking slumbering little girls,” he said, in a slightly mocking tone.
“But...it's awful, sir,” stated the little girl boldly, finding herself incapable of standing the foul smell any longer.
“I dare say it would be to the unrefined, yes,” tittered the Doll-Maker. “You will become accustomed to it, worry not.”
Taking a prolonged sip from his mug before setting it down, the Doll-Maker said, “It is time for you to begin your daily duties. Follow me.”
Without another word, the Doll-Maker, dressed in the same slim-fitting white shirt, dark gray waistcoat, and trousers, promptly headed toward the door and opened it. Holding it open and turning to the little girl, he said, “Come on, my dear. We haven't got all day, and there is much to do before tonight.”
Upon hearing these words, the little girl hopped to her feet and hurried to the door, covered, as she was, in wood shavings. As she was about to cross the door's threshold, she asked, “Please, sir, what will we do tonight?”
The Doll-Maker, however, once again simply replied, “All in good time, my dear. All in good time.”
Having half-expected that type of answer, the little girl adjusted her eyes to the misty morning light of day, for the first time setting them upon the forest.
Various shades of yellow and brown painted the overgrown weeds and small, drying bushes at her feet and beyond, beneath which small wooden slabs alluded that there had once been an attempt at a path leading to and from the workshop. Amidst them, higher bushes stood, twisted and gnarled by time, with grayed and yellowed leaves precariously holding on to their desiccated branches.
Gangling trees rose and spanned above them, their fanning branches canopying the earth and mist below in gray shadows. In the deafening stillness that saturated the scene, the occasional rustling and whistle was heard near and far.
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“This way, my dear,” spoke the Doll-Maker, breaking the silence of the forest, as the little girl followed him to the side of the workshop. Yet more oddly shaped reeds and weeds climbed and firmly stood, as the little girl came to see what appeared to be a small shack almost entirely swallowed by the roots of a gnarled, coiled old tree that leaned almost entirely on its side.
As the Doll-Maker briefly struggled to open the door, he announced, “Here we are, my dear. This is the kitchen. In you go.”
The little girl looked tentatively at the Doll-Maker, who sharply snapped, “Well, go on, then.”
As though feeling an invisible hand pushing her along, the little girl stepped through into the creaky old shack. Smells of earth, wood, and dew filled her nostrils as she took in her surroundings. Inside, as out, the wooden walls had been painted a very light blue color, though much of it was severely chipped and faded by time. Above, roots from the leaning tree had pushed through the aged roof of the shack, claiming most of it as its own, giving the effect that large, dark snakes slumbered intertwined above.
The shack itself consisted of very little. To the left of the door, a simple cooking work surface with two small hobs stood beside a rusted sink with what looked like thick, gooey, bubbling mud in it.
On the floor next to it, there were sacks of old potatoes, onions, and rice.
At the back of the shack, there were three shelves, on top of which were sundry cans and jars—the contents of which the little girl did not dare guess—and a few pots and pans.
“You will clean the entirety of the kitchen today, before the light fades, my dear. I also hope you are a proficient cook, as it shall also be part of your daily duties. You will find a cloth under the sink. Be sure to have the food prepared by early afternoon, as we will leave as soon as the sun sets.” With that, the Doll-Maker turned swiftly and left, leaving the little girl alone to her tasks.
For the rest of the day, she cleaned and scrubbed until her every muscle screamed for mercy and the blisters in her hands opened and bled. When the time came to eat, she cleared the furthest section of the desk, as per the Doll-Maker's instructions, set the cutlery, rusty as it was, carefully down in its correct position, and placed a large pot of vegetable stew down on the table.
“I must say,” spoke the Doll-Maker, lingering his pointy nose over the stew as he grinned merrily, “this smells wonderful, my dear. Many moons have passed since last I smelled something as delectable as this. You have my thanks. Now, let us eat, for we have a long night ahead.”
Thinking better of asking what they would be doing that night, the little girl decided to fill her bowl until it was full and eat and eat until her own belly was full, too.
When both the Doll-Maker and the little girl had eaten their fill, he resumed his work behind the desk, as the little girl cleared it of all dishes, cutlery, and glasses, and then proceeded to do the washing up.
When the last ray of sun sliced through the perpetually haunting mist and stepped down to allow the moon to sit on her heavenly throne in the dark skies above, the Doll-Maker and little girl prepared to leave.
Noticing the tensely curious look on the little girl's face, the Doll-Maker said, “Now you may ask, my dear.”
Like removing the lid of a boiling pot, the little girl's words exploded from her mouth,
“Pleasesirwherearewegoing?”
With a short chortle, the Doll-Maker replied, “We, my dear, are going to the cemetery.”
“The cemetery, sir?” She had, for as long as she could remember, an aversion to cemeteries. They, to her, were where ghosts resided and returned to after long nights of haunting and mischief.
“Why, of course. Where else do you think you get skulls from—the market?” snorted the Doll-Maker, looking exasperated.
Though she acknowledged his logic, his words had not assuaged her fear of their intended location. Nor, of course, had they meant to. Doubting very much whether there could be anything she could say to change their destination and holding very tightly to the thought that she could be with her parents once again, the little girl swallowed her fears and said, “Okay, sir, let's go find some skulls.”
“That's my girl,” exclaimed the Doll-Maker, eliciting a brief feeling of deep anger within the little girl, which she could not understand. “As you say, my dear—let us go collect some skulls!”