The little girl whiled away the day, cleaning, pulling weeds, cooking, and washing up until night finally came.
“It is time, my dear,” announced the Doll-Maker, retrieving a large canvas bag and what looked to be some dirty old parchment.
The little girl sat on her bed of cloth and straw, exhausted from the day's chores, wishing only to sleep, as the foul smell of elepine root drifted dizzyingly up her nose.
Stepping round his desk, the Doll-Maker walked over to her.
“Come on, my dear. On your feet. You have a long, exciting evening ahead of you, and you will need all your strength for it.”
Noting the little girl's evident exhaustion, the Doll-Maker said, “Here, drink this,” as he picked up his mug of elepine root tea and held it before her.
A feeling of abhorrent dread instantly filled the little girl, who could barely stand the detestable stink of the tea, let alone consider allowing its putrid liquid to touch her lips. In her most polite, formal tone, she attempted to dissuade the Doll-Maker from his offer.
“Thank you very kindly, sir, but I could not bring myself to deny you of your—”
“Drink,” stated the Doll-Maker, simply.
Fixing her eyes upon this most terrible brew, everything else around it seemed to disappear from her consciousness, leaving only the dreaded mug and it’s unbearably rancid contents insistently present in the little girl's mind.
“Please, sir, I—”
The Doll-Maker forcibly placed the warm mug into the little girl's hands, silently declaring she had no choice: one way or another, she would drink.
Once again recognising her defeat, the little girl looked inside the ceramic receptacle at its brown, slightly foamy contents, the likes of which were beginning to make her nostrils burn. Closing her eyes and thinking of her parents, she brought the mug to her lips and took a deep gulp of the tea; big enough, she thought, to satisfy the Doll-Maker.
As the little girl rapidly extended her arms to hand the mug back to the Doll-Maker, an unexpected thing happened. The putrescent brown swill actually tasted...good. More than good, in fact. It made her think of the golden biscuits her mother used to make for her. Oh, how the sweet dough smell had filled the kitchen and her heart with blissful contentment. Suddenly, the exhaustion she felt ebbed immediately away, leaving her refreshed and oddly energetic.
Seeing her face briefly light up, the Doll-Maker said, “There, I told you it would refresh you, didn't I, my dear? You should learn to trust your elders more. Now, on your feet you get.”
In a single bound, the little girl stood up, both wishing she could drink more tea and that it could smell a little nicer.
“Here is the bag you will place the skulls in after you collect them. Take care of it, for it is the only one of this size I have,” the Doll-Maker informed the little girl, as he placed it in her hand. “And here is the spade you used last night.” He handed it to her. “Finally, my dear,” he concluded, picking up the tattered old parchment from the edge of his desk, “here is a map of the entire province and beyond. I have placed crosses to indicate where the cemeteries are to be found. That is not to say, however, that you must only collect skulls from there. No. You have the freedom to be as creative as you wish!”
“I'm sorry, sir,” spoke the little girl, perplexed by the Doll-Maker's last statement, “but I don't understand.”
“What I mean to say, my dear, is that skulls do not solely exist within the confines of coffins. They are to be found in many other places. Why, there are two right here in this room!” he exclaimed, theatrically waving his hand in the air.
As comprehension dawned on the little girl, the Doll-Maker bent his knees slightly so he could be face-to-face with her and said, in a sing-song tone, “Be as creative as you wish,” marking the full stop by tapping the tip of the little girl's nose with his index finger and winking.
Standing back up, the Doll-Maker animatedly pointed the same index finger to the ceiling and said,
“Now, before you go, there are a few rules you must abide by, if you are to be successful! Firstly, as you already know, you must only work in the dead of night, under the cover of darkness! Secondly, you must be as silent and invisible as possible. You must never allow anyone to spot you! Which brings me to the third rule. You must never, ever, ever be caught! Alas, these provincial imbeciles have yet to open their minds enough to recognize the work of an artiste such as I. Pitifully, however, should they find you, they would most likely burn you alive or dismember you for your acts of savagery,” he concluded, casually rolling his hand.
As if someone had thrown an ice-cold bucket of water all over her, the little girl's spine shuddered uncontrollably at the thought of the Doll-Maker's last words. So much so that no words came to mind or mouth.
Suddenly clapping his hands, the Doll-Maker said, “Okay, enough dilly-dallying, my dear. You have much to do, and I don't wish to keep you.”
Attempting still to form words, the little girl found herself being pushed out of the door and into the chilly dead of night.
“Don't forget the rules, my dear. I would hate to have to find yet another assistant!” exclaimed the Doll-Maker, cupping one of his hands over his mouth as he watched her being swallowed into darkness.
Unceremoniously sent on her way on her first night as the Doll-Maker's skull collector, the little girl began her journey through the dark, wild forest. Attempting desperately not to scratch, bump, or gouge any part of herself on the invisible obstacle course she traversed, things she did not wish to imagine squelched, cracked, and snapped underfoot.
As she tentatively walked, she held on to an image of her parents. It was one she could not remember ever having occurred, where her mother, on bended knee, held her warmly in her arms as her father stood and stroked her undulating chestnut hair. The little girl felt tears begin to form at the base of her eyes, yearning for her parents' touch. Before she could be dragged down into the inevitable despair that would follow, she tightly closed her eyes and shook the tears and sadness away. She would not bring her parents back by merely crying out for them. Her only chance, she reassured herself, was to collect the skulls sought by the Doll-Maker. As she re-opened her eyes and wiped the remaining tears away, the sorrow within them was replaced by a look of ardent determination.
Confidently increasing her pace, the little girl decided she would first visit the neighboring village's cemetery, looking to the old map for directions as soon as light would permit.
The longer she walked through Midnight Forest, the louder the whistles and “woos” seemed to become, some unnervingly close to her. The occasional flutter of feathers above made her wonder whether the crows continued to stalk her, as they watched her every move.
From her left came some sudden rustling from what seemed to be a clump of bushes. As the rustling continued from bush to weed to shrub, the little girl stopped in her tracks as the thrashing sound stopped somewhere in front of her.
Unsure as to what to do, she apprehensively asked in a low tone, “Who...? Who's there? What do you want?” As she spoke, she raised her spade up to her torso for, should she need to strike, the little girl told herself, she would be better prepared.
When no reply came, she, feeling slightly self-assured due to the weapon she brandished, repeated, “Who's there?”
As soon as the words had escaped her lips, the flora ahead shook for a moment before stopping, giving way to the sound of steps that now approached her.
“Stop right there,” she warned, “or I will hit you with my spade!”
As the steps unrelentingly continued to edge ever closer, the little girl lifted the spade above her head, ready to strike it down on the incoming menace. Now mere centimetres in front, unable to see anyone or anything ahead of her, the little girl began to fear she was about to come face-to-face with a looming apparition. As she readied to strike whatever abominable creature stood before her, a tiny caw came from the forest floor below.
Abruptly stopping her downward swing, the little girl, her wildly beating heart filling with hope, said, “Sooty?” At the sound of its name, she believed the crow to which she had become attached replied with another little caw.
Still unable to see what lay ahead on the dark, leaf-strewn ground, she strained to hear the little crow's footsteps as it neared her. As she called out her diminutive friend's name, the little girl suddenly felt something jump onto her feet. Suppressing a jerk so as not to scare the little bird away, she looked down to see two eyes staring back at her: one red, one blue.
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“Sooty!” she exclaimed joyfully, dropping the spade as she bent down to pick her friend up with her hands.
The little girl stood back up and briefly held him aloft as the little bird let out a much louder, happier caw!
“I am so happy you came back!” she exclaimed, placing the tiny crow atop her shoulder, while a wave of relief washed over her. “Come on, let's go. We have a long walk ahead before we reach the village,” she said, picking up her spade.
***
The little girl and crow found their way out of Midnight Forest and, guided by the old map, walked down dark, windswept country lanes, trying to avoid being seen by anyone. She refrained from walking through the streets of her village by taking the higher foothill paths. The little girl had decided the best thing she could do was to place all the cherished memories she had from her life there inside a little box within her heart, so as to better focus on the night ahead. With the tiny crow happily resting on her shoulder, they proceeded to the neighboring village. Descending the dense foothills, the little girl had little choice but cross a wide, open plain. She kept off the main dirt track that led to the village, cautiously preferring to walk through the wet, marshy grassland next to it.
Above, dark silver and black clouds rolled and charged for dominance over the infinite skies they roamed, causing roars of thunder as they crashed and smashed into each other in a celestial display of lights. Reaching the entrance to the village, the little girl leaned behind the wall that encircled it, carefully peering inside to look around. At first glance, the main street, which was a continuation of the path that led to the village itself and appeared to run the entirety of it, seemed deserted.
“So far, so good, Sooty,” she said. “We can do this. No time to be afraid. Let's go.”
Silently entering the village, she remembered the Doll-Maker's lesson of the previous day and proceeded cautiously forward, keeping to the darkness of the shadows. From somewhere in the sombre skies, the sound of fluttering wings resounded into the little girl's ears, though, when she looked up to see their owners, ominous warring clouds were all she saw.
Ahead and around her, the houses seemed not too dissimilar to the ones she had grown up in. The frames themselves were uniformly made of dark gray stone, with the roofs constructed from the thick wood found in the nearby hills. The only difference she took notice of was the poor way in which they appeared to have been constructed. With some walls higher than others, most of the houses were uneven and crooked, making some of the chimneys protrude from the sides at odd angles.
As on the night before, the little girl glided behind barrels, benches, and bins. She avoided any possible detection until she reached a little hill just inside the village walls, atop which the cemetery serenely stood.
“We must be quiet,” she instructed the tiny crow as they reached the high, rusted gates of the cemetery. “There could be a groundskeeper walking around inside.”
Just as on the night before, she made to open the gate but found it locked with a thick padlock.
“Oh, no,” she uttered under her breath. Looking left and right then turning her head to speak to the tiny crow, the little girl said, “We must find another way to enter.”
Choosing to walk to the right, along the gated enclosure, she examined every inch of it until she perceived a small gap where one of the poles had rusted completely away.
The little girl pushed the spade through it first then knelt down on her hands and knees.
“I think we can fit through here,” she told the tiny crow as she started to squeeze through the hole, while the little bird jumped off her shoulder to wait for her on the other side.
Half way through the gap, she once again heard the sound of wings beating above her; this time, however, the sound stopped suddenly somewhere overhead. Once through the gap, the little girl turned to look up and saw an enormous crow standing on a gate post, menacingly watching her.
Mustering all the bravery she could, she whispered so as to not attract any attention, “Go away, nasty bird!” Feeling around her, the little girl managed to find a stone, which she promptly threw at the large crow, who lazily flew away. Far from having any dislike of crows or any of their kin, the little girl felt as though she should dislike them, for the Doll-Maker had expressed a distinct aversion of them. Much like a good employee wishing to follow their employer's example, for the time being at least, she would also dislike crows (with the obvious exception of her little friend, of course).
Getting to her feet, the tiny crow that now stood by her shoes twice cawed, which the little girl understood as a request to be picked up. She happily did so. The diminutive bird back on her shoulder, she vigilantly proceeded into the sleeping graveyard. Remembering the potential consequences of being discovered, the little girl surveyed the cemetery as she hid behind a gravestone. No groundskeeper could be seen.
“Caw,” stated the tiny bird.
“Don't be so hasty,” replied the little girl. “He may be hiding like we are or digging a hole.”
Craning her neck to get a better view, she saw no movement but that of the windswept leaves and swaying reeds. Daringly, she stepped away from the gravestone she’d hid behind and sneaked to another. When she still didn't see anyone, she ran behind yet another one and another.
“Caw,” remarked the tiny crow.
“Yes, I think so, but we have to be careful. Let's find one away from the entrance, just in case someone walks by.”
Together, the little girl and tiny bird walked further into the graveyard, passing tombstone after tombstone as she cautiously kept an eye on her surroundings. Finally they came to what she believed to be a perfect spot: not too close to the back gate, but far enough away from the front.
“I think this one will do, Sooty,” she uttered.
“Caw, caw,” replied the little crow.
Unanimously agreeing on which grave to dig, the little girl dropped the canvas bag and map to one side and approached it, holding the spade with both hands as she readied herself for the task ahead.
As the ashen and ebony heavens continued to roar above and the wild winds whistled and wailed below, the sound of spade digging earth was mostly drowned.
The little girl dug and dug, deeper and deeper. Around her, crows yet again began to land on gate posts, gravestones, and mausoleums nearby, watching as she continued to dig. On occasion, the tiny bird cawed, and they replied in kind.
Not taking notice of the building group of birds forming, the little girl continued to dig until her muscles screamed, her hands bled, and her back ceded from the now unbearable strain. Suddenly a loud “thud” indicated she had reached the casket. With tearful exhilaration, she pried open the nail-less coffin to find what appeared to be the decaying body of a woman who had been buried in a gray dress.
The little girl stared into her hollow eyes, wondering who she was and what life she may have lived. At that moment, the full impact of what she was doing hit her. The overwhelming guilt took her breath away, as salty tears filled her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. What was she doing? Was she really about to steal this woman's skull? This woman, who had once loved and been loved, who may have had a family, much like she, herself, had known. She couldn't do it. She couldn't do that to her, to her family, to her memory. The little girl turned and clumsily climbed out of the hole, having decided to re-bury the woman's resting place. Suddenly, the vivid image of her beloved parents came soaring back and fiercely crashed into her warring mind.
The little girl reminded herself that she did have the chance to get them back; that, if she left, she would be abandoning them, leaving them to their untimely deaths. The woman eternally resting before her had had a life. She had grown up, most likely with parents who loved and cherished her and, when she herself grew up, she had most likely loved and cherished her own children until they, too, grew up.
No, this woman had been happy and had lived a long, full life. Now, the little girl had the chance to right a wrong that had transpired. She could get back the life she was supposed to have. She couldn't leave. Turning back around, she reached for the skull as a cacophonous concerto of beating wings and caws rose from the dark, misty darkness around her.
Suddenly startled at the sight of the many crows that dotted the cemetery, the little girl tried to suppress her immediate fear and, rapidly grabbing the canvas bag, jumped back down into the grave as her legs gave way, and she landed on the woman's dusty corpse. Her face mere inches from the skull that she sought, the little girl scrambled to her knees and fell backwards with a mixture of fear and repulsion.
Getting back on her feet, she quickly grabbed the woman's skull and uttered, “I'm sorry,” before thrusting it into the bag. She frantically climbed out of the hole to the piercing calls of the crows.
“Sooty!” she yelled, unconcerned as to whether anyone could hear her as she looked around for her little friend. “Where are you?”
Amidst the deafening avian shrieks, the little girl could not hear whether her tiny friend was responding. All of a sudden, she felt something bump into her ankle and, looking down, saw the red and blue eyes staring back at her. Relieved at the welcome sight of her friend, she scooped him up with her hand and made to run, just as a single, elongated violin note gracefully glided across the coldness of the night and filled its entirety. At once, the crows fell silent as they reposed atop their chosen perches, once more gazing intently at the little girl.
Trying to locate where the music had come from, she saw something begin to emerge, gradually walking to the top of a small hill just beyond the cemetery. Head followed by torso followed by legs, the little girl could make out the shape of a young man dressed in a tattered black suit. His long, sleek, wavy hair, dark as a raven's plumage, cascaded over most of his face.
For a moment, she and the Violinist regarded each other, intently. Then, in one smooth motion, the Violinist brought his instrument up to his chin and began to play a slow, sombre tune that inexplicably entranced the little girl. No sooner had the Violinist started playing the soothing, melancholic melody, than he stopped and began to play a different, faster one.
When the crows heard it, they wildly began fluttering their inky wings and took to the air.
As soon as the bewitching melody finished, the little girl looked back to see a thick, ebony murder of crows blotting out the night sky, flying menacingly toward her and Sooty.
As quickly as she could with all she carried, she bounded forward toward the hole she had climbed through. Her legs being no match for the speed of winged aggressors, the crows soon caught up to her and began to slash and peck and rip at her with their razor-sharp talons and beaks.
Cut and bleeding, the little girl tried to continue running as she frantically shielded her friend from the murderous aerial assault, but the more she was slashed, the more crimson blood streamed and burst out of her and the more she felt her little legs begin to buckle, as she ran out of strength. From behind, the large crow she had earlier thrown a stone at speedily flew toward her back and, like a battering ram, smashed into it, sending the little girl hurtling forward onto the sodden earth. To the sudden change of melody, the crows landed next to and around her and her possessions, which now lay strewn around. While some crows encircled her, the others rapidly made their way to the canvas bag. Upon reaching it, they slashed the bag open, revealing the skull within. One of the biggest crows immediately took it into its ample talons and promptly flew away into the thunderous skies above.
This done, the Violinist's tune, as intoxicating as smoky incense, once again changed, and the remaining crows flapped their wings and flew away, leaving the little girl bloody and unconscious on the wet, emerald grass.