The little girl now thought of the woos and whistles as cheers and greetings from friends, welcoming her back home. Dark as the forest was around her, she had rapidly learned when to turn, duck, avoid, and dodge her way through it.
“We're back, Sooty,” she uttered as she gasped for breath. “We are finally back.” Slowly she slipped her hand down into her pocket to let her diminutive friend out, but the warm feathers she had expected to touch were not there. The little girl carefully felt around the entirety of the pocket, but Sooty simply was not there. Dropping her eyes in sadness, she had half-expected her friend to once again leave again, as he had every night since their first meeting. She just didn't expect him to have already done so. She had wanted to speak with him, to caress and thank him again before he left. Sooty was her only friend, and she could not help missing his company during the dark, silent night. Despite having now come to expect his nightly disappearances, the abruptness of his departures still saddened her.
As she progressed further into the deep forest, the flickering glow from a window indicated she had finally reached the warmth of the Doll-Maker's workshop. Covered in wet, cold mud, her hair sodden and her legs aching, the little girl knocked on the door, wishing for nothing more than to lie on the pile of hay that was her bed.
The long, calm footsteps of the Doll-Maker neared, and the door opened.
“Welcome back, my dear,” he greeted, standing in the gap that led to the workshop, eyeing her with a look of inquisitiveness.
“Have you brought me back what I asked for?”
The little girl suspected the Doll-Maker would not have allowed her passage into the workshop had she failed to bring him the skulls he so sought.
Tiredness weighing upon her brow, she said nothing more than, “Yes, sir.”
At once, the Doll-Maker flung the door wide open and exclaimed, in his sing-song way,
“Well, come in, my dear! Come away from the cold of the night into the warmth of my workshop.” His grin was as wide as the little girl had ever seen it.
Stepping through, the Doll-Maker hovered over her, his eyes fixated on the canvas bag like a child expectantly waiting to open his much-awaited presents.
“Take a seat, my dear. Rest your weary bones. Would you like a hot, relaxing beverage?” he asked, plunging his head inside the canvas bag to investigate its contents.
“Four!” he exclaimed, his head rapidly re-emerging from the bag. “You have brought four skulls! Why, this is... This is... wonderful, my dear! However did you manage so many in one night?”
As the little girl recounted the events she had experienced, the Doll-Maker, a look of contentment on his face, walked back around his desk and picked up a mug and a pitcher of water from somewhere behind it. After pouring some of the water into the mug, he reached back behind the desk again, this time producing a little translucent bag, inside of which could be seen bright red strands of something.
With his index finger and thumb, he picked some of the strands and dropped them straight into the mug from which, moments later, steam began to rise in ghostly whorls.
As the little girl finished telling him of the night's events, the Doll-Maker handed her the steaming mug of hot, red liquid.
Pensively, yet still looking elated, he said, “Hmm, I see, I see,” as the little girl looked at the contents of the warming mug, wondering how best to describe the smell that rose from it. After some consideration, deliberation, and contemplation, she concluded that the liquid smelled like a mixture of strawberries, cream, and cinnamon.
Her curiosity demanding to be satisfied, the little girl looked up at the pondering Doll-Maker and politely asked, “Please, sir, what is this drink?”
As if suddenly snapping back from a long inward journey, the Doll-Maker replied, “Hmm? Oh, why that's lubban root tea, my dear. Drink it—it will relax you, you will see.”
Thirsty, tired, and very much looking forward to tasting such a lovely-smelling drink, the little girl gratefully brought the mug to her lips and took a big sip of the red tea.
As if she had swallowed a slimy toad, she carelessly placed the mug on the desk as her face pinched and contorted from the disgusting taste she had just lamentably ingested.
“Ah, yes. Perhaps I should have mentioned that lubban root tea is an acquired taste. Although I am certain you will be feeling its effects momentarily, dear.”
True to the Doll-Maker's words, the little girl began feeling the most relaxed and content she could ever remember feeling as a wave of warm drowsiness washed over her.
At that moment, she stood up and, slowly attempting to make her way to her bed as she staggered, said, “I think... Yes...Mmm... I thi—bed,” in a somewhat inebriated manner.
“Splendid idea, my dear,” the Doll-Maker concurred, retrieving the prized skulls from the bag and placing them on his desk in a row to appraise.
The little girl, her eyes blurring more and more, managed to fumble to her bed of hay just as the full effect of the lubban root tea took effect and she passed out.
***
The following day, she woke to the sound of crunching and smashing as the acrid smell of the sweet-tasting elepine tea drifted lazily in the air.
“Good morning, my dear. You slept well, I trust?”
“Yes, sir, I did. Thank you.”
Nodding to the edge of his desk, the Doll-Maker said, “There is some tea there for you, dear. Drink it while it's hot.”
Feeling wonderfully refreshed, the little girl stood and grabbed the mug, thanking the Doll-Maker as she heartily drank the thick, muddy liquid. She remarked to herself how such a rebarbative stench could so easily be tolerated when its taste and effect were so attractive and refreshing.
As the smashing and grinding continued, the little girl turned to investigate what the Doll-Maker was doing, finding him half lost in a white, dusty cloud, beating and grinding at what appeared to be misshapen alabaster tiles. Walking closer toward the desk, she saw the broken remains of what had been the skulls she had collected the previous night. As her eyes wandered over the surface of the desk, she saw yellowed teeth randomly scattered over it and tried to blot out the image of the people she had imagined into life to whom they had belonged.
“I have no use for teeth,” spoke the Doll-Maker, grinning at the little girl as he waved away the dusty cloud of ground skulls. “They have a different texture and are not as easily ground into paste.”
Unable to think of an appropriate answer to his statement, the little girl took another extended sip from her tea as she began to feel its energizing effects.
“I have already eaten, so feel free to go into the kitchen and make yourself some breakfast, my dear. You will need all your strength for your daily chores and for tonight's outing, if you are to bring me yet more skulls.”
The little girl was grateful for the Doll-Maker's sudden show of kind attention, though she was wise enough to recognize it as recompense for the haul she had brought back with her the previous night. She wondered, however, whether he would continue to be so, were she to bring an inferior number of skulls that night. The thought unsettled her slightly, so she thanked the Doll-Maker for the tea and breakfast she would soon have and decided to go outside in the hopes of finding Sooty, whom she suddenly missed very much.
Walking through a sullen, misty day to the rickety old kitchen, the little girl made herself some breakfast as, like on the previous day, Sooty jumped up to the window's outer sill and tappity-tapped on the glass. The little girl hurriedly opened the creaky door to let him in, immediately delighted at the sight of her friend. The rest of the day was spent much the same as had the previous: she cleaned the kitchen, tended to the garden, and made lunch, all the while glad of the company her raven friend provided. When it was time to eat, the little girl brought her index finger up to her shoulder, and Sooty hopped onto it. Bringing him to eye level, she anticipated his departure and wished him a happy day until they saw each other again that night. With those words, the tiny crow gave a single caw before jumping off into the mossy, dark thickness of Midnight Forest.
As night came, the Doll-Maker skipped up to the little girl with his hands behind his back, leaned down toward her face, and said, “I have a little surprise for you, my dear.”
With a confusing mixture of mild excitement and dread, the little girl struggled with what to say.
“Th...Thank you, sir,” she decided upon, wincing slightly, as her imagination filled her mind with the horrors of what the Doll-Maker's hands might contain.
Bringing his right hand forward from behind his back, the Doll-Maker cheerily said, “Surprise,” as he handed what appeared to the little girl to be a piece of raggedy old cloth.
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She knew the Doll-Maker would be expecting a reaction from her. The little girl looked nervously from side to side as she tried to avoid his anticipative gaze. Why, she pondered, would he give her a dirty old rag? The better to clean with, perhaps? Maybe he would ask her to sew it into a pillow she could use. Feeling the Doll-Maker's ever-increasing stare as he awaited her reaction, the little girl had no other option but to say, “Oh, thank you, sir. I... I love it,” as she gently took it from him.
Furrowing his brow, the Doll-Maker seemed confused at her reaction. Then, with a slight sigh of exasperation, he said, “No, no. Look on the back—it's a map!”
The little girl turned the old cloth over and saw that there, indeed, was a pencil drawing of what resembled a sort of map.
“I drew it myself,” he stated, his face beaming with self-satisfaction, while he rocked back and forth on the heels of his feet. “It is a map that leads from Midnight Forest to the third farthest village from here. Now there will be no chance of you getting lost, my dear, and you shall reach their cemetery before you know it! The sooner you get there, the sooner you will start to dig, the more skulls you will collect and come back with!” With each word the Doll-Maker spoke, the higher his voice and matched excitement became, as his frame tensed and tensed until he looked like a long, pointy stick.
Despite realizing the Doll-Maker's self-serving gift, the little girl was glad for the map. She had not been embracing the thought of wandering the dark, tenebrous countryside as she tried to find her way to the very next village.
“Thank you, sir,” she said earnestly. “It will be very useful to me.”
As the little girl gathered the things she would need that night, the Doll-Maker walked toward her from his dusty desk. “Listen carefully, my dear. The map I have drawn for you will lead down a path that will allow you to completely bypass the village you were in last night. That is a place you must never be seen in again, for, should you be caught, they will not hesitate to decapitate you for having desecrated the mausoleum where rests the founding mayor and his family's corpses.”
The thought of her own decapitation being more than the little girl could stand, she vowed to the Doll-Maker and to herself that she would never return to that village.
“There is one more thing of which I must warn you before you leave, my dear. Last night, you were lucky. The unfortunate amount of people you saw were also undoubtedly responsible for the Violinist's absence. This luxury, however, will not be afforded to you tonight. Take heed, dear, for the Violinist and his crows will doubtless make an attempt at the skulls once again.”
With those words, the Doll-Maker sent the little girl off into the night's freezing air, giving her a tattered old blanket with which to keep warm. Throwing it over herself, she began her long journey. As she started walking through the garden, a single caw came from somewhere above her. Looking up, she saw her small friend perching on the branch of a twisted, dead tree, his feathers blowing in the chilly wind.
Despite the harsh cold, the little girl at once felt warmer; her heart began to glow at the sight of her friend. She leaned her head slightly to the left, allowing enough space for the tiny crow to jump down onto her shoulder. With a sense of gladness at their reunion, the little girl and Sooty melted into the darkness of the forest.
Once again, they walked past her village, down the same country lanes, up hills, and through thick, eerie woods. When they reached the outskirts of the second village, it looked so calm and peaceful that the little girl could scarcely imagine it had been the scene of her lucky escape the previous night. Reaching inside her pocket, she picked up the map and began to examine it, attempting to follow the alternative path the Doll-Maker had drawn up for her.
The map showed a track beyond the hill to the right of the second village that wound around some hills and between others. Not wishing to waste time and aware as she was of the long night ahead, the little girl began climbing the small hill, since going around it would have lamentably brought her too close to the village and her potential beheading. Twice slipping and stumbling on loose pebbles and rocks, she banged and scraped her knees but nevertheless persisted until she reached the top. The little girl, Sooty still on her shoulder, walked through large, thick trees, hearing the sundry scuttles and scurries of creatures the likes of which she could not see.
She reached the other side of the hill and, looking below, saw the path the Doll-Maker had drawn on his map. The little girl carefully made her way down as Sooty took to merrily hopping from rock to rock and stone to stone, occasionally looking back at the little girl as if to hurry her along.
“I am coming, Sooty. Oh, I do wish I could be as fast and agile as you,” she said, tightly holding on to a big rock, debating where next to safely place her feet.
When the little girl finally reached the bottom of the hill, she was greeted by the sound of Sooty's congratulatory cawing as he returned to his perch of flesh and bone. They then made their way to the path and followed it round. The route, squeezed between two hills, was very narrow. Consequently, the concentrated wind rushed furiously by as it rushed through like an out-of-control steam train. Upon seeing this, the tiny crow wisely jumped inside the little girl's pocket. She wearily began to march forward, tightly gripping the canvas bag and dirty cover she wore over her head and body. No sooner had she started on the narrow section of the path than the little girl began to struggle, so violent was the icy wind. With every step she took, the savage wind pushed her back two, her bag and cover flailing wildly in her face and behind her.
As she walked, the little girl felt as though she were being watched somehow; as if some omnipotent eye watched her every struggle for its shameless personal amusement. Suddenly, as if the wind itself wished to blow the little girl away, its intense speed increased dramatically, all but making the little girl lose her balance, forcing her to turn away from its persistent onslaught. Her hair flowing horizontally, the little girl wedged a branch between her chest and arm, desperately attempting to hold on to the empty canvas bag and her only cover protecting her from the glacial elements. Feeling the grip of her fingers slip, she risked losing them both. Having no choice between choosing the Doll-Maker's bag or her cover against the bitter cold, the little girl reluctantly let go of the latter, using her free hand to grab hold of the canvas bag and pull it toward her.
Moments later, as if running low on breath, the wildly blowing wind subsided just enough to allow the little girl movement once more. Trying her hardest to slice through the oncoming tunnel of wind, she managed to reach the end of the narrow trail.
She immediately checked inside her pocket, worried the tiny crow may have been blown away; upon feeling the ball of feathers on her fingertips, she exhaled frosted breath, deeply relieved that Sooty was safe.
Her teeth beginning to chatter, she left Sooty inside her pocket to protect him from the deep chill and continued making her way to the third village.
Above, the dark heavenly canopy had been blown free of clouds and sparkled with the light of a million shimmering diamonds while the moon's ever-watchful eye bathed the little girl in its ethereal glow.
Past the twin hills, the path continued on a downwards slope to an open, sandy area entirely dotted with dead, crooked, gnarled trees and gray rocks. No leaves or flora of any kind could be seen. As the little girl traversed this petrified landscape, she once again had the persistent feeling she was being watched. Careful to avoid the sharper rocks and pointed, claw-like branches, she suddenly saw some distant lights the map indicated as being the third village.
Without any warning, something briefly pulled at the back of the little girl's dress with force, causing her to almost lose her balance. When she distressingly looked around, she could see nothing there; only sand and rocks. Looking around her, the strange area where she stood seemed to become stranger still: creepier, as the feeling she was being watched intensified to the point where she could feel eyes on her. Suddenly she felt something sharp and warm abruptly graze past her cheek, as a dark gray blur whooshed past her. The little girl rapidly brought her hand to her face and, upon examining it, saw her hand dowsed with blood. Perplexed as to what had just happened, she felt something strongly bump her calf, almost knocking her over. Before the little girl had a chance to look round, another gray blur hissed past, tearing the material of her dress; it immediately bloomed with a crimson flower. Time and again, the little girl was scratched, bumped, knocked, and punched by faster-than-the-eye aggressors. Her frustration and fear exponentially mounting, she worried her tiny avian friend would be harmed; quick as a flash, she plunged her hand in her pocket to discover him missing. Something yet again clawed her forehead as she looked desperately around for the bird.
“Sooty,” muttered the little girl anxiously under her breath. “Where... where are you...?”
Replying to her call, she believed, Sooty cawed a few times from his perch atop the contorted branch of a nearby desiccated tree.
Looking up with breathless exhilaration at seeing her friend alive, the little girl felt something bony and cold grab and forcibly squeeze her ankle, pulling her off her feet with great force and causing her to fall hard on the sandy earth. As Sooty continued to caw, whatever creature had a hold of the little girl's ankle began pulling and pulling as it dragged her through the dry sand while she screamed uncontrollably.
Shielding her eyes from the smothering sand, the little girl looked up to see what had a hold of her: a human-like homunculus creature. Its naked gray flesh shimmered under the moon's rays, giving the impression it was slimy to the touch. Its bald cranium was smaller than the rest of its thin, yet muscular, frame. As it continued to drag her along, the little girl could not make out its face as it was turned away from her.
Moments later, the homunculus creature briskly plunged its free hand under the sand and lifted a small door that had been hidden by it. No doubt, thought the little girl, this had been the way by which it had so easily been able to avoid detection.
The creature proceeded to climb down into the opened passage as it yanked at the little girl's throbbing ankle. Upon seeing its face, intense fear and repulsion filled her heart and throat. Two large, eyeless sockets stared back at her with an oddly sad expression to them; where a nose should have been, two minute, misshapen holes depressed into its face, and below them, a growling mouth baring sharp, silver-gray metallic teeth struggled to open, straining at black wire stitches.
Sooty continued to caw through the little girl's screams, while the homunculus creature pulled harder and harder in an attempt to release the grip she had on a nearby rock.
From somewhere behind her, the sound of large wingspans fluttered closer and closer at speed. Believing it must be the Violinist's crows, her heart sank deeper into despair when not a meter in front of her landed an enormous, bare-headed condor with a ruff of brilliant white feathers at the base of its neck. Without a moment's hesitation or pause, the black and white fowl skittered to the creature and savagely pecked at its arm and face, rapidly dragging it from its hole while it screeched in agony. Being over twice its size, the creature tried to fight its attacker but was made short work of, as the massive condor ripped and gutted its unlikely prey.
Taking advantage of her renewed freedom, the little girl beckoned Sooty down and, as he landed on her shoulder, she ran toward the direction of the third village, leaving the giant bird to feast on the hapless creature, while she saw lid after lid close ahead of her, leaving nothing there but sand. As yellow earth turned to emerald grass, the landscape was divided in rows upon rows of hedges, sectioning off various parts of land, as a single dirt path bisected them.
As she limped, the little girl tried to no avail to shield herself from the bitter cold that relentlessly bit and snapped at her by patting and rubbing her arms and legs. At least, she thought, the cold had sealed her blood from her many slashes and cuts inside her body. This, lamentably, did not aid the throbbing pain from the punches she had received. The little girl looked ahead at the lights in the village and imagined herself sitting on a thick rug by a roaring fire as her beloved parents sat around her. The warming thought consoled her slightly, while she reminded herself of why she was there, bleeding and aching in the dark throes of the night. She would carry on—for them. For herself. She would turn the image she had just invoked in her mind into something real.
The little girl ran along the path that led straight to the third village.