Uncertain as to what to say or do, the little girl could manage nothing more than stare at the Doll-Maker who, in turn, silently, pensively stared back. Such was the intensity of the Doll-Maker's gaze that she was forced to look away, down to her feet where it was safe.
Just as the atmosphere became too heavy for the little girl to stand, the Doll-Maker spoke in a sweet, low voice.
“Oh, I am sorry to hear about your parents’ disappearance, my dear,” he began. “Alas, you hear of this sort of thing happening more and more, these days.”
“What...sort of things do you mean, sir?” uttered the little girl, feeling as though she had no choice but to look up into his now over-the-top saddened face.
“Hmm? Oh, I mean your parents' disappearance, of course. You get word of such happenings occurring more and more—first they're here, the next—poof! They're gone. Shame. Such a shame.”
The Doll-Maker stumbled toward his desk as he propped one hand up on it, looking theatrically distraught. “Will the savagery never end?” he wailed.
“The...savagery, sir?” asked the little girl, beginning to well up.
“Yes, dear, the savagery,” he retorted in a tone that was not too dissimilar to impatience. Upon noticing the little girl had picked up on it, he resumed his theatrical wailing and continued.
“Those savages...Ooh, those bounders and scoundrels! Have they no pity!?”
“...Sir?” uttered the little girl as she watched the Doll-Maker fall to his knees while he clutched his hands together, staring dramatically at the beamed ceiling above.
“They take them, my dear. They appropriate them for their own nefarious deeds!”
Confused and slightly baffled by the Doll-Maker's act, the little girl said, “Sir...I don't underst—”
“I am afraid I must be the bearer of sad tidings, my dear,” he interjected impatiently. “Your parents have been killed by a gang of hoodlums and villains who take great joy in dismembering their hapless victims.”
As if her very soul had crumpled suddenly to the floor, the little girl felt her world come crashing down around her in a split instant. Her face became so white, she mirrored the still faces of the dolls around her. She wanted to cry; she wanted to wail, scream, and bawl her eyes out, but no tears came. Nothing came. It was as though that which had made her a living being had left her body, leaving only a hollow shell. She could do nothing but stare at the floor ahead of her.
“Oh, I know, my dear. I know. It is a tragedy that has befallen you, no doubt of it. No doubt. Is nobody safe from these ghastly wretches..? Ooh, if only there were a way to bring them back, as though nothing had happened...Would that not be a marvellous thing, my dear?”
As the Doll-Maker inched closer to the little girl, she could barely hear his words, as she drifted to a place in her mind far beyond them. So far, in fact, that, for a split second, she thought she detected out of the corner of her eye some movement from somewhere within the pile of rejected dolls. She knew, however, this could not be.
“Interestingly enough, I...dabble in that thing they call 'magic.' Living in this forest, one cannot avoid picking up a few...tricks, shall we say?”
The little girl began to slowly compose herself enough to wonder whether the Doll-Maker was, indeed, alluding to something potentially breath-taking. Not wanting to jump to conclusions, she slowly lifted her head and looked at the Doll-Maker, who now knelt beside her.
“...Sir?”
Looking around the room, as though searching for potential eavesdroppers, the Doll-Maker leaned in closer to the little girl's ear and said, “You look like an honest girl who can keep a secret, so I will tell you. I am able to bring the dead back to life.”
As though her soul had at once jumped back into her body, the little girl gasped with exhilaration, as her heart began to franticly beat. With renewed life surging through her body, she found it difficult to stop shaking from the unfettered joy she felt. She tried to speak but wanted to say so many things at once that from her lips came an unintelligible series of sounds comparable to those usually heard in the woollen turkeys of the north.
“Please, my dear, calm yourself. Steady on, there,” said the Doll-Maker, as he forcibly restrained her arms.
Pausing to take deep breaths, the little girl regained her composure.
“I'm very sorry, sir. It's just...Would you please bring my parents back to me? Please? I will do anything you ask! I will clean your workshop. I will cook and wash your clothes! Please, sir, I beg you. Please bring them back to me...” Suddenly, her abrupt rush of energy depleted, the little girl felt faint and dizzy on her feet. Without warning, her legs gave way, and she fell to the hard, wooden floor.
Making no movement or effort to help, the Doll-Maker simply uttered, “Oh, dear. We have gotten a little over-excited, haven't we? No matter. We shall resume this conversation when you have rested somewhat. Here, you may lie on my bed for now, while you regain your strength.”
***
As an hour passed, the little girl's eyes began to flutter open after she had regained some of her strength. Observant and impatient as he was, the Doll-Maker immediately took notice of it.
“Welcome back, my dear. I hope you have had a restful sleep.”
The Doll-Maker's sharp voice shattered any illusions the little girl may have had that it all might, actually, have been a dream. With this, however, came the sudden, exhilarating memory of the last words she had heard him speak. She bounded out of bed and on to her feet in one swift movement. Turning to face the Doll-Maker, who stood behind his desk, she continued where she had left off.
“Please, sir, please bring my parents back! I miss them so much! I—”
“Dear girl, you will once again succumb to gravity and exhaustion if you continue like that. I will, of course, attempt to bring your dead parents back to you.”
“Oh, thank you, sir. Thank you! How can I ever—”
“But first, you must do something for me.”
“Oh, anything, sir. Anything.”
Needing to trust in the Doll-Maker's claims and needing still to believe that there was good in this world, the little girl could not imagine that anything sinister or under-handed was about to occur. She had, of course, no reason to, for, through the Doll-Maker's kindness, she would once again be reunited with her parents.
Savoring the moment, the Doll-Maker rolled and swirled his words on his sharp tongue, as he walked around the desk, toward the little girl.
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“My craft,” he began, “is born of love, of passion! Without these, you cannot hope to create anything of any significance. You have to live it, my dear. You must become your craft. You must mould your creations. Shape them, as if you were giving birth to them! As though they are the very children you have brought into the world, and your name is Father!”
Pacing around the room, the Doll-Maker appeared lost in his own mind, looking at a place beyond your reach or mine.
“But!” he suddenly exclaimed, appearing to have come out of his mind and back into the room.
“Love and passion will only take you so far, my dear.” He approached the little girl as he stooped.
“What you need,” he continued, “are the best materials available. Take a look around!”
With a grand wave of his hand, the Doll-Maker spun around, as though he were presenting something.
“Midnight Forest. It is home to the best wood one can find on this side of the hemisphere.” Still posing, as though frozen, the Doll-Maker swiftly shifted his eyes toward the little girl. “Did you know that?”
Baffled once again by the Doll-Maker's soliloquy, the little girl could think of nothing more to reply than, “No.”
Squinting his eyes so they looked like twin mail slots, the Doll-Maker retorted, “Well, it is. And it is all mine! Do you know why..?”
The little girl made to answer in the same manner as before, but, before she could, the Doll-Maker answered his own question.
“Because they are all afraid of it!” An enormous grin at once spanned the diameter of his face, as his eyes expanded, frightening the little girl slightly. “Yes, yes, they all believe they will be torn and gouged and ripped and eaten all up if they cross the boundary into the forest! No other Doll-Master will even set foot in the province itself! Ha!”
“Excuse me, sir, but...Are those stories not true? Are there no evil creatures here?”
As if his mind bubble had popped, the Doll-Maker briefly snapped back into the room to the little girl's question.
“What, what? Oh, that. Yes.” As if casually shooing away a fly with his hand so he could continue his train of thought, he said, “Yes, yes, it's true enough, yes. But!” he exclaimed once again, “if you are to be a true master of the craft—the very best of the best—you have to go beyond. Beyond the simple teachings and practices to a much higher plateau!”
In one deftly quick move, the Doll-Maker swirled around onto both his knees and stopped in front of the little girl, his face inches from hers, startling her. In a hushed voice, he continued, “And that is where you come in, my dear.” He grinned.
Close to tears once again, the little girl scarcely had remaining courage to ask, “Me, sir? What can I do?”
“Well, my dear, it is a simple enough task. Come with me. I wish to show you something.” He extended his hand to her, which she did not grab. Quick as a flash, the Doll-Maker's eyes squinted in repressed irritation, which rapidly ebbed and was replaced by a breezy smile.
“Suit yourself, my dear.” He stood up. “Do follow me,” he insisted, guiding the way with his hand. The Doll-Maker began to walk, and the girl followed, as instructed. After having taken four steps, he announced, “Here we are.”
The little girl, not having expected such a short trip, collided with the Doll-Maker's behind.
“Careful, dear. Careful. Come round so you can see.”
The Doll-Maker stood in front of the dolls the little girl had earlier seen when she walked in for the first time.
“Are they not beautiful?” he asked, seeming to wait for an answer.
The little girl had to recognize the dolls' beauty. In fact, she'd made a mental note to play with them as soon as was absolutely possible.
“They are beautiful, sir.”
“Are they not...divine?”
The little girl replied once more, “They are beautiful, sir.”
“Divine...”
Upon seeing his slit eyes, the little girl quickly corrected herself.
“Sorry, sir. They are divine, sir.”
“Aren't they, though? Look at their flawless faces. Are they not the most perfect you have ever gazed upon, my dear?”
“They are, sir,” replied the little girl, captivated by their beauty. So entranced, in fact, that she didn't notice her hand slowly reaching to touch them.
At the sight of the horror unfolding before him, the Doll-Maker rapidly and forcefully smacked the little girl's hand, stopping her in her tracks. Relieved he had been able to avoid a potential disaster, he sharply stated, “Look but don't touch, my dear. Never touch.”
Snapping out of her trance and rubbing her hand, the little girl apologetically uttered, “Sorry, sir. It won't happen again.”
“Make sure it doesn't. Now, would you like to know how their beauty is born?”
Feeling again she was expected to answer, the little girl replied, “Yes, sir. I do, sir.”
Seemingly satisfied with this answer, the Doll-Maker continued, “It is born of my own two hands.” He lifted them to the height of his face and gazed at them in wonder. “These are the skilled hands of a master creator, my dear. From their beginnings as raw materials, I shape and transform them, giving them life...But pure, heavenly talent can only take you so far, dear. Now we come to my little secret ingredient. The thing that separates me from all the other master doll-makers.”
Bending down to whisper into the little girl's ear, he uttered a single word. “Skulls.”
Visibly taken aback, the little girl tried not to let her imagination run wild and hoped she had misunderstood him.
“Sir,” she enquired, hoping she'd misheard, “did you say... skulls?”
“I did, my dear. Yes.”
Still desperately needing to believe there was good in this world and not wanting to offend the Doll-Maker, in case he decided not to bring her parents back, the little girl again swallowed her fears and anxieties and asked, “I don't understand, sir.”
Expressing no signs of irritation, the Doll-Maker gleefully elaborated.
“Skulls, my dear, are the secret ingredient to making flawlessly smooth alabaster faces. They give the dolls an inexplicable shine that is beyond compare, and such presence one would believe them to be alive!”
Turning her head back toward the dolls, the little girl could not help but agree with the Doll-Maker. They did seem to possess a certain something that really made her believe there was life in them. Abruptly closing her eyes, she could not look at them. Their beauty had come from the skulls of beings like herself. What the Doll-Maker was doing was wrong, and she would tell him so.
Just as she was about to re-open her eyes to reprimand him, from out of the still darkness of her mind materialized a singular image of her parents, instantly stopping her. As empirically wrong as the Doll-Maker was, he had the power to bring them back. If she told him what she thought, he would almost certainly change his mind, ruining any chance she had of getting them back. She would play along, she decided. She would tell him it was a marvellous, ground-breaking discovery and would praise his dolls of the dead.
“Oh, what a wonderful idea, sir. It is very clever to use skulls in that way.”
“I am so very glad to hear you say that, my dear, for it is in their collection that you will help me.”
With a sense of renewed horror, the little girl wished to hear no more; she wanted to run, to hide, to find solace in her parents' arms, away from this nightmare she was living. The Doll-Maker had told her he required something in exchange for the magic that would bring her beloved parents back, but never in the darkest recesses of her mind could she have imagined that this is what he would wish.
As the tight feeling in her chest tightened further, and the desperate hope of being with her parents remained the only thing she had to hold on to, the little girl proceeded to speak the question she knew she did not want answered.
“Their collection, sir? But how could I accomplish such a thing?”
“I must say, my dear, the manner in which you have absorbed and adapted to my little secret is exemplary and demonstrates maturity exceeding your years. Why, my last assistant screamed and tried to run away!” exclaimed the Doll-Maker, theatrically throwing his head back as he guffawed for a moment, then instantly stopping and speaking once more. “But you're different, aren't you? Yes, yes, I can see my investment was not foolhardy.”
Not wanting to ask or even think about what fate had befallen the Doll-Maker's last assistant, the little girl, against her every instinct, once again enquired, “How would I get the skulls you wish for, sir?”
“All in good time, my dear. All in good time. Tonight, we rest, for a long day and night await us tomorrow. Alas, as I did not expect to acquire a new assistant this evening, I have not prepared a bed for you to rest on, so you will just have to sleep amidst the pile of rejects in the corner there. Feel free to use as many wood shavings for warmth as you wish.”
Far from relishing the idea of sleeping amongst the dolls, the little girl felt too tired and too distraught to think about it.
“Thank you, sir,” she uttered, as she sleepily sauntered over to the pile of shavings by the desk, grabbing enough to build a make-shift bed upon which to lie, while the Doll-Maker silently watched.
Glad the day was over and too tired to think, the little girl rested upon the warm shavings, falling asleep as soon as her head touched them, as the Doll-Maker, under the dancing light of candles, polished another alabaster head.