Groggily rubbing his fists against his eyes in a sleep induced haze, the traveler felt himself to be in a sour mood. It was as if he had been given knowledge of something dreadful. A memory of something painful. He remembered that lonely old cemetery in-which he had finally met Aunt Delia. It was a different time. He used to be so happy; they were both happy, but now…she was gone.

Hadn’t she told him something back then? He is certain it must have been important.

But more than words, what else was there?

Noël knew he was still missing something crucial He could feel it in his bones.

“Another start to a beautiful day”, Noël dryly murmured as he looked out of a blackened window. “I do not know why, but I just know today will be positively dreadful.”

Upon fixing a bright red bow onto his hair, he then placed his coat over a white dress shirt with golden buttons and black suspenders somewhat befitting of the calm, autumn weather. While ill-fitting as it completely engulfed his arms, he did not care. The red coat may be horrendously mismatched and haphazardly stitched, but it felt like home. Stepping over the dusty remnants of papers, candy wrappers, and cobwebs leading up to the entrance of his bedroom, he hesitantly stood by his door.

“Let’s see, I know Aunt Delia would want me to first check up on her dolls before I get started with today’s chores. Who knows what those gremlins will do if I don’t let them outside to run amok?” the crimson-eyed vampire exasperatedly sighed. “I hope she’ll appreciate what I’m doing for her. I truly love those dolls, but they can be a real handful.”

Resigning himself to a stressful day, Noël slowly reached towards the doorknob only to discover the barrier could easily open. Noël noted just how barren and lifeless the hallway was as he silently passed by portrait frames. “Oh, I suppose Aunt Delia must have remembered to unlock my door today! And here I thought I would have to break it down again.”

Silently humming, a smile slowly graced his placid features. Though, it’s a shame the smile did not quite match up with the dead look in his eyes. “Auntie is so wise and responsible; she must not want to waste anymore money on reconstructing the house. Afterall, three times is more than enough.”

There, at the very end of the hallway, was a sallow wax candle atop a small, decrepit table. Lying tranquilly next to the candlestick was a vase filled with bright, crisp white roses.

“How pretty,” Noël calmly observed. While nearly spent, the candle stick would still last long enough for him to reach his Aunt’s beloved dolls. Wax dripped from the candle holder and onto the floor. “Probably will need to clean that up later, but I still need to check up on Auntie’s dolls. It’s what she would want,” Noël asserted to himself as he swerved right and found himself at his destination.

Noël’s frown deepened as he drank in the sight of the eerily silent room. Dark splotches could be seen as far as the eye could see. And for some peculiar reason, they had even made it as far as the ceiling. Glass marbles were scattered all across the floor, but upon kicking one of the ‘marbles’, he was surprised to discover it shatter—the shiny sphere making an odd ‘squelching’ sound as it broke apart.

Though, what truly grabbed his attention were mounds upon mounds of hair—all of various shades and textures, and a threadbare sack filled with a strange leathery material ……

Its name was at the tip of his tongue, but he just could not remember.

Oh, but it looked so familiar…

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

So familiar, and yet…so foreign.

If only he could remember, then—

“It’s been ages, but has Aunt Delia’s study always been this dirty?” he wondered as he walked towards a gangly wardrobe. Pressing an ear on it, he swore he heard faint whispers. “Ah, they must be awake.”

As he opened the wardrobe, he was greeted to the sight of a small collection of adorable, button eyed dolls.

Covered from head to toe in dark, crimson thread, the dolls looked as if they

could fall apart at the faintest touch. Atop their heads resided string of varied hues and textures.

“Perhaps they’re made of the same material as those bags of leather,” Noël mused as he carefully inspected their rough, dry, leathery skin. “Though, I wonder what kind of material Aunt Delia uses. They seem to have turned gray…”

Thin, pale arms reaching towards no particular doll, Noël immediately turned around upon hearing a loud, metallic clang from beyond the confines of his home. “What was that?” he questioned as he hastily marched out of the study and into the wide, open space of Aunt Delia’s rose garden. Listlessly tilting his head towards the sky, he could see nothing more than trees.

“Hm, I do wonder what that sound could have been…maybe I just imagined it.” Nodding in affirmation, Noël nonchalantly took a step back into his home, until…

A single, weak shriek pierced the silence.

“What was that?” Noël indifferently wondered. Retreating away from his home, he followed the faint shrieks and whimpers of an unidentifiable creature until he came across a lone magpie surrounded by glass shards.

“How awful,” Noël whispered as he stared at the bloodied magpie.

Weakly twitching and surrounded in a pool of its own blood, the poor bird could only utter a single wretched shriek. A sharp jagged bone jutted out of its damp feathers. Painfully moving its head, the bird opened its glazed eyes and stared up at Noël almost pleadingly.

Dull, crimson orbs met the glassy, brownish-red eyes of a magpie on its deathbed.

“The poor dear, he must be in terrible pain,” Noël blandly remarked as he stared down at the pitiful creature. “Those eyes, though…how awful.”

Glancing once more at the injured magpie, Noël carefully picked it up. Though, the action did nothing more than to jostle the bird’s already broken wing. As he did, more blood squelched out and contributed to the ever growing pool of blood sluggishly soaking into the dirt.

“Don’t worry, Mister Magpie. This will all be over for you soon.” Smile never quite reaching his eyes, Noël uttered a small prayer before......

Snapping the magpie’s neck.

A sickening crack permeated the silence as the bloodied magpie drew its last breath.

“There, now you’re all better,” Noël soothingly muttered to the small bird clutched in his hands. It felt off. Broken like a rag doll, but even before that—the magpie had something peculiar marks, right?

Or maybe Noël was imagining it all.

“Don’t you worry; I’ll find a perfect grave for you!” the vampire proclaimed. “I’m sure my Aunt would be delighted if you were to rest in her garden.”

Aunt Delia really had been fond of birds back then…wasn’t there a raven that used to trail after her? Though, he never did see those two in the same place at once. What even happened to that little raven? The vampire’s gaze flickered towards the bird in his hands. He was about the same size, but this magpie could not have looked anymore different from that that crimson-eyed raven.

With a slight spring in his step unbefitting of the grim and abrupt end caused to the little magpie by his hands, Noël marched over to a small patch of hydrangeas. Slowly depositing the bloodied bird to the ground, he quickly dusted his hands of any residual gore and dirt before scanning the perimeter of the garden. Humming in approval, Noël quietly reached for an old weathered shovel lying by the iron-wrought fence protecting his home from the outside world.

Marching back to the magpie, ruby-red eyes gave the bird one last incomprehensible look. “Aren’t you just the luckiest magpie?”

“Maybe I’ll get a grave as nice as yours one day…” Noël apathetically pondered as he buried the magpie underneath piles of soft earth and clay. “I, too, know how terrible it is to be seen as bad luck,” he recounted. Those years spent as an exorcist prior to Procession’s Way had been rough. He donned a bird mask as he traveled from one cursed town to the next—offering to rid people of their ghosts only to be treated as a curse himself.

Looking once more into the horizon and away from the macabre sight of crimson-tinged dirt, innumerable memories flashed to the forefront of his mind. “But, unlike you, Mister Magpie, everything said about me is well-deserved…”

“If only I were not around…then no one else would have to suffer,” Noël stated to no one in-particular. “It’s what would make me the happiest.”

Sighing, Noël’s attention snapped back towards the patch of land in-which the magpie’s bones would rest forevermore. “You could even call it my greatest dream.”

“Is it really? Be careful of what you wish for; you never know who or what will hear it.”

Utterly bewildered for perhaps the third time that morning, Noël glanced up towards the black iron fence surrounding the vicinity of his home. The sight of short strands of vivid orange hair caught his attention. There, perched daintily upon the fence was the most peculiar sight of a rosy eyed girl. Garbed in a white dress adorned with a plethora of blue ruffles, the cheery girl waved at him. It would have been adorable, what with an oversized, frilly sleeve covering her hand, was it not for the mischievous grin she shot at the crimson-eyed boy.

No, perhaps not mischievous. The grin set on her otherwise pleasant features could only be described as sadistic.

“Sorry Miss, was this magpie yours?” Noël questioned. While slightly disconcerted by the strange, strange girl, his Aunt still taught him the value of manners. He would not act like a complete ruffian even if this odd girl had trespassed into his home, thank you very much!

Shooting Noël a dark look, the girl could only shake her head. “No, he’s not mine. You can’t own Mister Magpie, silly! He’s not a pet.”