“Lunch is ready, sir,” stated the little girl as she began to clear the far side of the desk where they had eaten last.

  “What are we to have, my dear?” asked the Doll-Maker, coldly peering down at her.

  “Stew, sir,” she replied, becoming slightly proud of the food she had managed to make.

  “Again? I say, isn't there anything else you are able to cook? How dull,” the Doll-Maker replied, vexed.

  The little girl felt briefly deflated at the Doll-Maker's words, though she did not wish to take them to heart, for it didn't matter whether he liked her food or not. She was there to get her parents back and nothing else; she would do whatever it took to get them back. As such, the little girl, wearing a mask of humility, simply replied, “Sorry, sir. I will try harder next time,” and left the workshop to get the pot from the kitchen.

  As the little girl and the Doll-Maker sat down, she began to serve the food while he sipped from a dark red liquid she had never seen before. She tried to identify the odd smell that came from the open bottle on the table next to him. It was a slightly acrid yet sweet smell.

  Both served, the little girl sat down on her wooden stool, and they began to eat in silence. Looking down at her bowl of steaming vegetable stew, she peeked up at the Doll-Maker, who seemed quite at ease with the silence. Looking at him, she wondered whether or not to ask him about what she had overheard the previous night, while he had been walking away after having placed her in bed. The little girl so wanted to know who the mysterious Violinist was and how the Doll-Maker knew him. Was he really able to command the wills of crows? Finally, and most importantly, she wondered why on earth would the Violinist want to steal the skull she had worked so hard to retrieve.

  How to ask him, though? She did not want to infuriate him, knowing as she did that he had a short temper. Finding no good way to ask, the little girl decided to throw caution to the wind and tentatively asked, “Sorry, sir, but could you tell me why the crows want the skulls, as well?”

  The little girl's words appeared to elicit no reaction from the Doll-Maker: no quiver of his lip, no sweat or twitch from his brow. He merely sipped from his bitter-sweet ruby drink as he watched the steaming food in front of him.

  Having been given no reason to stop, the little girl probed once more, “Please, sir, could you also tell me about the man with the violin?”

  Forcibly slamming his glass down onto the desk, spilling some of its contents, the Doll-Maker, with a look icier than the little girl had ever seen before, spat, “That is enough! Know your place, child.”

  As the little girl looked silently down with a look of remorse on her face, the Doll-Maker, upon reflection, let out a small sigh and decided there was no harm in telling her about the Violinist and his crows. He would, however, not go into great detail.

  “Requiring, as I do,” he began, “skulls with which to create my uniquely beautiful dolls, it is of great irritation to me that this...violinist...seems to covet them as well. He, somehow, has the ability to sway crows toward doing the dirty deed of stealing them from honest, unsuspecting persons like myself for his own gain. Remaining far away in the comfort of darkness, he sends his accomplices to violently attack and steal skulls from those who have worked hard to obtain them. He is nothing but a petty thief.” With that, the Doll-Maker took a gulp of the shimmering red liquid in his glass.

  “Did he steal all your skulls, sir?”

  “The scoundrel took them all! An entire bagful! Oh, how laboriously I worked for those...So perfect they were...Alas, I was forced to obtain them by other means, but the quality was poor—they just lacked a certain...decay and dryness you just cannot compare to those you get from ancient graves...Hence, the three I did manage to obtain now form the little pile of rejects by your bed. Such a shame,” uttered the Doll-Maker, regretfully looking over at the discarded pile of dolls. “Such a waste of precious time.”

  Suddenly realizing he was saying too much, the Doll-Maker cleared his throat and dismissively added, “Yes, well, as I said, he is nothing but a cowardly thief.”

  Somewhat grateful for the information he had provided, the little girl was far from satisfied with the Doll-Maker's answer. Remembering the last words she had heard him speak the night before, she probed for further information. “Is he a king, sir?”

  Pausing abruptly as his face became whiter than usual, the Doll-Maker rapidly asked, “Why do you say that?”

  “Sorry, sir, but I heard you say he has a throne, and—”

  “You must forget I said that, do you understand? That has nothing to do with you.”

  Standing up, the Doll-Maker declared sharply, “I have no appetite for this...thing you call a stew. Now, clear the table, child. I have wasted enough time speaking to the likes of you.” With that, he turned and walked back behind his desk to continue his work.

  The little girl did as she was told and cleared the table, left wondering by what means the Doll-Maker had acquired the three skulls he spoke of.

  As night fell upon Midnight Forest, the little girl prepared to go out into the cold in search of skulls, her mind filled with thoughts of the mysterious Violinist and his crows.

  “Do not allow yourself to be seen or caught,” the Doll-Maker reminded her. “Find a way of avoiding those crows and do not tear the bag this time,” he said, handing her the sewn canvas bag.

  “Yes, sir,” said she, grabbing the bag.

  “As you carelessly lost the map, you will have to find your own way around the province. I suppose the best way would be to follow the paths, making certain, of course, to remain unseen!”

  “Yes, sir. Of course.”

  “Now, off you go, my dear. Bring me many skulls this time, as my reserve is now depleted,” said the Doll-Maker as he pushed the little girl out of the door and loudly closed it behind her, leaving her once again in the night's cold embrace.

  Squelching and crunching her way through the pitch forest, the little girl began to accustom herself to the eerie stillness of it. The periodic whistles and “woos” that abounded started to become comforting and almost melodic. As she continued to negotiate around tall grasses, bulbous weeds, and spiky flowers, something hurriedly entered her pocket.

  She stopped and unthinkingly felt around inside, finding the smooth, feathery texture of a tiny bird.

  “Sooty.” She smiled. “I was waiting for you.” She stroked his head softly with her thumb.

  “I have decided that we will go back to the village we visited last night. We don't have a map anymore, and I don't want us to get lost tonight.”

  Finally leaving the unexpected safety of Midnight Forest, the little girl and Sooty once again made their way along dark paths and rocky trails, past her old village, up hills, through thick woods, and down to open pastures. Though there was no thunder, the unrelenting wind continued to howl, swishing and whistling past her as she struggled to stay on her feet.

  As she and Sooty, who remained safely tucked in her pocket, arrived at the neighboring village, the little girl spotted a few villagers hurrying up the long, muddy street, speaking words she could not hear, though she detected a definite urgency about their whispers.

  Dismissing them, she crouched and snaked and glided through the shadows, all the way to the end of the village where, atop the small hill, she noticed the same three villagers rushing up toward the cemetery gates to join a larger group. Intrigued as to what may be happening, the little girl silently edged her way up the hill and observed from a distance. Sooty, sensing something was afoot, hopped out of the pocket and jumped up onto her shoulder, once again turning his head to observe with his deep blue eye.

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  A substantial crowd had gathered outside the cemetery; uniformed policemen stood in front of and around the entrance, stopping anyone from entering.

  “They say the 'ead was missin'!” the little girl heard a villager say to another.

  “Who would do such a thing? An' did you 'ear? There was a murder last night in the village down the way,” exclaimed another.

  “A murder! An' so close to 'ere!”

  “We have our best officials looking in on the situation, madam. It won' be long until the perpetrator is apprehended.”

  “Go on! Give us a peep!” replied a woman.

  Approaching her while leaning in further, the police officer replied, “You know I can' do that, mum. You'll ge' me in trouble.” He looked decidedly embarrassed, the little girl thought.

  With a mixture of guilt and worry, the little girl headed to the side entrance provided by the rusted iron pole. Confirming no police officers were near it, she and Sooty carefully crawled through it to the other side. Despite the level of attention the cemetery currently enjoyed, she needed to know to what degree the fuss was being made and whether she would, indeed, be able to retrieve other skulls when they all left.

  As most of the officials were gathered around the grave she had dug up the night before, the little girl was easily able to sneak closer and closer to it by hiding and crouching behind various tombstones and shrubs.

  When she was closer, she heard a policeman say to another, “Have you checked the mausoleum, yet?”

  “'Aye. Nothin' in it but ol' coffins. The ol' groundskeeper 'as gone off to find a lock to fix the rusted one. Can't close it ‘til 'e’s done it.”

  “Alright, keep a look out for him, and tell him to do it quickly. We don't want to be here all night.”

  “Yessir.”

  The little girl, immediately intrigued by their words, watched as they walked away from each other and tried to formulate a plan as how to best get across the old cemetery to the open mausoleum without being spotted. The allure of exposed coffins was too much for her to deny herself.

  Looking around, the little girl saw no easy way to traverse the cemetery without at least the possibility of being caught.

  Without warning, Sooty jumped from the little girl's shoulder and onto a nearby tombstone.

  “What are you doing, Sooty?” she apprehensively asked in a strained whisper. “You will get us caught.”

  Dismissing her appeal, the little crow began to loudly caw, as he hopped from tombstone to tombstone away from her, instantly drawing the attention of the surrounding officials.

  “What is that?” asked one.

  “Is that a crow?” enquired another.

  “Get it out of here!” ordered a third.

  As various police officers attempted to catch Sooty in vain, it suddenly dawned on the little girl what he was doing. Thankful for his distraction, she stepped away from the tombstone she hid behind and was hurrying across the cemetery at a crouch, keeping her eyes on the comical scene unfolding to her left, when she abruptly crashed into something soft.

  “Oi!” spoke a loud voice. “What're you doin' 'ere?”

  The little girl looked up to see one of the two men she had heard speak moments before.

  Taking a forceful hold of her arm, the police officer enquired, “'Ow d'you get in 'ere, eh? Didn' you see the nice policemen stoppin' people from comin' in? That means you, too, darlin'. Come on, out you go, then,” he stated, pulling hard on her arm as he started walking toward the cemetery entrance.

  “Golby!” The little girl heard an authoritative voice behind her.

  At once turning around, yanking the little girl's arm, the police officer replied, “Yessir,” to his superior, who was standing above the open grave.

  “Have you found the groundskeeper, yet?” the man bellowed from a distance.

  “No sir, I 'aven't yet. I was just in the mausoleum, sir.”

  “Come here! We need to catch this blasted bird!”

  “But, sir, this lil' girl—”

  “At once, Golby!”

  Letting go of her, the policeman raised his hand to the side of his head and said, “Yessir!” and then trotted off to help capture Sooty, who appeared to be having fun.

  The little girl took advantage of her freedom and quickly ran into the open mausoleum.

  While outside it seemed mostly run-down, its once flawless stones now yellowed and chipped by time, the inside was quite well kept, despite the thick blanket of white and gray dust covering every surface and the oddly large cobwebs in every corner. Looking around, she immediately saw the five coffins that lay parallel to every side of the hexagonal structure. Though seemingly ancient, the dark wooden caskets had been relatively well preserved.

  Not wishing to waste any time, the little girl dived toward the first coffin and tried to pry it open with her fingers without success. It was then she remembered the Doll-Maker's words and saw the nails that tightly shut the lid.

  The little girl, fully aware of the gravity of her situation, grabbed her spade and wedged it between the lid and the main coffin. She pushed down on the handle with all her weight, as the nails that held the casket shut strained under the mounting pressure. Moments later, the nails finally gave way, and the coffin slammed open, releasing a burst of dust from within.

  The little girl immediately looked inside, accidentally inhaling some of the decayed dust, and tried to suppress a loud cough as she waved away the lingering cloud.

  Inside rested the bones of yet another person. Since her first time, the little girl had tried to mentally prepare herself for this moment, attempting to detach her feelings from what she had to do and from the corpses she had to decapitate. Despite the fact that what lay in front of her were mere bones and so could easily be ignored or forgotten, as having belonged to a person who had, at one time, been alive, the little girl could not help but imagine them as they had been when they had lived. She furnished the remains of the lying corpse with flesh and clothes and hair, even giving it a personality, a voice, and a smell.

  The situation she found herself in suddenly rushed back to the foreground of her mind. The little girl forced her hands to move toward the skull of a man who had once had red hair, been rather rotund and jolly, been partial to paisley suits and pocket watches, had a booming, happy voice, and had smelled like oranges.

  With the sound of policemen outside, the little girl knew any of them could walk in at any second, so she gently grasped the man's skull and removed it from the rest of his alabaster frame, guiltily uttering, “I am so sorry, sir,” while the skull, she believed, looked at her disappointedly.

  Rapidly, yet carefully, placing the skull inside the canvas bag, she moved on to the next three coffins and repeated the same painful process, each time giving them all their own traits, fleshing them back into existence. As she opened the last coffin, however, the little girl looked down into it to see the small skeletal remains of what must have been a young child. As if being hit by a hammer, the impact of seeing it hit her chest at full speed, she tried to suppress a cascade of tears in vain. Looking away from the open casket while she tightly closed her eyes, the little girl decided she would not—she could not—take the infant's skull. Turning around once more, she closed the coffin lid and wiped her tears dry, finally knowing there was a limit to what she would allow herself to do.

  Gathering up the canvas bag and throwing it over her shoulder, the little girl, with her tiny friend back in her pocket, neared the door and carefully peered out of it. Policemen were still busily walking up and down the cemetery and keeping villagers at bay. With the very real possibility that one of them could enter the mausoleum at any second, the little girl felt urgently compelled to flee as quickly as possible. The odd thought that she would be glad to return to the Doll-Maker's workshop suddenly crossed her mind. Shaking it away, she tried to find a gap in the human traffic through which to make her escape. As soon as the little girl saw one, she mustered all her bravery and, as silently and sneakily as she could, made a run toward the nearest, darkest tombstone.

  As if suddenly walking into an invisible wall, she suddenly stopped dead in her tracks.

  “There you are,” spoke a lamentably familiar voice. “Fought ah told ya to ge' ou'?”

  Turning around, realizing her throbbing arm was in a vice-like grip, the little girl confirmed that Policeman Golby had caught her. Tugging harshly at her arm, he said, “Now you're comin' wiv me, you lit'le monkey.”

  “No, please—” said she, struggling to get free.

  From her pocket, the tiny black crow quickly jumped up to her shoulder, then onto the policeman's.

  “What this then?” he asked in a tone of surprise.

  As he turned to see the little bird, Sooty swiftly pecked at his right eye, causing Policeman Golby to scream in agony, letting go of the little girl's arm to hold it as blood rolled down his cheek.

  Freed from the policeman's grasp, the little girl seized the opportunity to run toward the secret exit as fast as her legs could carry her, Sooty deftly jumping back inside her pocket. As the policeman's screams drew instant attention, she scrambled onto her hands and knees and crawled through the gap.

  “Stop her!” she heard amidst the rising cacophony of inquisitive and angered voices.

  The little girl ran and ran, behind houses, through alleyways, past bushes and shrubs, always keeping to the comforting darkness of the shadows.

  The sound of voices continued in the distance as the little girl left the village, never once looking behind her. Running back through the sombre woods just outside the village, she was thankful she could no longer hear the villagers' voices and could finally pause to draw much-needed breath. She put the bag of skulls down and rested her hands on her knees, hyperventilating.

  The little girl carefully reached into her pocket to see if Sooty still nestled within. Upon feeling his soft, sleek plumage, the seed of doubt vanished from her mind, and she cupped him in her hand, gently pulling him out. Setting Sooty down on to the ground before her, the little girl breathlessly said, “Th...Thank you, Sooty... You saved... my life.”

  With a single caw of acknowledgement, the tiny raven bird once again turned its head to better look at her with its perfectly spherical blue eye.

  At the sudden sound of approaching voices, the little girl turned to see flickering orange light waving and dancing amongst the trees, as distorted and elongated shadows drew menacingly nearer.

  Without a word, the little girl grabbed Sooty as gently and as hurriedly as possible, placed him in her pocket, grabbed the canvas bag of skulls, and began sprinting once again. This time, however, she did not dare stop for breath, lest the angry villagers catch up to them.

  Ran and ran she did, back up hills, through thick, dark woods, past her own village until, finally, she reached the safe embrace of Midnight Forest.