The Skull Collector

The Skull Collector

Paris Singer

Copyright © 2018 Paris Singer.

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, and places are products of the author’s imagination.

www.parissinger.com

"The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep."

—Robert Frost

Contents

1. Chapter One

2. Chapter Two

3. Chapter Three

4. Chapter Four

5. Chapter Five

6. Chapter Six

7. Chapter Seven

8. Chapter Eight

9. Chapter Nine

10. Chapter Ten

11. Chapter Eleven

12. Chapter Twelve

13. Chapter Thirteen

14. Chapter Fourteen

15. Chapter Fifteen

16. Chapter Sixteen

17. Chapter Seventeen

18. Chapter Eighteen

OTHER BOOKS BY PARIS SINGER

Note From The Author

Chapter One

Our story begins in the cradle of a little girl's anguish and despair, without which there would be no tale to recount.

On a dark, stormy night, like on many others, we find her wailing inconsolably under the warming caress of a street light by the side of a nameless, muddy road. She cries, for her parents mysteriously vanished not a week ago, leaving her utterly, miserably alone.

As was the way of things in the quiet province she inhabited, should one disappear without first declaring it to the town hall, by way of application, one's entire estate and contents would legally pass to the proper authorities. This instance being no different, the little girl's home had been seized immediately and locked three times by its new owners. Alone in the world, the little girl had looked to the police sergeant for help.

What is it? he had barked.

Fighting to hold back her tears, the little girl had mustered nothing more than, ...Please, sir, as she’d clutched dearly to the only possession she had left: a stuffed bear once given to her by her mother on her birthday.

The police sergeant had watched her briefly then, with softening eyes and a wry smile peering through his bushy moustache, he’d said, I have a girl about your age.

He’d knelt down beside her and patted the damp hair on her shivering head a little too hard.

Times being harsh for most and kindness deemed an ugly myth, there was no room for noble gestures or acts of compassion. This instance being no different, the police sergeant had suddenly snatched the little girl's teddy bear from her freezing fingers.

My daughter will love this, she will, he’d said, as he stood and walked away from her to the police cart. Let's go, boys!

The sound of whip cracked the air and the horses at once began to gallop, sending a thick spray of mud from the wheels flying all over the little girl.

As tears flowed down her muddy, sodden cheeks, two glowing eyes emerged from the dark stillness of the night. Unblinking, they watched her a while, hanging like tiny, yellow orbs.

A moment later, the eyes began to inch closer and closer, until the shadowy figure of a thin man was revealed. His shabby attire was matched by an old cloth cap he wore on his head, which shrouded all facial features except his somewhat bulbous nose.

What 'ave we 'ere, then? he enquired. Why are you crying, lil' girl? Why all alone?

As he spoke, he seemed unaware that he was rubbing his hands together.

Her parents having taught her not to speak to strangers, the little girl felt hesitant about replying to him. As if reading her mind, the scrawny man said, Oh, you can talk to me, lil' girl, I won't 'arm ya. I'm just a concerned ci'izen looking to 'elp ano'ver.

Wanting to believe in the inherent good in people, the little girl replied, My...My parents are gone, and I have nowhere to go, sir. At her final word, the little girl burst into tears once again, as if her statement had somehow made events as cold and real as stone.

"Ooh, there, there, said the man, drawing slowly closer to her. Don't you worry your lil' 'ead. Squidge is 'ere to 'elp. I just so 'appen to know someone who can 'elp ya, if you'll follow me."

The little girl hesitantly considered his words and came to the conclusion she had no other choice but to follow him.

That's my girl! exclaimed the wiry man contently, as he offered her his hand to hold.

As much as the little girl wanted to trust the wiry man, she felt uncomfortable with the idea of holding his hand, especially as the last one she had held had belonged to her mother, and she wanted to keep it that way.

Suit you'self, Love. Come this way, he grinned.

He led her into the cold darkness of empty streets to the tenebrous hollow of Midnight Forest, known throughout the province to contain terrible things beyond the mere imaginings of mortal beings. As such, a certain understanding was said to have been devised in times when magic and myths were created, that, should people refrain from crossing the boundary that led into the forest, no evil within would flow into the land of the living. That was what they believed and seemed to be content with.

...Isn't this the forest we are not supposed to go into? asked the little girl, tentatively.

Oh, this? Nah, they's just superstitions, they is. Load of cod’s-wallop, if you ask me!

The little girl walked as fast as she could to keep up with the man's long, bandy legs, each stride of which were like four of her own.

Come on! 'Is place isn't far—if you know where you're goin', that is. 'E doesn't like bein' disturbed, see?

Endlessly into the forest they seemed to walk, as wooden pillars, like ever-reaching fingers, twisted in around them at every step and enormous toadstools shielded them from the moon's gaze. As the little girl struggled to keep up, she tried not to focus on the strange crunching and squelching sounds underfoot, as she sliced her way through a dense sea of lightly blue fog.

The further they walked, the denser the forest appeared to be. Just as the little girl felt as though she would collapse from exhaustion, the man she followed came to a stop and announced,

'Ere we are!

Nearly walking straight into the back of his stringy legs, she felt a combination of relief and anxiety at the sight of what stood before her. An old, ramshackle structure appeared to barely stand, as the trees and brush coiled and climbed and covered most of its rusted corrugated walls; its roof was utterly smothered by a blanket of dead and dying leaves. Though the structure appeared dilapidated, its windows were whole and clean, a detail the little girl found quite odd. Beyond the windows, a flickering light somewhere within made shadows dance upon the walls and ceiling inside.

The thin, shabby man suddenly turned with a wide grin and gleefully spoke. This, lil' girl, is the Doll-Maker's workshop.

Chapter Two

Still desperately wanting to believe there was good in this world, the little girl swallowed her fears and approached the rusted workshop, walking closely behind the thin man.

Looking down at the little girl, the wiry man quickly muttered under his breath, Keep your mouth closed and play along. 'E don't like strangers, but I'll make sure 'e takes ya. D'ya understand?

Trying her hardest to conceal her building anxiety, the little girl gave a simple, single nod.

Good girl.

Knocking three times on the old, wooden door, the wiry man took a single step back and waited.

Moments later, a sharp, aggravated voice was heard from within.

Who goes there?

It's me, sir. I've brought you what you asked for, replied the bandy-legged man.

These words confused the little girl; the man in front of her could not possibly have been referring to her, as they had only just met. She told herself that it must be something else he had been asked to bring.

The door slowly creaked open, revealing a gaunt elderly man with sharp features and thin glasses perched atop his pointed nose.

Where is it, then? he asked.

'Ere she is! exclaimed the shabby man, pointing to the little girl with an open palm.

Squinting his eyes and furrowing his brow, the Doll-Maker spoke, "No, this is most definitely not what I asked for. If this is your idea of a joke, all you have succeeded in doing is waste my time. Now, begone with you, and do not come back until you bring me what I require."

One moment please, sir, implored the man, as he forcibly placed his hand on the rapidly-closing door.

This lil' girl is exactly wha' you've been looking for. Gimme a moment of your time, and I'll show you wha' I mean.

Looking from the door to the pleading man with cold eyes, the Doll-Maker opened his door.

You have two minutes, Squidge. No more.

Ah, thank you, sir. I knew you were a man of grace, replied the man, abruptly placing his hand on the little girl's back and pushing her in.

As she entered the mouth of the structure, a strange, unfamiliar smell stung her nostrils. Adjusting to the softer tones within, the little girl took note of her new surroundings.

Directly in front of her stood a large work area, mostly covered in various sharp tools and wood shavings that had spilled over on-to the surrounding floor beneath, covering most of it. Immediately below the desk, she spotted a dark gray sheet covering a small mound of something she couldn't quite make out. Squinting, however, the little girl spotted what appeared to be a partially exposed white, circular object protruding from a corner.

Dirty, gray wooden shelves hung sporadically along the walls, on top of which various motionless small toys and dolls stared back at her with their glass eyes.

To the immediate right of the desk was what looked like an unmade bed consisting of a single mattress and an off-white sheet. Looking to her right, the little girl saw a row of human-like dolls, the likes of which she had never seen—so lifelike were their faces; so flawlessly beautiful and intricate they were. To their right, however, a pile of clothes-less, chipped dolls lay haphazardly strewn in the corner.

The thin man followed the Doll-Maker, who resumed his work behind his desk. The candle light from the stick on the table projected a long and twisted shadow of the Doll-Maker on the wall behind him. Without looking away from his work, he stated, Speak, then.

Bowing slightly once again and wearing a cunning smile, the thin man replied, Of course, sir. Of course. Even though she looks small, she's actually pre'e strong, sir, and fast! She'll 'ave your head spinning, she will! She's also a quick learner, sir. She'll pick up anyfink you tell 'er well quick!

Despite what the thin, shabby man had told her moments earlier, the little girl's anxiety grew and grew at the strange sights, sounds, and smells that surrounded and saturated her. So much so, in fact, that her little stomach began to growl and hurt. Even so, she clung on to the hope that there was good in the world and that it would all be okay.

She'll even do your cleanin', continued the wiry man. 'An it's not like anyone is goin' ta come lookin' for 'er, 'cos 'er parents 'ave gone."

At this, the Doll-Maker abruptly looked up at the thin man with a sudden look of interest in his eyes, though he soon regained control of himself and said, Parents? Gone? Without moving his head, his eyes darted to the little girl as he continued to speak. When? Where?

...Eeer, I don' know, sir. I found 'er tonight alone on the streets, cryin'...

Still your mouth! The Doll-Maker walked stiffly around his desk and stood beside the little girl.

What happened to your parents, my dear?

Hesitantly, the little girl looked up at the thin man, as if to ask whether she should answer, and, receiving an urgent nod, she turned her eyes to the Doll-Maker and said, I...I don't know...

Think, girl! exclaimed the Doll-Maker in frustration. Catching himself, he regained his composure and spoke through a forced, thin-lipped smile. What I mean to say, of course, is when did you see them last, dear?

Now visibly shaking, the little