Dolls

Prolouge: The Doll Maker

     

           "What's he doing?" The young boy asked, his worn blue jeans sliding gently across the dirt as he wiggled closer to the window, peering into the old man's basement.

     The brick walls of the old house rose up above him as he gazed inwards. His hands were dusted with specks of dirt, grass and mud stains coating his jeans where his knees were pressed into the ground. His disheveled blond locks of hair fell over his face, stopping short of covering his bright hazel eyes. His lips were a pale shade of pink and his cheeks were dotted with faint freckles.

         "I-I don't know," The brown haired boy beside him stuttered as he too gazed at the old man in the basement, peering in through the small, boxed window, its glass yellowed and cracked.

      He looked much like the boy beside him, the fabric of his clothes browned by the dirt that covered them, although he was a bit more tan and had blue eyes that sparkled when the light hit them.

        The man below the two boys was the town's local 'nutjob', as every small town needed one. He was always locked up in his basement and he lived alone, except for a fat white cat that had only one eye. Although, it still seemed to be aware of everything around it, and more. The man's pale skin was like snow in the dark room. His hands were broad, although slender fingers protruded from them. In his fingers the man held a small tool that looked like a screwdriver. His dark eyes gazed intently at his work that was laid out in front of him on the ragged wooden table. A multitude of different other tools were scattered about on the table, their uses unknown. The man's frayed, white hair fell down over his work (as it was quite long) and his back arched over the table, his expression one of serious concentration.

        On the table in front of him lay unknown things. Along with the mysterious tools there were various jars containing strange substances, some liquids, and some solid. However, the main point of interest was the old man's work itself. Wooden shapes were placed in front of him. The shapes were odd, though. They were almost humanoid. It seemed like there was a wooden hand peeking out from under the shadow of his bent figure. What looked like legs and feet were stretched out towards one end of the table and moonlight blond strands of hair were radiating out towards the other end.

        "Do you think...?" The blond haired boy began. He glanced over to his friend for a moment, his eyes wide.

       "I think so," His brown haired companion replied, keeping his eyes glued to the scene, "I-I think he's making a....a doll."