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Chapter One: With the Crack in the Wall

ONE WITH THE CRACK IN THE WALL
The dollmaker will come when a baby is born. Into a room she will take the newborn; nobody else, not even a parent, is permitted to be present. Candles will be lit, which smell sweet and wild and otherworldly. Listening at the door, one will hear the dollmaker whisper her strange, trembling words. It is said, in making the doll, that the dollmaker is fashioning the child’s soul.

—A Brief History of Wreathenwold, Archscholar Collum Wolfsdaughter

IT BEGAN with the crack in the wall.

Edwid Cotton found it one morning on his bedroom wall. It was around twelve inches long, a thin black smile in the pale stone. It must have happened sometime in the night, though exactly how was a mystery to Edwid.

There was something instantly sinister about this crack in the wall. Peering in, Edwid saw only darkness, as though the wall were hollow. Cold air threaded out, smelling of dust. Stranger still, he was sure he could hear the faintest whispering from within. A shivering Edwid dismissed this as a figment of his imagination.

Certain Hansel would blame him, Edwid decided to cover it up—he was already in his father’s bad books and didn’t want to make things worse. Parchment sketches of famous Mapmakers covered the walls, so it was straightforward enough to move one over and hide the crack. The moment it was covered, the room felt warmer, Edwid’s mood lifted, and any thought of whispering from within the wall was put down to childish fancy.

Nothing much happened that day or during the night that followed. Edwid slept serenely, dreaming of the adventures he hoped to have in the future.

When he woke the next morning, the crack in the wall had returned.

The covering sketch was torn across the middle, and through it the crack could be seen again. Whorls and curls of parchment had fallen to the floor. And Edwid heard that same whispering once more, faint and menacing, joined by a trickle of wispy laughter. He leaned in and listened.

“What did you say?” he hissed, bringing his ear to the crack. But all he heard was a tangle of whispers, a snake pit of hushed voices.

“What?” he whispered.