Chapter 57

           Orrather,twoclues.Theywerehangingfromthebranchofapinetreenearthegatedownintothecenterofthepath,somesixfeetfromtheground,swingingalittleinthewind,innocentandidle,touchedbysunlight.Onewasadoll.Theotherwasahumanskull.Theskullhungfromablackcord,whichpassedthroughaneatholedrilledinthetop,andthedollfromawhiteone.Itsneckwasinanoose.Itwashanginginbothsenses.Abouteighteenincheshigh,clumsilycarvedinwoodandpaintedblack,withasmilingmouthandeyesnaïvelywhitenedin.Arounditsankleswereitsonly"clothes"twowispsofrag,oneivory,theotherindigo.Irecognizedthemasthefabrics"Lily"hadwornthesecondweekend.Thedollwasher,andsaidthatshewasevil,shewasblack,underthewhiteshesooftenwore.Itwistedtheskullandmadeitspin.Shadowshauntedthesockets,themouthgrinnedgrimly.Alas,poorYorick.Disemboweledcorpses?OrFrazer…TheGoldenBough?Itriedtoremember.Whatwasit?Hangingdollsinsacredwoods.Ilookedroundthetrees.Somewhereeyeswereonme.Butnothingmoved,thedrytreeslayinthesun,thescrubinthelifelessshadow.Onceagainfear,fearandmystery,sweptoverme.Thethinnetofreality,thesetrees,thissun.Iwasinfinitelyfarfromhome.Theprofoundestdistancesarenevergeographical.Inthelight,inthealleybetweenthetrees.Andeverywhere,adarknessbeneath.Whatitis,hasnoname.Theskullandhiswifeswayedinariftofthewindfromthesea.

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