Welcome, you’ve stumbled into The Tori Story Series. If this is your first visit to this realm you might want to catch up.

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Hunter left the Witch’s side and walked toward Gaelon’s voice. When he reached the doorway he hesitated.

“Where are you?” He asked the darkness as he turned back to keep an eye on the Witch. Anxiously, he rubbed his hands together cracking his knuckles. Then he began chewing on his nails.

“Here” Gaelon answered, only the sound came from somewhere to Hunter’s left deeper into the dungeon, not from the right where just a few short moments ago Hunter could have swore he heard the faint echo of retreating footsteps. 

Hunter squinted to his left into the pitch black. “Where?” He asked again. Completely unsure.

This time Gaelon didn’t answer. 

Hunter continued to chew his nails while shifting his weight from one side to the other. He didn’t want to be here with the Witch but he wasn’t particularly interested in venturing further into the darkness either. 

In that instant his stomach growled and for the briefest of moments he was tempted to flee the dungeon. Who cares about Gaelon or the Witch. Hunter simply wanted to be home, even if home meant a severe beating for being late to his morning chores. He’d take a beating over being with the Witch any ‘ole day. If he ran fast enough, Gaelon might not even be able to catch him. 

While considering this option, a hauntingly familiar melody wafted through the darkness. A dissonant agreement of notes grating together like nails on a chalkboard. 

Rock-a-bye-ba-by 

That’s odd. Hunter thought. At the same time he was pulled, it seemed, by unseen forces in the direction of the origin of the tune. Deeper into the belly of the dungeon. He went involuntarily to be sure. After all, who in this type of situation willingly walks into untold terror? And so with absolutely no control over his actions, Hunter witnessed his hand reach for one of the torches and his feet shuffle ahead of him into the darkness. 

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The Peddler was out of options. The boy wasn’t following orders and so Peddler did the only thing he could. He sang. It was a tune as familiar as the day is long. An ancient melody passed on from Keeper to Keeper. You and I know it to be a soothing lullaby and it is when being used to coax someone to sleep. But I assure you, it is altogether unpleasant when sang the way Peddler sang it that day.

Rock-a-bye-ba-by 

The tone and timber resonated through the halls. It was subtle at first but then grew in pitch and volume. Normally, this very song soothed the spirit, calmed the nerves, and grounded the soul— if the singer chose to sing it in its entirety. The Peddler, however, offered out only the first five notes– notes that were desperate for a resolution. 

The resolution failed to manifest. Instead, Peddler continued to sing the first five notes repeatedly. Again and again. And when each repetition was combined with the echo of the one prior, the notes began bouncing off the walls and swirled together in a relentless eddy of frenzied eerie music. 

Rock-a-bye-ba-by. Rock-a-bye-ba-by. Rock-a-bye-ba-by.

The boy swayed to the notes. His feet shuffled, sliding across the ground in time with each drawn out note while the light from the torch flickered eerily. It too seemed to be controlled by the music as it shifted from one side of the hall to the next in time with the horrific tune. 

Entranced and gripped with fear, the boy’s body continued forward although his mind screamed at him to stop. Gaelon and the Witch were no longer a thought or concern. No, not at all. Now, he simply wished he could regain control of his body. He didn’t wish to continue ahead into the pitch black. 

Peddler could have sung instructions. Go get the keys, bring them back, unlock the cell, let me out. The boy would have obeyed each command, but Peddler didn’t have time. How long would it take the boy to find the keys? The guards surely would be back sooner rather than later. 

Finally the boy stopped just shy of the Peddler’s cell, but continued to shuffle— back and forth, back and forth— a helpless puppet pulled by strings. His eyes searched the Peddler’s face for some sign of comfort. Please. They begged. Please let me go. 

“Lend-me-your-bo-dy.” Peddler sang. 

The boys eyes widened as if to scream NO as he nodded his head yes. 

And just like that the boy was no longer the boy.

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