I walked these woods every day, and I usually kept to the path because the undergrowth grows thicker than an Italian’s beard, but that day I decided to explore the gully. I heard the rumors. They say a little girl got lost in these woods a couple decades ago. They never found her body even though they covered the hills with a fine tooth comb.

At least they thought they did.

When I found the metal monument of her grave, the moss coating the housing made it look like the trunk of a tree. If I hadn’t rammed my shin against the rusty crank, I would have walked right by. As I cursed and rubbed the rising bruise, I noticed the rotten corpse of an old doll. Not much of it was left, after all, it had been years, but it’s plastic eyes stared at me as lost and lonely as that little girl must have felt in her final hours.

Daily Post: Crank