With nothing to show for his efforts save the faint trail of ash showing where he'd used the poker to aid his search, William blamed the squeaking he'd heard on the creaky floorboards in Emma's room. He couldn't risk his parents searching for the rat, not when Burdock was the only one who knew as well as he did that something was troubling Emma.

Father did not react well.

Coal dust burned William's nose and throat from hours spent shoveling fuel into the forge. Blackness clung to calluses that had cracked after scrubbing every last speck of ash off of Father's tools. Dark crescents peeked out from under William's nails where the coal had worked its way inside him.

Though his work at the forge had left him aching, William led Emma and a few of her friends into the forest to gather kindling and, with the aid of the guitar slung over his shoulder, to test Burdock's theory. While time would mend his body as well as it always did, only knowing how to save his sister from whatever ailed her could ease the pain in his heart.

Trees loomed above them with their dying leaves blocking all but the thinnest slivers of sunlight. A lone raven peered at the children with cold black eyes. The entire forest was quiet and still, with not a single creature daring to break the silence.

Once upon a time, the children would have turned even the most tedious chore into a game filled with shouting and laughter that would send even the most tolerant birds fleeing to calmer areas to roost in. Today they gathered kindling without saying a word, with only the faint rustling of twigs rubbing against each other breaking the silence.

William's fingers itched to strum his guitar, but he couldn't play for them yet, not when they were still so close to town. By the time the children had gathered enough wood to satisfy their parents, they would be far enough for him to play the Hymn of the Whole without fear of interruption.

At least, that was what he told himself as he picked his way through the dense foliage. Burdock had warned him there would be consequences if he played a foul note, but what would happen if someone overheard them? If the Hymn was strong enough to lure the children out of Hamelin, what could it do if he failed to follow Burdock's instructions?

Seeing how the song had seemingly altered its listeners made William uneasy enough as it was. Dread coiled in his stomach as the children whispered amongst themselves too quietly for him to hear, occasionally glancing at him in a way that made it clear he was naught but an unwelcome intruder. They moved in unison like individual water droplets in a rushing river, with no child drifting from the rest of the group for more than an instant as they gathered heaps of kindling.

They'd changed, but so had he.

"How have you all been?" William asked, his words breaking through the quiet as loudly as leaves crackling underfoot. "Have you settled in alright now that you're home?"

Half a dozen pairs of eyes darted to him all at once. This was not the loving attention of an eager audience but a cold, calculated scrutiny.

"We're fine," little Peter Farnsworth said, air whistling out of the gap where one of his front teeth used to be. "Right, everyone?"

"Yes."

"It's nice to be home."

"I missed helping Father in the fields."

One by one the rest of the children voiced their agreement, yet their smiles never reached their eyes. Each of them either stood far too still or constantly fidgeted as if a swarm of ants was crawling over their skin.

"Are you sure?" William asked. "You all had quite a fright the other day. I never would have expected Baron to cause such a fuss." Nor would he have expected little Peter Farnsworth to grab the cat, digging his tiny fingers into the creature until it yowled in agony. That hadn't been the accidental carelessness of a child who played too rough but the ferocity of someone who was determined to inflict harm.

Peter kicked at the ground, his boots crunching through the leaf litter. "He's a monster. I had to teach him what would happen if he ever tried to hurt us."

William fought to swallow a mouthful of bile. Such a violent lesson could teach only fear. "He's not used to you being home yet. If you gave him a chance—"

"Then he would slash us open with his claws and sink his teeth into our necks." Peter trembled with his fists clenched by his sides, the muscles in his arms spasming as if he longed to trap Baron in his grip once again.

"Baron would never do that," William said. "He's just a cat!"

But Peter was no longer listening. His breath rushed in and out in ragged gasps as he hunched forward, pressing his hand over his mouth as if he was struggling to push the air back inside his lungs.

The other children crowded around him in a tight cluster, whispering too softly for William to hear. Peter's breathing eased until hiccups shook his tiny frame. Blotchy redness darkened his cheeks as he blinked furiously.

"I'm sorry." William moved to comfort Peter but was met with a wall of tiny bodies. The children glared up at him, holding bundles of kindling as if they were prepared to beat him with the wood. "I just want to make sure you're all safe and happy. I don't know what you've all been through, but if you'd let me help—"

"You're right," Peter rasped. "You don't know what we've been through, so mind your own business."

"Is your nose okay, big brother?" Emma squinted at William as he instinctively shielded the swelling from view with his hand. "It looks like it really hurts."

Jennifer Baker leaned forward, her braids swaying in the breeze. "Papa's face looked like that after he had to fight somebody who tried to steal one of our chickens. Did somebody try to steal from your folks?"

"Bet his pa's the one who did it to him," Matthew Cunningham snickered. His smirk was the same one he gave whenever one of the other children was punished for his mischief, only this time there was a certain sharpness tugging at the edges. "He must've done something real bad for his pa to smack him like that."

"You don't need to worry about that," William blurted out. "It doesn't hurt. Honest."

That lie was as plain as the bruise on his face. Ugly yellow blotches lingered where purple had once marred his features, and his nose still ached with every breath he took. Yet, none of the children seemed to remember how he'd been injured. An elbow crunching through cartilage. Blood swept away by the rushing river. Water searing his lungs as it forced its way down his throat.

Perhaps it was better that they'd forgotten. They'd all been through so much already.

"No use fussing about that," William said. "Tell you what. If you all gather as much wood as you can carry, I'll play a song for you before we head home."

Whispers broke out among the children once again, ending in them all nodding in unison. Without another word, they dispersed and went back to searching for sticks as if nothing had ever interrupted them.

William led them all through the forest until they came upon a clearing with ample space for everyone to sit and rest their feet. As the children sat in a semicircle with the kindling they'd gathered heaped in the center, William eased his guitar over his shoulder. Strings sang beneath his fingers as he plucked a quick rhythm to make sure they were still tuned. He doubted the Hymn of the Whole would do him any good if it was off-key.

"Everyone ready?" William asked himself as much as the children.

A chorus of yeses rippled through his audience. The children all sat with their hands folded in their laps, their eyes unblinking.

William's fingers met the strings with a tentative stroke. Notes fell from the guitar like autumn leaves drifting in the breeze, gentle and aimless. The ghost of a memory tugged at his consciousness, guiding his hands through the motions.

As the tempo quickened from gentle and timid to a frantic thrumming that left William's calluses stinging, the children rose to their feet. Limbs twitched in time with the music with their muscles jerking in a haphazard rhythm. They danced like marionettes with half their strings cut, each movement equal parts stiff and limp.

Wide eyes watched every movement of William's fingers. Flowing from one string to the next. Teasing out a chord. Tightening his grip on the guitar's neck. All the while, the forest around them held its breath, with only the leaves crunching under the children's feet breaking the silence.

Even as the children's stares seared into his skin, William would not, could not, look away. Not when the longer he watched them, the less natural their movements became.

Their breath rushed in and out as if someone was pumping their lungs like a bellows. Smiling lips pulled back to reveal teeth grinding against each other.

Something shifted inside their abdomens. A mass bulged from Emma's stomach, pushing against the fabric of her dress. Yet she still danced alongside the others, heedless of the matching lumps shifting beneath their clothing, straining against their skin.

Bile rose in the back of William's throat. There was something inside them. Something alive.

His fingers slipped. A foul note rang through the clearing.

The children froze. Wide smiles contorted into rictuses of rage.

Before William could chase after the fleeing melody, they were upon him.