The old, mostly rotten wooden stairs creaked under the weight they were forced to endure, even if it wasn't so much. The air was damp and smelled stale. The metal parts of the tower, like the railing and the giant gears were rusted, their original color falling down in little chunks.

Steps echoed is the silent place, doubling themselves as a tan boy climbed the seemingly never ending staircase to the very top of the old clock tower. In one of his hand was clutched a rusted iron key, the other's fingers loosely holding onto the railing that he really didn't believe wouldn't collapse.

After a lot of pauses, either because of his tiredness or fear of falling, the boy made it to the top.

With shaky hands, the inserted the rusted key into the keyhole on the single door that resided at the top, after swatting his way through the numerous, long abandoned spider webs. The lock made a loud clinging noise as the key twisted, it almost sounded like the whole tower moved with the creaking door.

The thick film of dust rose with the door's movement, the setting sun's rays reflecting on it, making the whole scenery look even more breathtaking. The boy's steps left a very visible footsteps on the remaining dust, marking his uncertain movements.

The top of the tower looked quite similar to a normal attic, with a few exceptions. There was a giant control panel by the right wall, connected to the tower's giant clock. The wall in front of him and the one on the left were made out of glass, letting in the slightly pinkish sunlight. The wall behind him had just the door he came in from and a wardrobe standing quietly in the corner.

Curious, the boy walked over to the wardrobe, pulling lightly on the door. Slightly creaking, the wooden structure refused to give in. Even when he pulled more, the only thing that gave in was the doorknob, falling apart and ending in his grasp.

Sighing, the boy did the only thing left; tried using the key. To his great surprise, the door budged, almost opening by itself. Immediately, he was crushed by an extraordinary weight, tumbling to the ground.

Groaning, he looked at the lump that crashed onto him, letting out a high pitched scream. A young man, not older than himself, was crushing him, with a lot more weight than his lanky body should've been able to. The tan boy pushed the other, pale male, off of himself, pulling himself up to his feet with the slight help of the wall.

The pale boy was left on the floor, resembling a fallen ragdoll, his limbs twisted in unnatural angles. Boy, now concerned, kneeled over the body, gently touching his chest through his white shirt. Blinking, he brought his hand back. The boy wasn't breathing. Instead, his chest was hard.

The tan boy raised one of his hands, examining it in the dimming sunlight. I was, in fact, made out of wood, and precisely painted over to perfectly resemble a pale human's skin. Its fingers were tightly grasping something.

The boy pried the fingers apart, uncovering a small gleaming key, not bigger than a palm. It was painted over white, but the paint was already coming off, along with it a bit of rust. The boy turned it around in his hand, watching it reflect the ever changing sunrays.

He turned the doll around, looking him over. He was once told about the old woman that used to be the tower's guard. She was old and lonely, so in her time, she managed to create her own son to aid her when she was too weak to operate the clock's mechanism. Never in his life would he think it was actually truth.

He brushed the almost real locks of hair from the doll's face and behind his ear. His fingers brushed against a little bump. Confused, he sat the doll up, turning him around. The pale doll slouched in his grasp.

The little bump on his neck turned out to actually be a small keyhole, cleverly hidden behind his brunet hair. The tan boy, with trembling hands, inserted the key, twisting it to the left.

The sound of gears turning and squeaking echoed in the big room, the doll's body vibrating slightly.

The boy pulled out the key after it wouldn't turn anymore, stuffing the thing into his pocket. The doll stirred in his hold, making the boy jump slightly. Slowly, he turned his head, exposing to the boy one of his velvet eyes. The boy's heart jumped at the sight.

A monotone, yet somehow gentle voice, came from the doll.

"Greetings."