Gladys Peal left her world behind for a reclusive mansion in a forgotten mountain valley to pry open the Toymaker’s secrets. The Toymaker’s toys were legendary: a mechanical egg that hatched a clockwork chicken at the touch of a warm hand, a shimmering forest of metal flowers that could be set to blossom on command, and a dozen similar pieces kept on reverent display in the world’s most prestigious galleries.
Surprised to find an enigmatic recluse where she expected a cosmopolitan artisan, Gladys is given a lukewarm welcome and unrestrained access to even more wondrous—and undiscovered—creations. Her delight is soon eclipsed by unease and even dread as her probing incites a mysterious presence to paper her room with her notes one night. As she punctures the Toymaker’s veneers, the toys demand their due. But that only stokes her curiosity. Why does the City expect blood? And why does Gladys let herself bleed?
Her sacrifices finally lead her to the basement, where she finds a discordant black box. A monolithic metal casket wrapped around a whirlpool of finely-tuned roiling gears.
It screams.
It screams with the fury of caged nightmares. It boils with the creeping evil of a delirious imagination. In its roars, she hears the stygian fuel for the Toymaker’s craft. In its cadences, she feels the malicious intent of the toys. In its punctuating shrieks, she sees the grisly truth of the mansion.
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