It had been a cold night in Cheesebridge, the wind howling through empty streets as dreary rain spattered against the old cobblestones that covered the ground. It was not too late at night at this moment, but because of a recent collective mass hysteria that had taken over the town; everyone within their frightened frame of mind took it upon themselves and their children to stay inside, and stay safe.

Except for one, lone trench coat swathed figure that trudged their way through the lifeless streets, head down in desperation to keep their face dry from the unforgiving rain. Though they could not help themselves at times to peek out from the rim of their hat to see the houses that crowded the street, the warm light peeking through heavy grey curtains telling of a happy and safe home, a look of yearning passing through their features that causes them to walk faster every time.

It was getting to closer to curfew now, and if they weren't careful, they would be caught.

Though whether they were caught by the Red Hats or the Box trolls it made no difference, both were bad news.

Box Trolls were of course the creatures that were causing such empty-street, house-filled hysteria amongst the masses, whispers trailing from one gossiping wife to another of what they did to careless parents and their innocent children in the cover of night. Of course these whispers had been around for as long as anyone could remember, it was just natural for one to fear what they do not understand or have actually seen with their own eyes.

But the statements that were once meant to put fear in the hearts of misbehaving children at bedtime had now evolved so suddenly into frightened whispers, and mothers clutching tighter to their children's shoulders, afraid to let them play before dark for fear that they would never be seen again. Something was riling these people up more than usual, and now all it seemed it would take was for one incident to confirm their fears, then the town would truly be lost to their Box Troll fear frenzy.

The Red Hats were a culmination of all these fears and theories, a collection of men that would go out into the night and capture the creatures before they could harm any parent or child. Naturally these men were placed in nearly the highest regard, the top place belonging to those of the White Hat society, best known for giving Cheesebridge its name and their fancy ways.

It was because these Red Hats were so nearly higher up on the social ladder, (at least higher up than the figure walking through the streets knew they would ever be,) that they had the authority to lock up those that refused their order of curfew, the exact reason why the figure was now walking so fast that they could feel the pull of the muscles in their legs. Being locked up by The Red Hats was worse than any kind of lock up by the law enforcers, since most people in the public jail were released into the sunlight. Those that were caught past curfew by the Red Hats however, not so much.

After passing many houses and avoiding the Red Hats motor cars as best as they could, trying to hold back their coughing as the vicious black smoke from the engines leaked into the already dreary night and strangled their lungs, they eventually arrived to their destination.

The house that was awaiting from the top of the steps was not shout inward like the others, the lights that made it seem so warm and friendly shining out without any curtains to stop it. This already giving the outward representation that whoever was the master of this household, did not fear the dreaded fate that came from the Box Trolls. And certainly, the figure reflected as they climbed up the last of the rain covered steps and wiped their shoes dry on the welcome mat, that was true.

A series of secret password knocks later and the door was opened to the figure, whom after finally getting out of the cold; shed themselves from their second skin of wet trench coat and wide brimmed hat to greet the one that had let them in.

As the weather protection guise was discarded, it revealed the young lady it had been hiding underneath. She looked no older than sixteen; her build best described as thin as a rake, and she not all that attractive, though that was to say she wasn't completely ugly either. Mostly it was because of the always cautiously glaring expression on her face that she used to guard herself that she was found to be unpretty yet pretty.

With her wild brown hair that she had managed to strangle back into a tightened ponytail and vivid green eyes, she was nearly an exact replica of the man whom had let her in. (Except she was female of course and he had a rather bid moustache that twitched when he was amused).

This would make sense, given that it was her father.

"Ah Olive I was wondering when you'd be getting back," He exclaimed, his tone showing that he was neither joking nor angry, but actually genuine in his statement since it was clear that he would be a great deal more worried if she had been a second later than usual.

It was because of his voice that seemed to show such happiness at a time when the teenager had begun to think had been supped from this town that her glare melted into a relieved smile, showing some of the pretty that she had managed to inherit from her mother.

From her father's arms came a gurgle and giggle of delight, the voice being so small, but then again that best suited the source of it. For in her father's arms was Olive's only little brother, a small baby that looked close to a year old since his brown hair now covered his head and his eyes shined the same color as his sister and father's.

His small hands reached out to her, and she gladly takes him from the arms of her father to wrap him up in her own, whispering a small apology to the baby that she was so cold form the rain and the night winds before she looked back up to her father.

"Sorry I'm so late; I had to stay at the seamstress' for some extra pay," Of course when the teenager said 'extra pay', she really meant the one silver coin more than usual that she places in her father's hand, which sometimes didn't feel worth the effort of nearly being snatched up by the Red Hats, but for some reason she does it anyway.

The teenager walks quickly through the house, which was small yet homely, and places her little brother in his small cot to play with his few toys that she had sown back together so many times they had become patchwork creations. She tightens her already tight ponytail and starts to ready dinner for them all, stopping only when she feels a brush on her leg.

She looks down, and sees the one thing that was always causing her so much grievance lately that she doesn't sleep at night anymore, instead she stays awake and constantly thinks of what could happen to her family because of it. It's what has been making her glare more often; making her worker later at night only to come home and see the sadness in her father's eyes because he thinks that she just 'doesn't understand'.

What she sees is a Box Troll, specifically one that her father named 'Fish'.

Her father says that they aren't the monsters everyone from Red Hat to Baker thinks they are. That in reality they are builders, genius inventors like himself and don't mean any harm. Olive wants to believe him, really she does, but it's not a crisis of faith in her father that keeps her up at night.

It was the thought that if they were caught housing Box Trolls of any kind, or even uttering a word of positivity about them, that she would never see her father again because of it. Her brother would be taken from her and she, she would be left alone, more alone than she had ever been when her mother died. The teenager had tried to tell him before, trying to convince him that this is not the right thing to do, that her father, her and even the baby were in danger every time they entered the house, whatever their intentions may be.

But of course, he never understands.

"They are our guests here Olive Trubshaw," he would say (using her full name always meant he was particularly serious), gesturing to the Box Troll he had been defending (who was chewing on a boot at the time, but that was nothing when accompanied by everything else she had seen them do). She would beg, and plead and even at one point yelled (something she felt particularly bad over) but nothing ever worked, so now she had just decided to at least try to get used to them, while also praying every night that they would not be her father's downfall.

So instead of complaining as she usually did, Olive gave a small wave to Fish before returning to her work in the small table that was used as a Kitchen. Certainly Olive had not seen any blood thirsty behavior from this Box Troll at least, mostly he usually attempted to steal meat balls from the table while she was trying to cook, an action she would react by glaring halfheartedly at him for before rolling her eyes, trying not to show that he was growing on her day by day, bit by bit.

When dinner was made and they all sat down to eat, (the Box Trolls sometimes staying for a bite before going back to wherever they lived), there would never be an actual quiet moment. The table was always open to discussion, theorizing and planning between Olive and her father, the baby sometimes interceding with gurgles of opinion that made the sixteen year old laugh.

Her father knew she was no longer a child, and so felt as though she should have a voice to speak and an opinion to have as a young lady. And she would revel in it with complete enjoyment and a constant quest for enlightenment, having conversations that she wasn't allowed to have anywhere else, since everywhere else told her to hold her tongue and that no one wanted to hear her.

But her father's ear was always one she could speak to about anything, and it made her feel safer than any sense of the word that a Red Hat could ever falsely supply.

Certainly, unlike elsewhere in this town there was no talk of her getting married, her father feeling that if she said she was not ready, then that was exactly the end of that topic. However, there was also a part of the teenager that knew he felt that if she left now, there would be no motherly figure for the baby to learn empathy from as he grew from a small seedling to a full sprout of a boy.

He never said so aloud, but she did sometimes see on nights when he was particularly tired, how much he missed her mother. It was that expression more than anything, that made her determined to stay and keep this family together.

Every once in a while though, when the night seemed its darkest and the baby was fast asleep, there would a sudden and loud knocking on the front door. If any Box Trolls were in the house they were snuck out the window that faced an unused alleyway, and Olive would be ordered to her room and to not come out for any reason until this visitor had gone. Being a good child at heart Olive would do as she was told, but that did not mean she wouldn't sneak out every so often to peek at who this visitor was that always had her father on edge before the first knock on the door even ended.

The red hat and coat always was the first thing she saw as this man took a seat at their table, sometimes taking a few moments to peer around the room as if he were looking for something that he never had the evidence to prove before sitting down. The second thing would be his voice; the low and almost rumbling tones that made her insides feel a little sicker than normal, and made her flesh crawl more than any Box Troll would be capable of making her feel.

This man was Archibald Snatcher, head of the Red Hats and major exterminator of Box Trolls in all of Cheesebridge. His face suited his voice, gaunt yet round with a crooked nose that seemed to tell of every fight he'd once had where a punch had created every crook. His eyes were small yet sneaky, as if he could see around every corner before he had even turned to face it. His mind was clearly always on the future, his plans for that future however, never seemed to spell anything good for anyone but himself.

What this man wanted with their family, Olive was never truly sure, since she only ever heard snippets and sometimes a raised voice, which was usually always from Mr. Snatcher. One time, about a few months before this point, a younger Olive had been peeping around the corner the lead into her room, sneaking looks at their conversation while eavesdropping longer than she ever had before. What she heard made her feel sicker than she ever had before.

"- I will not do what you ask of me!" That was her father, his stance more defensive yet confrontational than she had ever seen it whenever she stood before him in her life. Mr. Snatcher was never threatened by him however, and would instead just tower over him, usually silent before turning and leaving with a sharp bang of the front door. This time however, there was a look in his eye that had no been there before. The small irises of his darting very quickly to the corner that Olive was hiding behind, almost causing her to gasp and jump from fear as she hid from his sight.

"How old is your little Olive again Mr. Trubshaw? Nearly of age to be married off soon I'd take it?"

Sensing the subtlety in his comment was the worst thing that Olive reckoned at that moment that she had ever done. It was at this time, as she hid behind that corner and watched as her father seemed to deflate slightly at the veiled threat towards his only daughter, that the young girl decided that she was never, ever going to marry. Never going to leave her father's side for as long as she knew she had a say in it. Despite what the popular opinion of Cheesebridge liked to state otherwise.

The grotesque man then, with a turn on his heel and a grin that showed his missing and yellowed teeth, left with yet another sharp bang of the door closing behind him. As soon as he was gone she dropped all pretense of her father at least having the blessing that she hadn't heard that, by running from her hiding place to find comfort in his arms like she had as a child. Olive whimpered to him then as she felt the safety of his arms holding her tight, that she did not want to be married, and that even if she did, she certainly did not want to marry Mr. Snatcher.

"You won't," He assured her, then after an hour's more coaxing and promises that the frightening man was not going to now steal her away in the night while she slept, Olive allowed him to carry her back to bed like he use to when she was a little girl, leaving her only for a moment in her bed as he fetched her little brother from his coat and placed him next to her. Then, her father's hand gently touched her brow as he whispered a tune she only vaguely recognized Olive eventually fell asleep, the small sounds of her brother's whistling baby snore helping her along the way with the strange little ditty her father was humming.

Little Boxes on the hillside,

Little Boxes made of ticky tacky

Little Boxes on the hillside,

Little Boxes all the same…

It seemed like this sense of being on their toes, seconds away from being caught or something terrible happening, would continue on forever.

But of course it didn't, of course it had to end.

That morning was like any other, she was awake earlier than everyone else, made breakfast for her father and brother, cleaned up the mess her baby brother had made that had once been that breakfast. Then got ready to leave for the seamstress that she was apprenticed to at the time, the one that sometimes paid her an extra coin should she waste more time there than with her family. On the last morning that this would ever be her routine (not that she knew it at the time), she kissed her little brother's small forehead and hugged her father tight.

"Be safe," She muttered, just a common thing that she always said before she left, since she always hated saying goodbye. Her father hummed in response and she was soon out the door, the sunlight that burned at her tired eyelids the moment she stood into it wiping her mind on any thought that her family wouldn't be anything but safe that day.

After a hard and thankless day's work with the seamstress, the sixteen year old left there much later than usual that night and she quickly started her trek home, the lights that escaped through cracks of heavy curtains helping her to see her way through the dark cobbled streets back to what she knew as the brightest and most inviting house of them all, the house where her loved ones were waiting for her. She had delicately stuck to the shadows when the Red Hat cars drove by, and eventually made it to what she knew as the front steps of her home.

Only, when she looked up the steps, there was no inviting glow of light that unlike the other houses was not trapped away from actual sight. Nothing but darkness seemed to be up ahead, shadows that were otherwise vanquished by the light, now hiding the home from her view. It was this one sight of what anyone else wouldn't notice, that had her heartbeat go from zero to sixty in a second.

Her footsteps were now shaken as she tried to scale the stairs, the usually short climb feeling like an eternity as her mind tried to both reasonably calm her down, and completely freak out as to what might have happened. As she climbed up she tried to see or hear out any evidence that she was just scaring herself and that everything is alright.

She tried to detect the music that usually flowed from inside, only to hear nothing but the hollow wind against her ears. She tried to see any familiar shadows of familiar Box Trolls in alleyways nearby telling her that they were sneaking in to spend the night, only to see nothing but the odd stray cat. When Olive finally reached the top of the steps, her heart that was once beating so fast, now leapt up into her throat in an attempt to escape this nightmare that was only just beginning.

The front door was just about hanging off its top hinges only, hanging open to the darkness that waited for her inside.

A hand delicately touched her mouth, trying to hide the quivering lip of fear as she managed to swallow it back and walk inside. The house was shrouded in so much darkness, that the teenager had to squint to see through it, her childish fears of the dark all the while playing in the back of her head like a never ending record she hated to hear but could never forget. And as she managed to pass the threshold of the front door and try to walk further in as her footsteps seemed to echo, a thought struck her like lightening.

This was the first time that she had ever felt like a stranger here, in her own home.

Something was wrong.

Suddenly, as soon as that thought looses relevance, a candle is lit in the kitchen, chasing some of the shadows away. Wanting to focus on the relief and ignore the oncoming dread that felt more like a storm in her mind, Olive walks quickly towards the inviting light as if it were a light house and she was lost at sea. She was expecting, or rather wanting it to really be her father at the table looking guilty at scaring her so badly and having some silly explanation like he needed the hinges on the door for something in his inventions, or that the baby was already asleep so he saw no reason to have the lights on and that he was sorry.

She just wanted it to be an occasion where nothing was wrong, and that he was sorry.

But it wasn't. It wasn't even her father that was sitting at the table, awaiting her approach.

No, what sat at the end of the table, where her father usually was when he was working on an invention or having those meaningful discussions with Olive, was certainly not the man she felt most safe with. Instead it was the man that gave her more nightmares in one night than any tale of the boogeyman or a Box Troll could ever manage. A man who had watched her come closer to the table much like a spider watches a fly come closer to its web.

Mr. Snatcher.

"Miss Trubshaw, I'm sorry to say that it is in such terrible circumstances that I greet your lovely presence tonight,"

The man stood from his seat, swiping the oddly crooked Red Hat from his head and held it against his stomach, his terribly ugly face attempting to pull an expression that could best be described between sadness and looking as though he had smelt something rather bad recently. But that was not what Olive cared about right then, and instead got straight to the point, she so hated niceties after all.

"Where is my father? Where is the baby?" Olive only got more upset the longer the answer was not spoken. Mr. Snatcher looked as though he were now holding back a smirk, and instead looked down so he figured she wouldn't see it. But again, she didn't care, she just wanted her answer.

When she got her answer however, she wished from that point on that she had remained blissfully ignorant.

"My dear lady, I know it might injure your weak heart to hear this. But I'm sorry to inform you that your poor father and innocent infant brother have become victims of the dreaded Box Trolls."

At first she tries to deny it.

"They're… they're dead?"

But that doesn't work.

"I'm afraid so,"

She could feel her heart stop in that moment, while her brain tried to catch up and decode what he had said, and when it does, her grief takes over. Her knees fail her and she crashes to the hardwood floor, her hands gripping at her face as she screams bloody murder, every ounce of pain and sadness that could come from that one moment finding its way out of her lungs and voice box, and into the air.

Her blood curdling, heart wrenching scream echoes through the streets of Cheesebridge, cracking windows and deafening dogs with its dexterity. Every man, woman and child would later state that their bones felt rattled from the sound, tears forced to their eyes though at the time they weren't exactly sure why.

But Olive knew and from that point on she would always know why.

She told them to be safe, because she hated saying goodbye.

That was the last time she ever stepped foot into that house, the property soon being bought and sold to another person of the town that she did not care to know since they certainly did not care about her. All of her family's possessions, at least those that she had not been able to take with her, were scrapped away. Her father's inventions, her brothers little shoes, even her first tooth. They seemed so inconsequential on the bigger scale, but knowing that they were now considered trash, destroyed something inside her all the more.

She was taken to stay in a half way house for a while until one of the White Hats of Cheesebridge would finally bother to notice her and deal with the problem. It took two months, which was actually a relief since many people had told her not to bother with them, or that it might take two years before they finally got around to it. In any case, two months later she was visited in her room at the temporary lodgings by one of the White Hats, Lord Portley-Rind.

"Miss Trubshaw, how sad the circumstances are that we finally meet,"

Lord Portley-Rind bowed low, and since she doesn't have anyone anymore that knows she hates social niceties, she curtsies back for the first time. It feels degrading to her somehow, like the deaths of her family have tamed the way she had once been. However, this seems to make a good impression on him as he smiles back at her. Olive eventually sits back in her chair, the Lord himself not bothering to sit down since the available chairs were probably too dirty to him.

"Indeed this is a tragedy sir, which only seems to lighten somewhat at your presence," The compliment humbled him, which was of course its intention anyway. The conversation does not go very long as she was informed of her home being sold and everything that she didn't take with her being gone. It felt so finalized without even a word from her, as if this were all planned before it even happened. But then Olive realized that even if it weren't planned ahead of this tragedy, she still probably wouldn't have gotten a say anyway.

Thinking was now a terrible issue of hers, since every thought in her head seemed to now always lead back to the same thing. The knowledge that her family, was dead. It was so hard to really grasp despite it continuously appearing in her mind, and what was worse was that she wasn't completely sure why it was hard to understand in the first place.

Perhaps it was just the simple fact that apparently it was Box Trolls that had done this unspeakable crime to her and her family. The same Box Trolls that only ever really stole meatball off the counter when she was cooking, but otherwise did nothing to antagonize her father or herself, never seemed to be a threat to the baby. Nothing from her memories seemed to draw the conclusion or even slightly foreshadow that this was what they were planning.

A tear misplaced its way across her cheek, and she apologized to the White Hat Lord as she wiped it away. That to seemed to also happen frequently, some days she would seem fine, and then she just wouldn't be. Some days she couldn't manage to get out of bed, looking instead to the ceiling as though it would have the answers on what she should do. Others she would wake up and not remember what happened, and then she remembered.

Those days were the worst of all.

"Now Miss Trubshaw, I do believe we need to discuss your options of a future," Everything in her body froze on the spot, her eyes looking back to him like a deer caught in headlights as only one thing came to mind when the words options and future where mentioned. That one thing being the memory from a few months ago, back when her family was still there and her father could protect her, Mr. Snatcher standing over her father as he asks if she was 'old enough to marry' yet. And before she can really question anything her skin feels like it is crawling once again, but now she wants to crawl away with it and not answer this horrible question.

But she has to, because she is not a child anymore so it wasn't as if she could run away from it any more she could forget how the doors hinges squeaked while barely holding onto the wood. She swallows the memory back and answers with as much a confident voice as she can manage without crying again.

"I do not think that the possibility of marriage should be allowed into question my Lord, for I fear this tragedy will forever scar my ability to be a proper wife to any good sir in this town. Especially since there is a chance that since the Box Trolls love the taste of Trubshaw, there is a chance that I will be next,"

It's a lie, a horrible, heart cutting lie that made her feel a little sick inside, but still she tried to sell it with all the fake conviction she could cook up in the short time allowed. She bashes her eyelids, wipes the tears away, practically doing everything so she seemed so small and frail. Anything to get her away from the possibility of being married, especially since her father could now no longer chase the hyena like suitors away. It was up to her to do that now.

For whatever reason, whether it was because she fluttered her eyelashes at the right time or maybe he figured out her want to just be free from that nightmare while she was still grieving her family, Lord Portley-Rind nodded in agreement. For a moment when he didn't notice, Olive looked at him as though he had two heads, since she was certainly not expecting him to really fall for it. Still, it was pretty great that he had, as instead of the possibility of marriage, he seemed to have another proposition for her.

"My wife and I have just had a daughter of our own, Winifred. She will need a Nanny to look after her while I and my wife are off on important business,"

"I would love for the chance to be your new child's Nanny your lordship,"

Olive immediately caught on to what it was he was suggesting and agreed almost immediately, since it sounded so many fields better than being on the marriage market, where a certain red hated man would be waiting for her. A contract was signed and agreements were made before she was made to pack her bags and go with him to his manor in the centre of Cheesebridge. Her room was small yet on the highest floor of the manor, though thankfully it was not small enough that she couldn't fit her family's old bits and pieces along with her belongings.

What hurt the most sometimes was that when she looked out her window; she could not see her old home. Every building below her did look the exact same as the other next to it after all. Though there was a piece of thankfulness in her heart, since she already knew that if she could see it, all it would do as reminded her on how she could not go back. That everything she had every loved, had been taken in that one night, never to come back.

Olive sat silently on her new bed, her hands slowly rubbed at her arms, trying to rid the cold feeling that she had inside, though she already knew that this would not work to make it disappear. So she tried instead on looking around what was now going to be her new home for the next few years. But that of course, only seemed to make her feel worse.

A knock on the door stopped her from falling into another pit of despair, and Olive quickly made herself presentable before opening the door. The one knocking had apparently been Lord Portley-Rind, who looked rather troubled with the small bundle of material in his arms. Olive allowed him to quickly enter the room, and he generously did so, taking a moment to look around at her belongings himself before turning back to the young lady.

"Yes, it's all rather interesting," He murmured since he couldn't seem to think of anything to say, before the wriggling bundle he was holding so carefully gurgled, small pink hands reaching out from white material to try and grab a hold of his handlebar mustache. It was apparent that his Lordship was having trouble holding the baby, looking at it more as though it were a bomb that was about to go off than a small infant.

"Do you want me to hold her for you, your lordship?" The Lord seemed completely relieved that the teenager had said it first and carefully handed the small bundle of material and infant into Olive's hands, looking still as though the baby were going to explode any moment from the slightest of too forceful movements. Olive smiled warmly back at him to tell his lordship that he was doing just fine, before looking down at the child that would be under her charge for the rest of the near future.

The baby girl was a small thing, her tuffs of ginger curly hair, obviously a trait picked up by her father, sticking out along with her head and arms appearing out of the bundle. Bright greens eyes stared curiously back at her…the same look that she remembered seeing in her brother when she first held him.

Olive sniffed back a tear and strengthened the hold of her quivering lip. There would be no more crying, at least not when others could see it. The young woman knew already that this tragedy was going to rule the rest of her life, but she saw no reason to let anyone else know about it.

She would keep her composure, by locking her pain away to where no one could see it.

"Hello Winnie, my name's Olive, and I'm very pleased to meet you,"

Please review, constructive criticism always welcome.