It was cold and dry. The air hung heavy and smothering over the empty streets of the sleeping town. Clocks in every house read the same time, one in the morning. Then, all at once, the clocks jumped to life. Hands wound tight and screens blinked as each clock automatically reset itself to a random time. Five-forty three here, seven ten there; no two clocks read the same time.

A pair of gentle, silent feet shuffled down the street, balancing neatly on the thin white stripe that divided the main road of the small town. It was unclear exactly who the slow-moving shadow was. Male or female, young or old – it was impossible to tell.

All that was to be seen was a thin, frail, tall frame. The figure was all black, save for the empty golden bird cage it carried in its right hand. It was as if the cage itself glowed, the metal itself was alight. In the other hand, the figure carried a shovel. The shadow maintained its course, careful to let its feet touch nothing but the thin white dividing line. It hummed a cheery tune in a genderless voice, skipping happily on its way towards the graveyard.

The shadow melted through the chain link fence that was meant to keep fiends like itself out. The figure leapt up onto the head of a tombstone, balancing neatly upon it before hopping to the next one. A freakish giggle escaped the shadow's throat, and it set down the golden cage next to a random tombstone.

It hopped down and knelt over to get a good look at the writing on the stone.

A young man named Jameson Crutch killed by a drunk driver; only twenty-four years of age; married with one young son. This one would be fun!

The figure cackled and straightened up, clasping it's burned, bony hands together with joy. It stepped back a few paces, then struck out a long, thin leg against the stone, sending it toppling over and cracking into pieces. A few minutes digging, and there was a resounding 'crack' as the shovel struck the polished wood of a coffin. The figure tossed the shovel away and leapt down into the grave, wiping loose dirt away from the coffin.

Thin, bony fingers carved packed dirt out of the crevices of the coffin, cleaning it off as much as possible. Swift punches fell hard on the top half of the coffin, and the shadow cackled excitedly as the wood began to splinter under its barrage. Suddenly, the wood broke and the figure's fist punctured the wood and thudded into something cold and soft. The shadow pulled back the wood until it was just able to yank the thin body out of its resting place and toss it up to the surface.

The shadow knelt down and held the corpse of Jameson in its arms gently.

"I bet you had a beautiful voice." The shadow crooned.

Digging its fingers into the corpse's jaw, it forced the mouth open and grabbed its tongue, ripping it out in one fluid movement. Then, the figure opened its own mouth and yanked its own tongue out, sending blood splattering all over the corpse. The shadow shoved its tongue into the corpse's empty mouth, causing blood to dribble out all over its chin and down its neck.

Next, the figure pulled out a spool of silky red thread and a needle. It placed its hands on its head and popped its bottom jaw out of place, letting it fall down onto its chest. It carefully placed the corpse's tongue into its mouth and proceeded to sew it into place. Then, it jammed its jaw back into place and smiled excitedly at the corpse. It repeated the same procedure, cracking out the bottom jaw and sewing the tongue in place.

Then, the figure pulled out another spoon of thread, this one gold and glowing, like the cage.

The figure took out a thick, golden needle and attached a string of golden thread to it. It then dug the needle through the corpse's wrist and strung the thread through and around its wrist. It did the same for the other wrist, the ankles, and then strung another thread up through its skull and out the top of its head.

The figure then pulled each of the threads tight and proceeded to sew the ends into the fingers of its left hand. Then, the shadow then took the threads in its hand and held them up to its mouth, singing in Jameson's voice.

'Hush little baby, don't say a word. Daddy's gonna buy you a mockingbird.'

The threads began to glow and shimmer in the darkness, and the corpse suddenly sprang to life. It stood, crumpled over unnaturally. The shadow cackled and flicked its hand up, causing the corpse to leap into the air. The threads died down, their golden glow disappearing until the threads weren't even visible to the naked eye. The shadow picked up its golden bird cage and handed it to the corpse, moving its left hand to make the corpse received the burden.

"And now, to find that little mockingbird."

It had been one hour. And just as the figure left the graveyard, its puppet corpse trailing behind, the clocks all reset, and it was two o' clock in the morning in every household.