In the suburbs of London at night, a bright moon hangs in the sky, dressed in clouds as thin as a veil, and spreads light through the thick cracks in the woods.

The lonely towering of the church in the woods, with its sword-sharp Gothic spire, seemed to pierce the chest of the moon.

At midnight, as the night deepens, it's time for everything to fall asleep.

And in the cemetery not far from the church, there is a busy black shadow.

He had a shovel in his hand and a sack on his back.

A shovel and a spade, sweating like rain.

He grinned and muttered to himself as he worked.

"Acheson and Ackerman, those two idiots, I said I was going home to visit my family, and they really believed me.

Without the two of them sharing the account, this cemetery that has not been stolen and excavated is all mine. The risk of killing is still too high, and where can it compare to a stable grave digging ground?

As long as you can dig up a fresh corpse, it's ten pounds, and you can get half the price if it's a little decomposed. ”

The gravedigger straightened up with his sore waist, raised his hand and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, and then exhaled a long breath.

He took his pipe out of his pocket and lit it, took a sharp puff, then slowly exhaled the smoke ring, and began to think about the good life in the future.

"If I can make a few hundred pounds here, I can take a boat to North America, buy a farm there, get a few slaves to work, and live a decent life from now on."

The wind gusted in the forest, and a wisp of cold wind blew, so cold that the gravediggers couldn't help but shiver.

He looked down at the half-cut tomb, and felt a little apprehensive, so he opened the white wine jug hanging from his belt and sprinkled it a little on the ground.

"Okay, okay, I know I'm sorry for you. But there is no way to do it, if there are other ways to get money quickly, why should I kill people and steal corpses? ”

As soon as his words fell, suddenly, a crisp, tactful music box melody sounded in the woods.

Accompanied by the sound of the wind whistling in the forest, it sounds cold and strange in the quiet environment.

The gravedigger's eyes widened in horror, his cloudy pupils swaying like the hazy moon in the night.

He saw in the treetops of the branches of the forest standing numerous ravens with red eyes, tilting their heads to look at the half-rotting corpse he had placed in the sack.

Scarlet saliva is secreted from the crow's beak, little by little, one drop.

The saliva all fell into the soft soil, but it didn't penetrate it.

Instead, they converge into a slow-flowing stream.

From the forest to the gravedigger's feet.

The eerie nursery rhyme sounded like a ghost, it sounded far away, but it seemed very close.

The hoarse voice sang to the melody.

"Who killed the robin?

It's me, said the sparrow,

With my bow and arrows,

I killed the robin.

Who saw her die?

It's me, said the fly,

With my little eyes,

I saw her die.

Who took her blood?

It's me, the fish said,

With my little saucer,

I took her blood.

Who makes a shroud for her?

It's me, said the beetle,

With my needle and thread,

I'll come and make shrouds.

Who will dig her grave?

It's me, said the owl,

With my chisel and shovel,

I'm going to dig the grave.

Who will be the pastor?

It's me, said the raven,

With my little notebook,

I will come to be a pastor.

Who will be a deacon?

It's me, said the lark,

If not in the dark,

I will be a deacon.

Who will carry the torches?

It's me, said the cardinal,

I'll get it right away.

I'll be holding a torch.

Who will be the celebrity?

It's me, said the pigeon,

I mourn my beloved,

I will be the celebrant.

Who will carry the coffin?

It's me, said the kite,

If you don't walk at night,

I'll carry the coffin.

Who will hold the coffin?

It's us, said the wren,

We are husband and wife,

We will come to support the coffin.

Who will sing the hymns?

It's me, said the thrush,

Standing on the bushes,

I will sing hymns.

Who's going to ring the death knell?

It's me, said the cow,

Because I can pull a yak,

I'm here to sound the death knell.

So, goodbye, robin.

All the birds of the air,

All sighed and wept,

When they hear the death knell,

Ringing for the poor robin. ”

At this point, the singing suddenly stopped.

The gravedigger sat on the ground with his legs limp, leaving behind the tools at hand.

On his face, the light of the moonlight was fading, replaced by a shadow that devoured the light.

He tried to scream, but found that he couldn't make any sound out of fear.

He trembled and looked up.

In the last moments of his life, he finally saw what kind of object was standing in front of him.

It wasn't like a man, and it wasn't like a God who punished God.

It was just a majestic figure wearing a mask as dark as the night, a pitch-black cloak as wide as night, and a milky coffin behind him.

He gently tied the noose in his hand around the gravedigger's neck, and the eye sockets of the crow mask glowed with a dark red light.

In the silent and cold cemetery, the song sounded again.

"Notice"

Inform all concerned,

This notice informs,

Next time the Bird Court,

The sparrows will be judged. ”

Only a hula was heard, and the body of the gravedigger rose like a flag.

His body hung from a tree with a crooked neck, like a broken kite, rickety.

However, the moonlight was too bright to see the expression on the gravedigger's face, and he could only faintly see a card with a pattern in his pocket.

The card depicts a bird dressed in a brownish-green olive coat, and its red feathers are as red as blood, as if it had been shot through the chest with a bow and arrow.

The card is marked with the name of the bird, the robin.

Written Robin, read Robin.

……

In the woods, Agareth was still reminiscing about the melodious nursery rhymes.

He looked at the flickering red dot beside him, it was Arthur who was smoking a cigarette.

The Red Devil grinned and asked, "So, it was the sparrow who killed the robin?" ”

Arthur was silent for a moment, and he did not answer.

The Red Devil laughed and raised his eyebrows: "That's the fly killed the robin, after all, the fly knew that the sparrow killed, but he didn't report it." ”

Agareth waited for a while, and when he saw that Arthur still didn't answer, he asked again.

"That is, the fish killed the robin, after all, the fish feasted on the blood of the robin, and he is even more hypocritical than the sparrow......"

Speaking of this, Agareth suddenly paused: "Or ......"

He picked up the glittering soul ball and pointed it at the moon in the sky, and the colorful light sprinkled on Agareth's face, setting off his sharp fangs and malice against the whole world.

"Obviously everyone was involved in the killing of the robin, and everyone was an accomplice, but only the sparrow was judged. Arthur, is this the axiom you want, this is the justice you seek? ”

Agareth sat beside the milky white coffin, smiling as he rubbed the coffin's exterior and polished it smooth.

The devil's whisper exploded in Arthur's ears.

"Arthur, silence means, perhaps, you killed the robin, too?"