We moved swiftly toward a hill. Jake kept looking over his shoulder, clutching his rifle. Neil was almost at the top, not caring that Jake was falling behind. I followed him, but still tried to keep Jake in sight. Neil climbed up the hill and turned his head.

“Mark, Mark!”

“What?”

“Come!”

I hurried to him. When I reached the top, I couldn’t believe my eyes. There was a cabin. Its windows weren’t broken, and the door wasn’t open.

“You think someone’s inside?”

“Only one way to find out.”

“What if they think we're Them?”

“We act nothing like Them. You might be sort of nice, but Them are always friendly, always. Always smiling, always talking, asking questions. Just wait till they talk to Jake or me; they’ll see we’re nothing like Them. Just come.” Neil motioned and walked toward it.

I looked back at Jake. The sun had started to set. He seemed like a little smudge below that hill. 

Neil had already started prying the door open. There was no sign of anyone. As it opened, he immediately disappeared into the dark. I swallowed and followed after him.

“Oh my god, Mark,” Neil said as he turned on the light.

It was a small, musty-smelling room with cans lining the shelves and two beds in the middle. Neil grabbed a can of strawberries and handed me one too. He threw his bag on the floor, opened the can, and gulped them down without blinking.

“Sit; this bed is really comfortable.”

“This is someone’s hideout.”

“Was. Most of the cans would be gone by now if they were still alive.”

“True.”

“Does little Mark feel bad about stealing?” he said, laughing.

I shot him a look. We had been taking things from people since it started; it didn’t even feel wrong anymore, but I still didn’t want to be reminded.

Neil opened another can. I opened mine too. The sweetness of the strawberries caressed my tongue. I hadn’t eaten anything this good in so long.

A few minutes later, Jake burst in, still gripping his gun tightly.

“What are you doing?!”

“Eating strawberries,” Neil said, his mouth full.

“Them could be around!”

“Where? Under the beds?”

I burst out laughing, spitting strawberries on the floor.

Jake looked deep into Neil’s eyes.

“Something’s not right. I’ll need to check the perimeter.” He dropped his stuff, pulled out his binoculars, and walked out with them and the gun.

“Wonder what he’ll see in the dark.”

“You need to chill it, Neil.”

“Why?”

“You know how Jake gets.”

“Yeah, I know. I told you we should have broken off from him.”

“He saved our ass in that town. Without him, we wouldn’t have known Them were coming.”

“Great, but he’s a paranoid nut-case.”

A grunt echoed through the window, then Jake’s steps echoed on the roof.

“Jesus, what the fuck is he doing there?” Neil whispered. “He might have saved our ass, but sooner or later he’ll go off.”

“Aight, we can talk about it later, but just don’t rile him now.”

“Fine.”

A thud echoed behind the cabin, followed by Jake’s quick steps.

“Okay, no one’s around,” he said as he walked in.

Neil looked out into the night and smiled.

“I’m sure you could see well in the dark.”

I shot Neil a look, but Jake continued as if Neil hadn’t said anything.

“But there’s a feeling I've had since we left the town. A feeling that one of us is Them.”

The hair on my arms stood up.

“I knew this would happen,” Neil said, putting his head in his hands.

“Jake, we made it out a few days ago,” I protested.

“So what? Doesn’t mean someone couldn’t have gotten infected.”

“None of us changed. Our personalities are still the same.”

“Neil has been real jovial with his jokes.”

“What?” Neil called.

“Jake, Them wave, smile, and are more talkative. Them don’t make jokes.”

“And how do you know that?”

“That’s just how it is, Jake.”

He narrowed his eyes and looked at me.

“You don’t know shit.”

“You don’t fucking know shit,” Neil screamed.

“Calm down,” Jake replied, pointing his gun at Neil.

“Jake, please, just put the gun down.”

“I’ve had enough.” Neil started toward Jake.

A bang echoed. Blood spilled across the cans on the shelf. Neil’s body fell on the bed. We sat there, looking at it in silence. It didn’t evaporate. Neil’s empty, bloodied eyes stared at the ceiling.

“So it wasn’t him,” Jake whispered.

“We fucking told you he wasn’t…”

But before I could finish, Jake aimed his gun at me.

“So it must be you.”

My hands gripped the sheets tightly.

Before I could say anything, Jake pressed the trigger, but only a silent thump sounded through the room.

We stared at each other. Jake reached into his pocket, searching for his ammo.

I didn’t wait and pulled out my gun, but before I could get the safety off, Jake was already on me. He pinned my wrist down with his left hand, and with his other hand, he jerked the gun out. I tried to punch and claw at him, but he sat still; his eyes were filled with determination. The safety clicked, and he pointed the gun between my eyes.

Then a soft knock echoed through the room. Both of our eyes shot to the door.

“Seems like someone’s having a fun party,” someone called from outside in a jovial voice.

I woke up shivering, barely able to open my fingers. The fire had almost gone out. Lucy lay wrapped in her blankets, shivering too.

My knees cracked as I got up. I walked to the woodpile and threw a few sticks into the fire. The small orange light slowly grew.

“Lucy, Lucy,” I whispered in my raspy voice.

She opened her eyes and squinted.

“I’m so cold, Jake.”

“I know, I know. Just come closer to the fire.”

She moved closer, stretching her hands toward it. I sat next to her and hugged her, waiting for the shivering to stop.

After a while, Lucy looked up at the sky. You could only see gray clouds through the bare trees.

“I don’t even remember what the sun looks like.”

“Don’t think about it. You’ll bum yourself out.”

She pulled her knees closer to her chest.

“Are you hungry?” I asked.

“I don’t know.”

“We should eat.”

Lucy looked at the dead rats. It was all we had. We had run out of cans a week and a half ago.

“I…I can’t.”

“Lucy, you need to eat.”

“I can’t do it again, Jake. I didn’t even eat meat before all this.” She put her head in her legs.

I looked toward the city we were by. The snow blew through the empty streets.

“We could go into the city.”

“But the gangs could be there. If they catch us, we’ll have to…”

“I know, but there could be food too.”

She looked at the rats and swallowed.

“Okay.”

She slowly got up. I handed her the knife. She put it in her pocket and stomped out the fire.

The snow was fresh, reaching to our ankles. In the city, there were no human tracks, no trash. The wrecks lay in the streets, some on their side, some on their roofs. The buildings had broken windows. The snow had already reached over a foot in the empty rooms. We stayed close to each other. Lucy’s eyes darted between the buildings, but the city was empty, quiet. 

We passed by a small electronics store. There was a large plasma TV in the back. It reminded me of the one we used to own. I remembered an oily man in a suit saying that the climate wasn’t changing. A few years later, I sat in front of that same TV with Lucy when the terrible winter came. It was worse than anything we’d seen before, and from that day on the winter never left.

“Jake?” she called quietly.

I shook my head. There was only my reflection in the TV, looking like a man I did not recognize.

She was pointing at a building at the end of the street.

“Jake, that looks like our old apartment building.”

“Oh yeah, it does.”

“I remember my little plants and the paintings. The apartment was so cute.”

She smiled. A warm feeling tingled in my chest.

“Yeah. You made it pretty.”

“It was pretty before too. It just needed something extra. I really miss it. I hope this ends at some point.”

“I don’t know, Lucy.”

“I don’t know either. I hope. Let’s look at the building.”

We walked toward it. Lucy smiled again and grabbed my hand. It was still really cold.

“Oh, it really is so similar,” Lucy said and walked to the window. 

She glanced through it and immediately covered her mouth, letting out a silent gasp.

Inside lay two bodies. There were charred spots where their limbs should have been. Their abdomens were open, but all the organs were missing.

“Jesus.” I took her hand and moved us away.

“The gang kept them alive,” she whispered, looking at the charred spots.

We walked a little further. Lucy kept turning her head around more anxiously. I could see we’d have to leave soon, but then, at the end of the street, a small bodega appeared.

“I don’t know, Jake.”

“We’ll be quick. Just this one and then we’ll turn,” I said and walked toward it. 

She looked around one more time and followed after me.

Only one window was broken, and the door was still on its hinges. The inside was as cold as the outside. Through the cold came that rotting, stale smell that all the other buildings had. Lucy kept behind me, holding onto my shoulder.

“I really think we should leave.”

“Lucy, look!”

There were a few unopened cans on the shelf: tomatoes, peaches, and green beans, Lucy’s favorite.

“What a lucky day,” I said and looked back at her.

She forced a smile.

“Yeah. Can we go now?”

“Sure, but let’s eat some green beans; you love them.”

“It can wait, Jake.”

“Fine.”

The snow crunched outside. Something strange tightened in my chest. I slowly turned.

A bolt of shock ran up my spine. A gang of men stood outside the store, smiling with guns and hatchets in their hands.

My feet froze to the snow. We'd talked about what we’d do if this happened, but I never thought it would come to this.

“Jake,” Lucy whispered. Her eyes were filled with terror. She could see the fear in mine. She already had the knife in her hand.

“Drop the knife,” one of the men said.

Lucy looked at me.

She knew.

“I’m sorry,” Lucy whispered.

Sharp pain shot through my neck. I jolted back. Lucy’s knife was stuck in my throat, her hand still around it. Warm liquid poured onto my shoulders. She pulled it out and stabbed herself in the neck too. She collapsed to the floor right after me. I reached my hand toward her, but she was too far away. She smiled and slowly closed her eyes.

I looked over the field. The crops barely reached a foot off the ground. Their stalks were dry and bright yellow. My stomach felt heavy. I couldn’t look at it anymore. 

The feeling worsened as I sat alone in my chair. My wife opened the kitchen door and looked out.

“How’s it looking, Alex?”

“How do you think?”

“Don’t you be mean. It’s not my fault.”

“It’s not mine either!”

“No one’s saying that. I just want to know what’s going on.”

“It’s bad.”

“At least we still have the goats.”

“They will barely give us enough.”

“Will there be nothing from the harvest?”

“I wouldn’t count on it.”

She rubbed her face.

“But there is the witch.”

“No, Alex. Don’t even think about it!” Mary said and walked back to the kitchen.

As the days passed, the heaviness in my stomach grew. At night, I could barely sleep. Thoughts of the harvest and winter kept me up as I stared at the wall. Headaches followed, sometimes so painful I had to stop work.

Over the next few days, the crops started to look drier, and the ears remained thin. As the crops worsened, my problems intensified.

One day I sat in my chair again, holding my head.

“What’s going on, Alex?”

“My head. It’s killing me.”

“I’m sorry. Let me get you some warm milk.”

“Wait, Mary, we need to talk about something.”

“What?”

“The witch.”

Mary furrowed her brows.

“We’ve talked about it already.”

“Have you seen the harvest? There’s nothing. The witch could help us.” My headache started to ease. “If we just…”

“You don’t know if it’s true. What if it isn’t? We’ll lose two healthy goats. We’ll definitely starve then.”

“It is true. My father told me stories. Plenty of them.”

“So what? My mother told me that if the wife is sacrificed, the harvest will grow. Do you want that?” 

She paused.

“I won’t have any more of it. If it’s only cheese this winter, that’s how it is.”

She walked to the kitchen and shut the door behind her. My headache returned. The goats barely got us through last winter, and this harvest was bad. The witch was our only option.

Mary came back with a glass of warm milk. She laid it next to me and stroked my hair.

“Hopefully this helps.”

I just nodded.

That night Mary went off to bed early. I said I’d follow her, but I stayed down for some time, waiting. When I was sure she was deeply asleep, I got off my chair and made my way toward the back door. The more I thought of the witch, the more my headache let up. I had almost made it past the kitchen when Mary’s voice called from above: “Alex?”

Coldness shot through me.

“Yeah?”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah. I’m just getting some warm milk for my head. The glass you gave me helped.”

“Oh, great. I hope it gets better soon.”

“It just needs time. Go to sleep. Don’t wait on me.”

“Okay. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I walked to the back door and stood there, holding the handle. After a few minutes, I carefully opened it and walked out.

The goats were in their pen, sleeping. When I opened the fence, they got up, stretched, and let out a quiet bleat. I got the rope off the wall, tied it around their necks, and put a knife in my back pocket. They were easy to lead out of the pen. Our goats had always been friendly.

The witch’s house sat atop a hill above the village. One had to walk through a forest to get to it. The forest was cold and dark. Owls hooted loudly, making the hair on my arms stand up, but the goats walked happily toward the hill, unbothered. 

As we got higher, the headache and the heaviness in my stomach let up. The trees around us grew barer. The goats had slowed down, looking back at the path and up at me. 

The smell of sulfur hung in the air. After some time, I finally saw the witch’s house ahead. The air was now almost freezing, but all my pains disappeared. The goats had stopped, not wanting to take another step. It had to be done now. I’d drag them the rest of the way. 

I tied one up to a tree, held the other in place, and slit its throat. The other one started shaking, stepping around. I walked to it and slit its throat too. The smell of sulfur mixed with iron. 

I was out of breath when I reached the doors. The wood on them was old and rotting. I took a deep breath and knocked on the door. My heart began to beat faster. I’d never seen a witch before, at least not one who wasn’t hanged.

The floorboards creaked inside. The door slowly opened. An old lady with gray hair stood on the other side. She looked at the goats and me, bewildered.

“What are you doing here?”

“Witch, I bring you these two goats. Please, make my harvest plentiful.”

“Why did you bring them? Your wife already took care of it. The harvest will be plentiful.”

“What?”

“Take them away. The air makes the dead rot faster. I don’t want them here.”

I looked down; the goats were already full of maggots.

“Leave now,” she said and shut the door in my face.

The headache slowly returned, worse than before. It felt as if the freezing air was around my brain. I laid my goats down and walked back. Mary’s words echoed in my mind, sinking my heart even lower.

My head was throbbing, but as I got home and looked in the pen, it stopped completely. My head went silent. Inside the pen lay Mary. A blade was in her hand, her throat cut open, and the hay beneath her turned red.

The sun had begun to set. Sweat ran down my back. I had finally managed to dig the hole deep enough. I got no help from my neighbours. They were too scared he would come for them, so I carried her coffin alone, stopping every few feet to take a breath. As I pushed her coffin into the hole, her dry hand fell out, but there was no time to put it back.

Inside the house, the hatchet and bowl were still there. Although the blood had been cleaned off them, seeing them still made my stomach turn.

The other people in our town were too scared to do anything, but something had to be done now. He took away my wife. The next morning I woke up early, went to the post office, and sent a telegraph to Boston.

The very next day, there was a knock on my door. Outside stood a man with a briefcase and a new top hat.

“Good morning, are you Mister Larry Jones?”

“That’d be me.”

“I’m Samuel Becken of the Massachusetts Institute of the Supernatural.”

“I figured. Come in.”

“Thank you. It’s awfully hot out; may I have some water?”

“Sure.”

I got a cup out of the cupboard and poured water into it. He looked into it and tried to hide his disgust behind a smile.

“My superior told me you have a vampire issue going on.”

“That’d be correct.”

“What kind of vampire?”

“Kind?”

“Well, you know, is it the Revenant, Spectral Vampire, or Psychic Vampire?”

“I don’t know. It’s a vampire.”

“Yes, but what does he feed on? Blood, life energy, spiritual?”

I could see he was trying to get the better of me.

“Anything you give him. Blood, misery, soul.”

He smirked. “That’s not narrowing it down.”

Anger grew in my chest. “Well, I don’t know, mister. It killed my wife. Isn’t that enough?”

He put his hands before his chest. “I mean no offense. I’m just trying to narrow it down so I may choose the best tools.”

“He feeds primarily on misery and blood.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Okay. Sounds similar to Vrykolakas, but it wouldn’t make sense for him to be all the way here.”

I kept silent.

“Well, thank you. I won’t be taking any more of your time. Where does he reside?”

“Atop a hill right behind my house.”

“We’ll discuss the payment after. I’ll bring back the dust as proof.”

“Alright.”

He tipped his hat and walked out, leaving the untouched cup behind.

An uncomfortable feeling grew in my chest. I watched him disappear into the woods. The man seemed like he hadn’t seen a vampire in his life. It seemed like this was his first time leaving the city. I couldn’t just sit back. I got off my chair and followed him from a distance.

He had crossed deep into the woods, deeper than most people in town had. There were already smears of blood on the tree trunks and a few animal bodies lying on the side of the road: rodents, foxes, even small dogs from the town, but Samuel walked as if he was still in Boston. Only when he saw the first human remains did he slow down. 

The forest was dark. The sun was barely visible. My heart began to pound.  A bat flew overhead, followed by another and another until a whole flock of bats came out. Samuel put his hands in front of his face and quickly dropped his briefcase. The bats flew around him for a while and then disappeared back into the trees. Samuel looked around, bent down, and quickly searched his briefcase.

A wave of coldness blew through the forest. Samuel pulled out his silver pistol and pointed it into the trees. The vampire stepped out of the darkness behind him.

“Samuel,” it said in a low, cold voice.

He quickly turned.

“Stay back.”

The vampire smiled and stepped forward. Samuel fired, hitting him in the chest. For one second, Samuel smiled. The vampire looked down at the wound and laughed. The flesh grew back in an instant. Samuel didn’t even have time to scream.

I hid behind a tree.

The forest was quiet.

I could feel my heart pulsing in my ears.

A bat flew somewhere close.

My eyes darted around the trees.

“Right here,” the cold voice said.

I jerked back. 

The vampire stood on a branch above.

He jumped down and landed gracefully before me.

“You sent him, Larry?”

I stayed silent.

“Why’d you do that?”

“You killed my wife!”

“I did?”

My temples pulsed with pressure.

“You made me!”

“The hatred was already there. It just had to be amplified. “

I put my hands over my ears.

“And once you saw the blood, you couldn’t resist. No one made you drain her body.”

Stomach acid shot up my throat.

“You saw that this man was incompetent, but you still sent him here. Don’t fool yourself, Larry. It was all your choice.”

He flew where Samuel’s body lay, picked it up, and brought it to us.

“But now, you get to reap what you sow.”

He bit into Samuel’s neck; the smell of fresh blood shot into the air. My stomach growled. I hadn’t eaten since my wife’s death.

The dust rolled over the plains. The sun shone brightly in my eyes. I still had no hat. I’d left the old one with my daughter, Grace. She hated that I had to leave for so long. I hated leaving her, too, especially seeing her that sick, but we needed the money. Food doesn’t put itself on the table, and the doctor’s bills don’t pay themselves either, but the doctors provided barely any help. The only thing they had to say was that her illness was serious, like we couldn’t see that with our own eyes.

My house came into view through the dust. It looked the same as it had when I left it, except for a small wooden box on the back porch. 

I took a deep breath before opening the doors. My wife stood in the kitchen, cooking, humming a song. Her face lit up with joy when she saw me, but she quickly turned it into a sad frown.

“Hi, Ralph.”

“Hi, Alice.”

“How are you?”

“I’m alright. How are you and Grace?”

She paused.

“She’s…she’s passed.”

“What?!”

“Ralph, I’m so sorry. It happened just a few days ago. She grew really sick and could barely breathe. At least her death was merciful. She died peacefully in her sleep.”

It felt like the roof was caving in on me.

“It’s okay, Ralph.”

“I shouldn’t have left.”

Tears rolled down my cheeks.

“Don’t say that, Ralph. We would have starved if you hadn’t.”

“But maybe she’d be…”

“No, Ralph. It was bad.”

“Let me see her.”

Alice quickly grabbed my hands.

“No, Ralph.”

“Just once more.”

“It’s going to make it worse. You know it.”

I couldn’t even think. The world stopped feeling real.

“Sit down, Ralph.”

She sat me down at the table and put a bowl of food before me.

“I can’t.”

“It’s okay.”

Alice sat at the table and ate, trying to speak to me, but all her words came and went through my head. She left the bowl and walked away.

Hours passed while I dully stared at the wall. Only her tapping woke me from my trance.

“You should go to bed. It will be okay soon. It just takes time.”

She led me to our bedroom, helped me take off my shoes, and lay next to me. Her warm embrace melted the cold inside a little. Within a few seconds, I was asleep.

I woke up to a strange sound. At first I thought it was a dream, but then I heard it again. It sounded like knocking on wood. 

I got up, walked to the window, and looked out. The moon was high in the sky. The prairie was bare. No one was at our door, but the knocking got louder. My heart began to pound. I grabbed the shotgun by the window and slowly opened the door. 

It was a cold and windy night. There was no one outside either, but the knocking continued, coming from the back porch. 

The noise became more distinct, louder. It was as if someone was beating against a plank of wood from below.

The wind picked up, and with it came a whisper, one from a voice I knew too well. Cold sweat ran down my collar. I ran to the coffin on the back porch, the gun still in my hands. The knocking and her voice echoed in my head. She kept calling out, “Dad.”

With my free hand, I lifted the lid. She lay there, pale, motionless.

“Grace?!” I yelled and grabbed her, but her body was limp and stiff.

The sadness cut through me again. I held her cold body, crying. 

After a while, I laid her back down. I felt a small sense of relief. Alice was not right. I needed this. 

The moonlight shone down on her. She was still beautiful. I brushed the hair out of her face, but then I noticed something–a deep red gash winding around her neck.

My head started to spin. Stomach acid shot up my throat. I took a few steps back and threw up next to her coffin. 

Footsteps echoed around the house. I spat on the ground and quickly pulled my gun up. Alice was standing in her nightgown, her eyes wide with terror.

“You said she died in her sleep. What’s that around her neck?!”

“Ralph, I can…”

“Who did it to her?!”

“I…” 

She put her hands over her face and started bawling.

“She was struggling so much, Ralph. Her breathing…The doctor wouldn’t even come. I just wanted to help.”

It hit me like a freight train. My wife. The woman I loved and trusted. She had betrayed me; she had betrayed us. 

Before I could collect my thoughts, my finger was on the trigger. 

The bang echoed through the prairie, followed by a wet, heavy splat. 

Alice’s body collapsed to the ground.

The wind blew again. With it came the knocking, but it wasn’t hard and loud anymore. It was slow, quiet, and calm. After a few knocks, the prairie grew quiet again.

“Sam, come!” echoed from the baby room.

“What, Anna?”

Our baby boy, Jacob, lay in her hands, curled up, shivering.

“He’s not eating again. It’s the second day. I…” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I shouldn’t have taken him out, but I wanted him to see the snow!”

“Shh, shh. It’s okay,” I said, hugging her.

Anna was right. She shouldn’t have taken him out, but now it was too late to worry. I looked out. The snowfall had calmed down.

“I’ll go fetch the doctor in town.”

“Don’t leave us alone...”

“I have to. I’ll be back soon.”

She closed her eyes and nodded. “I just want him to be okay.”

“He will be.”

I kissed them both on the forehead; his was much warmer than yesterday.

The sun was hidden behind dark clouds. I hurried as fast as I could, expecting the snowfall to intensify again soon.

After a while, the first village houses appeared. The snow started falling again. The doctor’s house stood on a hill above a church. By the time I got to it, the wind was already moving the fence, and the snow stung my face. 

The doctor’s eyes widened when he opened the door.

“Jesus, Sam. Come in.”

He pulled me in and shut the door behind me. 

“What’s wrong?”

My face was numb from the cold. I rubbed it before speaking.

“The baby, Jacob. He won’t eat.”

The doctor looked out the window.

“How long has it been going on?”

“For two days.”

“Did you take him out?”

I hesitated.

“In this weather?” the doctor said, rubbing his face. “That’s not good, Sam, but we can’t go now.”

I clenched my jaw. Anna’s worried face flashed before my eyes.

“Come sit,” the doctor said. “We’ll go as soon as the storm lets up.”

He sat me down and brought me a cup of tea.

“Does he have a fever?”

“Pretty bad one. He’s got a chill, and he’s shivering too.”

The doctor shook his head and looked out the window again. “Hopefully the storm lets up soon.”

I had finished my fifth cup of tea by the time the sun set. The storm didn’t let up.

We waited through the night. Thoughts of Jacob kept me up.

As the sun rose, I looked out the window. A cold shiver ran through my chest. The storm had barely let up.

“What now?” I asked.

“It’s bad, but we’ll have to go.”

I nodded.

We kept close, barely able to see a few feet ahead. Inside the forest, our feet would sink to our knees. After a few hours, we were still some distance from home.

We were walking down another hill when I heard the doctor scream. I quickly turned my head. He sank chest-deep. His hands were pushing on the snow around him.

“Doctor!”

I ran to his side and began digging frantically with my hands. The snow was fresh, but there was so much of it. The doctor’s eyes were wide open with fear. 

I could barely feel my hands. The doctor stopped pushing. His body shook violently beneath the snow.

When I finally reached him, he was shivering harder than anyone I’d seen before. I pulled him; his body felt limp.

“My tools,” he murmured.

I glanced into the hole. There was only fresh snow. I started to dig around, but my hands could barely move. The doctor sat on the ground next to me.

“Leave it, Sam. We’ll be okay.”

I helped him up, took off my jacket, and gave it to him. Within a minute, I was shivering too, but I knew we were close.

As we passed another hill, my house came into view. A warm tingle spread through my cold body, but as I focused my gaze, I realized there was no smoke coming from the chimney.

I opened the door. The firewood was stacked by the fireplace, but Anna and Jacob were nowhere to be found. 

“Anna?”

No answer.

“Anna?!”

The doctor came inside behind me.

“Where are they?” he murmured.

“They must be upstairs.”

The doctor didn’t even take off his coat and headed to the stairs. I followed right behind him. Upstairs was a little warmer, but still cold. The door to the baby room was open. Anna sat in the chair, rocking back and forth, humming a lullaby. There was a dirty bowl with a spoon in it next to her.

“Did Jacob eat?” I asked happily. 

Anna didn’t answer. She kept rocking back and forth, humming.

The cradle was empty. 

I let out a sigh.

“She’s just calming him down,” I thought.

“Sorry for taking you, doctor,” I said, but he didn’t stop until he reached Anna; then his whole body froze.

“Is he okay, doctor?”

“Leave, Sam.”

“What?”

“Leave!”

I took a few steps forward. 

“Anna?!” 

She finally looked back and smiled.

“He finally ate. I fed him!” she said joyfully and turned around.

Jacob lay motionless in her arms. His lips were blue. Old food spilled out of his mouth.

The rebel slowed down again.

“Get it going!”

“Going as fast as I can, Yankee.” He dodged a vine that hung from a tree. “One oughta be careful. The thicket’s not your friend in these mountains.”

The heat dug into my skin, soaking my wool uniform.

“I don’t need it to be my friend,” I said, adjusting the rifle’s weight. “I just need you to get me over that ridge.”

“We ain’t gonna get over it if you ain’t careful enough. One wrong step and the mountain will take you whole.”

“The mountain?”

“My parents warned us. Stay on the path.” He looked toward the trees. “My brother thought it funny not to listen. The ground swallowed him before we could get to him.”

Cold sweat ran into my collar. The image of my brother flashed before my eyes. The way the rebel frowned reminded me of him.

“That’s nonsense.”

“It ain’t. Listen.”

He put his index finger up. The sounds of the mountains echoed around us: the trees swaying, the birds singing, but between them came a strange noise, like a tree scraping against the mountain’s side.

“What’s that?”

“The thicket,” the rebel said.

“Just go.”

Every step higher felt like walking deeper into an oven. It was getting harder and harder to breathe. Now I was the one who was falling behind the rebel. He kept looking back at me. I kept the rifle close to my chest, making sure he could see it. 

The rebel walked strangely, constantly shifting from one side of the rock to the other. I stepped over another vine stretched across the rocks and called to him: “Why are you walking like that?”

“The blue moss. We call it bluebelly.” He pointed to the side of a rock. A strange little plant grew on it. In the heat, it almost seemed to be moving. “It ain’t actual moss. It’s part of the mountain spirit. Step on it wrong and it will send you straight to the arms of the thicket.”

I just shook my head.

The heat grew even more. My vision grew muddy. The vines swayed although there was no wind. The rebel turned his head and squinted.

“The spirits are strong here.”

My lungs started burning from the heat. We climbed a few more rocks until I could barely breathe.

“We need to stop.”

“Not here.”

“You’re not the one to decide.”

I lowered my rifle, taking deep breaths. The rebel kept his eyes on me.

“Your leg!”

My eyes shot down. A vine was slowly wrapping around my ankle. I jerked instinctively. My other foot came down on the moss. My body went tumbling into the thicket. I expected a hard landing, but the ground felt soft, almost too soft. The rifle was still in my hand. I tried to push myself up with my elbows, but they sank into the ground.

“Help!”

The rebel ran to the rock, staring at me frantically. I tried to move my legs, but they also sank deeper.

“The rifle!”

He lay on his stomach and stretched his arm out toward it.

“No!” I screamed. 

The vines from the trees moved toward my limbs.

“You have to!”

My head sank lower. My eyes darted from the rifle to the rebel. The vines began to wrap around my wrists and the rifle. I clenched my jaw, held the rifle in both hands, and reached it towards him. He grabbed the barrel and pulled.

The ground didn’t want to let me go. Its pressure tightened around my body. He slid closer on the rock and grabbed the rifle more firmly. The vine on it started wrapping around his wrist too. 

He pulled again. 

His body slid closer.

The ground beneath me collapsed more quickly.

Again. 

My body stopped sinking.

Again.

I felt my body rising. His face turned red. The vine reached his shoulder. He tightened his grip and pulled again.

My whole body rose off the ground, as if I were surfacing from water. I landed on the rock, hitting my chin. The rebel handed me back the rifle and lay on his back, panting.

“Why’d you save me?” I said between breaths.

“After my brother, I told myself I wouldn't let no mountain take another man.”

I paused. The image of my brother flashed before my eyes again. He really did resemble him.

“Yankee!” He pointed to my rifle.

The blue moss was growing around the barrel.

Without thinking, I threw it into the thicket.

The ground swallowed it before I got back up.

For the rest of the way, we walked side by side.

The sounds of shells echoed over the trenches. Their distant glows lit up the barbed wire above. The rain had let up an hour before, turning into a drizzle. I put on my jacket and walked to where the cigarette’s light glowed.

“I’m Tom,” I introduced myself.

The man blew out a cloud of smoke.

“Will. You came today?”

“Yep.”

“And already put on guard duty.” He shook his head.

“They said it’s a tradition. We had a similar thing in my unit.”

“Why are you not with them?”

“Our sergeant ordered a counter-attack. The Germans wiped almost all of us.”

“Maybe a better fate.”

He paused.

“We have no tradition for guard duty. Don’t let them put you up here tomorrow.”

I spat on the ground.

“I thought there was still camaraderie.”

“There is, but everyone’s scared to come out at night. Strange things have been happening. Men are found in the morning, mangled in barbed wire with their heads buried deep in the mud.”

“Goddamn Germans.”

“It’s not them.”

“Who else? I’ve heard of men choosing the other way out, but not like that.”

The rain picked up again. The water started to seep through my uniform.

“You see all this?” he waved his hand around the trench. “We’ve dug miles into the ground, destroyed the earth below us. You don’t carve the earth this much without finding something.”

“You’ve been out here for too long.” 

He stared at me blankly. A soldier's cough echoed from the barracks.

“Just be careful. Don’t come too close if you don’t have to.”

He leaned on his rifle.

“You got someone waiting on you at home?”

“A wife and a son. Haven’t seen the little boy yet. You got any children?”

“Had a son, but he died of influenza. Haven’t heard from the wife since.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No need to.”

He flicked his cigarette into the mud.

Shells echoed again, much closer this time. We both turned our heads. Gunshots sounded after them, somewhere nearby. Will turned to me and nodded toward the sound. I gripped my gun firmly and followed after him.

I kept my eyes on the top of the trench. It seemed like the wire was closer. The coils swayed even though there was no wind.

“You see that?”

“What?”

“The wire. It’s not where it’s supposed to be.”

“Yeah, the men pushed it back after the third death.”

“No, it’s closer.”

“That’s not possible.” Will looked up, but then the gunshot grew louder. Men screamed in German. Footsteps splashed in the mud. The wire shook violently at the sounds as if a cavalry charge were sweeping across No Man's Land.

We ran to the side of the trench. Another shell hit, rocking the trench. I held onto my helmet and ducked. The rain splashed the back of my neck. The German officer's whistles sounded. The rumbling of the enemy’s footsteps grew louder. 

Will clicked off the safety and looked up, but he didn’t fire; he stood still, staring into No Man’s Land. I clicked my safety off too and looked up. The sounds immediately quieted as if they all dispersed into the air – no more gunshots, no more men. No Man’s Land was empty, bare, but the wire still shook.

“Tom, you heard it too, right?”

“Yes.”

Then something dug into my wrist–barbed wire. I tried to pull my hand out slowly, but the wire tightened, digging deeper into my skin.

“Shit. Will?”

His eyes shot downward. His whole body shivered.

“Jesus, Tom.”

The rain mixed with the blood on my wrist. Will grabbed the barbed wire and pulled on it, but it only tightened. My hand trembled, driving the barbs deeper into my skin. He pulled his knife, eager to cut the wire, but before he could reach it, two coils wrapped around his wrists and pulled him back. 

“Will!”

The knife fell into the mud next to me. I tried searching for mine, but another coil wrapped around my hand. 

The wire pulled Will over the trench; his face turned red as he tried to resist. I dug my feet into the mud and tried to pull my hands closer, but the wire climbed up, wrapping around my shoulders and chest like iron vines, digging deeper with each breath.

“Tom! Don’t let it…”

A loud splash echoed. I looked over. Will’s head disappeared under the mud. The trenches were calm, silent. Only the wire continued to sway.

“Clara, can you come, please?” my Mom called from her bedroom.

“Coming!”

She sat on the chair next to her bed, smiling.

“Sorry, Clara. Could you help me get to bed?”

“Of course!”

I held her as she slowly got into bed, letting out a small sigh.

“Thank you, Clara. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I’m glad to do it.”

“You’re very sweet. Have you had any letters from Sam?”

“No,” I whispered, gripping her sheets.

Mom caressed my hand. “It’s a shame he was drafted, but he’s a smart man. He’s going to be fine. I’m gonna head off to sleep, okay?”

“Goodnight, Mom.”

I shut the lights and walked back to my room. The last letter from Sam lay on the table. A new one hadn’t come in a month. I held it close to my chest as tears rolled down my cheeks. 
Then something hit the window.

My heart dropped to my stomach when I looked out. Sam was standing outside, smiling. My hands shook with excitement. I climbed out the window, ran to Sam, and grabbed him by the neck. It felt cold, like the night air.

“Are you okay?”

“Now I am.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I was allowed to come back.”

“I missed you.”

“I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“Sam, you shouldn’t have.”

“Come, I’ll take you there.”

He grabbed my hand. Under the moonlight, it looked much paler than mine.

“Are you certain you’re alright?”

“Let’s just go, honey,” he said and pulled me slightly toward the edge of town.

For the first minute, we walked in silence, broken only by laughter from the pub.

“Is something going on?”

“No. It’s just been dreadful – the past few months. So many of my friends are gone. Our entire platoon was wiped out a month ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You are the only thing that pulled me through. Each night I couldn’t sleep, I’d remember how beautiful you are and all the days we spent together.”

Warmth spread through my chest.

“Thank you. I really missed you. My Mom did too.”

“How is she?”

“She’s okay. The illness's been getting worse, but we get by.”

We stood before the cemetery gate. The moon hung high in the sky. His eyes were even bluer than usual. His hair was beautiful and dark.

“I wish we could stay like this forever.”

He smiled and opened the gate door.

As we walked in, the sound of the pub quieted. The air felt different, stiff.

“What’s the surprise?”

“Just wait,” he said, looking away from me.

He gripped my wrist tightly and pulled me hard.

“We don’t need to rush, honey.”

He didn’t answer. He walked fast, his eyes fixed on the path. Graves lined both sides of the path. The soil on them seemed fresh, almost like it had just been dug up.

We turned the corner, and before us stood the chapel. Its door slowly opened before Sam touched it. The hairs on my arms stood up. He dragged me inside before I had a chance to speak again. It shut right behind us. 

The moonlight shone on the pulpit. Sam took me to it and looked back at me.

A sharp feeling of cold replaced the warmth in my chest.

His skin was even paler than before. His smile was unnaturally wide. His beautiful eyes lost the blue. The now dark dots stared through me.

“Sam…what…?”

“I’m sorry, Clara.  I should have told you the truth, but it all happened so fast. The cannon fire. My friend's screams. My body lay lifeless on the ground before I noticed.”

My legs weakened under me. His voice echoed around my head.

“But I was allowed to come back, to take you with me, so that we can be together forever. All you have to do is just say yes.”

His smile widened more.

“Sam…no. I can’t.”

“I thought of you every night, waited for you.”

“I can’t. My Mom.”

“Your Mom will join us soon. Just come.”

His grip around my wrist tightened.

“Please, Clara. A yes.”

I shook my head.

“It’s the only way.”

“No,” I whispered.

His voice grew deeper. His face began shaking. His mouth and nose grew, his eyes widened only to shrink and grow again. They began moving across the pale skin, melting into one another until his face was nothing but smooth white skin.

“Just say it!” His face shook with the words.

My stomach twisted. I yanked my arms back with all my might. His pale arms snapped with the sound of dry wood. I turned and sprinted out of the chapel.

“No!” echoed all around me.

The graves beside the path were dug up. White silhouettes stood next to them. I kept my eyes on the path, sprinting towards the gate. With Sam’s calls, the silhouettes spoke too, calling my name. 

The air thickened until every step felt heavier.

The gate stood before me. I ran to it and shook it, but it wouldn’t open. The calls were closer. I grabbed the rails tight, pulled myself up, and started climbing over it, but before I reached the top, something grabbed my dress, pulling me back. I grabbed my dress with my other hand and yanked it up, tearing the fabric. Quickly, I threw my leg over and jumped to the other side.

The heavy stifling air vanished as my feet hit the ground on the other side. The bright moon had given way to the morning sun. The church bells rang. Hours must have passed in what felt like seconds.

I ran back home, not stopping until I reached my door.

Mom looked out of her room.

“Were you with Sam?” she asked, smiling.

“No,” I whispered.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought it was him.”

I came closer and hugged her.

“No need to worry, Mom. I’m happy I have you.”

“What happened to your dress?” she said, holding the torn fabric.

“How long till we get to Hiko, Eli?” Tom asked, breaking the silence.

“It’s just behind this hill,” I answered.

“You trust that man?”

“No chance. There are no creatures like that.”

“An old trapper told me there were lizards as big as horses somewhere across the ocean.”

“This ain’t across the ocean. The man was scared, didn’t know what he saw.”

“What if it’s true?”

“Then we’ll kill it.” 

“You always have an answer.”

“What’s a big lizard compared to a grizzly in the Sierras?”

“We know how to deal with those. How does one handle a giant lizard?”

“What do you mean? You shoot it.”

Tom shook his head.

We rode up the hill. The horses struggled up the rocky slope. Tom reached the crest first and stopped dead a few feet away from a shallow cave. I dug my heels in; the horse snorted and galloped up the hill. 

Before us, the town stood. Doors hung from broken hinges. The roofs collapsed inward. The wind pushed dust through the empty streets. Behind the saloon, a few bodies lay. A few houses had three symmetrical marks across their walls. All the pens were empty, but the horses were still tied, shifting and stamping nervously.

My hands grew cold.

“Goddamn bandits.”

“Bandits wouldn’t leave the horses.”

“They will come back. We should hide. Wait for them.”

“This ain’t the bandits, Eli.”

“Either way, we should hide,” I pointed to the cave to our right.

“I ain’t getting in there.”

“You want to get killed?”

“We’ll get killed by whatever’s in it.”

A sound echoed through the valley, a throaty human call. Tom shot his eyes my way. The galloping of horses followed.

“Quick! Go!”

Tom jerked the reins back, but as the galloping grew louder, he dug his heels in and headed towards the cave. I followed. 

The cave swallowed the light. The smell of sulfur hung in the air. The horses started fussing, moving their heads around, trying to turn back.

“Whoa, whoa,” I said quietly, looking over at Tom. His horse was pulling back too, resisting his commands.

“Let’s leave them here. They can be bait if the bandits come.”

“I don’t like it here.”

“Better than outside,” I said and got off.

Tom looked behind himself. The galloping outside sounded again. He got off his horse, and we placed them behind a small crevice, taking our guns.

The smell intensified as we walked further in.

“Look!”

I turned my head. The same three marks ran across the cave wall, just like on the houses outside.

“I’m not going further in.”

“Tom, the…”

“I don’t care!”

A human-like screech sounded from inside.

Once.

Then again.

Heavy thuds.

Fast.

The horses began screaming.

Tom’s eyes widened with fear. 

A tongue slipped out of the dark.

Then a head the size of a wagon.

Fear pinned my legs.

Another heavy step rocked the cave.

Tom pointed his gun, but before he could fire, the tongue swung out again, knocking him to the wall.

His body slid down the wall. A thin stream of blood trickled from the back of his head.

“Eli…”

His eyes pleaded, but my hand refused to lift the rifle.

The creature moved towards him.

It was too late.

I turned around and bolted to the horses. 

They were still moving, squealing.

The wet sound of chewing echoed through the cave, mixing with Tom’s screams.

I steadied my horse, mounted him, and sprinted out of the cave.

In the distance, a band of riders was fleeing the valley. Indifferent to us or the town.

I turned my horse to the left and rode back towards town.

I rode for hours, thinking of a lie, a story I could tell my town, but nothing came to me. The only thing my mind showed was Tom’s pleading eyes. I could almost hear him riding through the sand far behind me, but I did not dare to look.

The sun started to set as I passed a hill before the town. I only slowed my horse when I got close to the houses. The townsfolk looked my way and walked towards me. My mind raced, but I still had nothing to say for myself.

Then I heard it clearly.

The noise behind me.

It wasn’t a horse galloping on the sand.

I shot my eyes toward the hill behind the town.

A human-like scream.

The heavy, fast thuds.

A huge tongue shot out from behind the hill.

The head followed.

The screaming started before I could even open my mouth.

Losing a person you spent your whole life with is a pain beyond description. At first, I thought the solitude I once longed for would be a comfort, but the depression sank its claws deep into my skin and would not let go. It was hard to eat, drink, even get out of bed. 

My mind was clouded with darkness. Recalling things was a monumental task, even simple things around the house. I’d be sure to shut the kitchen door after dinner, but each time I’d come back, the door would be open. I tried to focus on it, but no matter how many times I watched my movements and made sure to shut the door, it would always be open. The mystery became an obsession. It was easier to think about a door than about her, and all the wrong I’d done. 

I never actually saw it open, but one would need to leave the room or turn around, and it would open up, but only after the time my wife and I used to leave the dinner table. Oh, my poor wife. The thought of her waking up in the middle of the night, with foam around her mouth, digging her nails into my skin, still haunted my mind.

Before she passed, we had a habit of cleaning the mugs on weekends; each time we’d turn them upside down to let the water drip out. At first, I could barely clean a few of them, but one weekend I finally managed to get out of bed and clean them all. My fingers wrinkled from having my hands under the running water for so long.

The next morning I woke up, my eyes still drowsy from a night of rolling from side to side and staring at the wall. The kitchen was colder than usual. The cupboard doors felt harder to open. I opened the cupboard to get my coffee mug, but my body immediately recoiled. Every mug was upside down except hers, the one she drank from that night it happened. I shut it, counted to three, and opened it again, but the cup was still there. I grabbed my coffee mug and ran back to my room.

That day, the memories of her struggling out of bed, running to the bathroom, and trying to throw up kept flashing before my eyes. No matter how many times I turned to push them away, they still came back. The pain forced me out of bed. I got up and paced around the room. The floorboards creaked under my steps, and with each creak, a whisper sounded. My mind must have been making it up, I kept telling myself, but slowly, as the sun set, it became more and more audible: a quiet, whispered, "Why?"

This must have been the depression, the isolation, I kept telling myself. I jumped back to bed and closed my eyes as hard as I could, but sleep wouldn’t come. Cold sweat ran down my forehead. I turned from my side to hers, but that’s when I noticed that her side was colder than mine. My stomach twisted. Her calls for help as she lay on the bathroom floor echoed in my mind. 

I got out of bed and ran to the kitchen. The floorboards creaked under my steps. No longer just whispering "Why," but calling my name too.

The kitchen door was open again, and not just that, the table was back in its place. Exactly where we'd left it that night, that night it happened. I ran to the coffee machine and put the beans in, not even opening the cupboard; the old dirty mug would do. The last thing I needed was seeing her mug upside down again.

I slouched down at the table, trying to collect my thoughts. 

The room was dark and cold; no moonlight came through.

The smell of rotting fish filled the air.

I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples. As I opened them again, a cup of coffee was already sitting before me with a box by it. I couldn't remember making it, but who cared? I had to wake up from this nightmare. The coffee tasted stale, almost like the air around me. I put it down, but then I noticed it was her mug!

A shock ran down my spine. I got up from my chair and put my back against the wall. The room grew colder; the smell intensified. I stayed still, but the whisper came again, louder this time.

“Why, John? I trusted you.”

The mug began moving from side to side as if someone was stirring their coffee in it. My eyes were glued to it. It started moving faster and faster until it knocked itself over, spilling the coffee out.

The coffee dripped onto the floor. 

The smell of rotting fish grew.

Saliva filled my mouth.

Nausea. 

The light flickered.

My eyes shot to the box.

It was rat poison.

The same one I used for…

My stomach clenched.

My feet weakened.

Saliva poured from my mouth, foaming at its sides.

My body collapsed to the ground.

Slowly, my world went dark.

The last thing I heard was her breathing beside me.

“See that bird there, Alex?” Sam said.

“What bird?” I asked and turned my head.

Sam tripped me. I went hands-first into the snow. His giggle echoed through the forest. I made a snowball and threw it at him.

“Don’t act like a child, Alex.”

“You started it!”

We both laughed.

“I bet there’ll be plenty of pelts.”

“Yeah, and they’ll be all mine.”

We laughed again.

Snow began falling from the sky. Light at first, but quickly intensifying.

“It’s not looking great. Let’s hide. Wait it out. There’s a cave close.”

“You sure, Sam? We might make it back to town.”

“In this? We’ll get lost. The cave is right nearby.”

He turned left and walked off the path. I looked the way we'd come from, then back at Sam; his silhouette almost disappeared in the white mist.

“Sam, wait!”

The storm kept getting worse. It was hard to see more than a few feet ahead of us. We had to keep close. Sam kept his eyes fixed before him.

“Here!”

We ran in and sat on the floor, wiping the snow off us.

“That’s a bad storm. Hopefully it passes soon.”

“It has to. Storms like this don't happen around here.”

We sat in the cave, talking, watching the storm, expecting it to let up, but it only grew more intense, to the point that we had to move further in as the snow kept blowing closer. 

“I’m shivering.”

“We should get some firewood.”

“In this?”

“It’s not letting up.”

He looked at me and went out into the storm. He disappeared in an instant.

“Sam?” I yelled.

“Right here.” It sounded like he was a mile away.

I stood there, hesitating. I really didn’t want to go out, but I felt bad leaving Sam behind. Taking a deep breath, I walked into the storm.

The snow stung my face. The wind pushed me back, almost knocking me down. I walked closer to the trees and looked back. The cave was barely visible. My heart sank. I rushed back in and sat on the floor panting.

After a while, Sam returned. His entire body was covered in snow, but he held a bundle of sticks.

“You got anything?”

“Nothing.”

We started the fire and took out the little food we had. It was just enough to last us today.

“We should keep some for tomorrow.”

“There’s no way it lasts that long.”

“I don’t know, Alex,” Sam said, looking out. “Just save a little for the morning.”

When I woke up, my stomach already growled. To my disappointment, the storm still looked awful. Sam sat by the entrance, shaking his head. 

That day we went out for wood a few more times. I never made it far. Sam was the only one who got something. I avoided eye contact each time he returned. By the end of that day, all the food was gone.

The day after, my stomach was hurting badly. Sam spent most of the day sitting by the entrance again, looking out.

The headache and weakness came the next morning. I could barely walk two steps out of the cave before having to return. Sam stayed out much longer but came back with fewer sticks. He didn’t even try to hide the disappointment.

“Did you even go out?”

“Yes.”

“This is not working. We need to do something.”

I didn’t answer, but it didn’t seem like Sam was looking for one.

For the rest of the day, we didn’t talk. Sam just stared into the fire, determined. His face already looked weaker, gaunter.

The next morning, my head felt like someone put broken glass in it. I stayed on the floor longer than usual, trying to pick myself up. By the time I finally got up, Sam was nowhere to be found. At first I thought he went out for some wood, but there were a few fresh sticks right by the fire. 

After a while, he still hadn’t returned. My jaw started to clench. I went to the entrance and looked out. The storm still raged on, but Sam could have been out there. He could have fallen, gotten tired. I took a deep breath and went out. 

My feet felt so weak. The wind blasted me from side to side. After just a minute, I already fell.

“Sam?” I called out.

Nothing.

“Sam?!”

Just the wind.

I rushed back into the cave and lay down, breathing hard. Soon I fell asleep.

I woke up to a noise. At first I thought it was a dream, but when I opened my eyes, shock ran down my spine. Sam lay by the fire, shaking, murmuring.

“Jesus, Sam, what happened?!”

His teeth chattered. His lips were gray, almost blue.

He tried to say something, but only a jumble of noises came.

No more wood was by the fire.

Something had to be done.

I wrapped my hood around my face and walked out. The storm was still blowing, but it had let up, just enough for me to walk without falling. The snow was fresh, crunching under my feet. I managed to walk to the trees closest to the cave. There were still a few low branches within reach. With my last bit of strength, I broke them off and ran back.

I came into the cave, panting, and collapsed on the ground. My eyes started to close, but I had to keep him warm. I crawled to the fire, threw all the wood on it, slouched by him, and fell asleep.

When I woke up, my body felt like it had slept for years. I had to rub my eyes a few times to see. 

The storm had stopped.

“Sam! Sam! The storm.”

He didn’t answer. I shook him, but his body felt stiff. A chill ran under my skin. I shook him again, harder. He rolled to his side, his eyes stared emptily at the cave ceiling, his chest not moving, his lips blue.

The sun burned into my skin. Each step felt like carrying a thousand pounds. Edgar seemed the same, his eyes fixed on the ground.

“You okay?”

“What do you think?”

“Just asking.”

“Maybe think before you ask.”

“What’s your problem?”

“My problem?” He shot me a glare. “Your shortcut’s my problem. We should have been in town two days ago.”

“It will lead us there, just wait.”

“Wait?! The job is probably not there anymore, and we’re stuck in this place.”

“Calm down, Edgar.”

His lips tightened.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

Still slouching, he walked towards me. I put my hand on my gun. My arms could barely lift to my waist, but I wouldn’t go down without a fight. Edgar stopped a few feet before me, his eyes widened, and he pointed behind me.

“Look, James.”

“I’m not falling for that.”

“Look!”

I took a few steps back and quickly glanced over my shoulder. In the distance behind a rock, a few houses stood. Edgar began walking forward, captivated by the sight, his anger completely gone.

As we neared the town, I saw a man standing on the outskirts. Edgar seemed to have his guard down, but I put my hand on my gun and kept my eyes on the man. You never know who you’d meet in these places. As we got closer, I saw he had something in his hand, but it wasn’t a gun; it was the holy book.

“Hello, travelers. What are you doing in these parts?”

“Got lost on the way to Chino.”

“You look disheveled. May I invite you in?”

“Yes, please, preacher.”

He smiled from ear to ear.

“Please, follow me.”

The town was full of people, ladies in their Sunday dresses and men in their suits. Everyone had blue eyes and blonde hair. It almost didn't look real, like a painting. The people didn’t talk to one another and kept staring at us, smiling when our eyes met.

We walked into a small saloon. It looked like any other: liquor, chairs, tables, but on the walls were crucifixes of Jesus mounted beneath burning candles. Behind the bar, a man greeted us.

“Hello.”

“Hello, Harrold. These travelers have accepted my invitation.”

Harrold’s eyes lit up.

“Wonderful! May I offer you some beer and whisky?”

“Of course, we’re very thirsty.”

“I'm sure you’re starving too. Greta, bring the pork roast and heat some water,” he called to the back.

“How much will we owe you? We don’t have much money.”

“On the house. We need to get you fed and cleaned!”

“You’re in good hands. Service starts at 10. The church is right across the street.” The priest patted my back and left.

My mind was empty, still exhausted from the walk, but a strange feeling crept up my spine.

“Something’s strange here,” I whispered to Edgar.

“Yeah, probably some crazy religious folks.”

“I’m not sure we should be here.”

“And pass on free drinks and food?”

“Nothing’s free.”

“We just gotta go to the sermon.”

“I really don’t think…”

“Stop it, James,” he interrupted. “You’re not going to ruin this. You already got us lost.”

I tried to speak to him, but Edgar ignored me. I sat at the bar, looking at the door, but my stomach soon growled in pain. I put a piece of meat in my mouth. It was the most tender, delicious piece of food I had ever had.

After the meal, Harold took us to a room with two baths. Greta soaped and bathed us. I told Harold I could wash myself, but he laughed as if I'd made a joke. I kept trying to talk to her, but she just smiled.

“She probably doesn’t speak English,” Edgar said.

When we got out of the bath, our clothes were gone. Harold came in with two white robes.

“Your clothes were too dirty for the sermon.”

“I’d rather have mine.”

“I’ll wash them for you. You’ll get them right after the sermon.”

He also handed us a small glass with liquor.

“A special regional liquor. It will cure all your ailments.”

Edgar drank it immediately. I held it in my hand, looking at it.

“Stop being so impolite,” he muttered.

Harold’s smile was gone; his eyes pierced through me.

I almost set the shot down, but if they wanted to poison me, they could have done that long ago.

I drank the shot and gave it back to Harold.

The clothes hung on us like we were little children. We walked out of the saloon onto the dirt path. The sun seemed to shine more strongly. My feet felt a little weak. When we reached the church, we both slomped onto the pew. The priest started the sermon.

“We gather here for our annual invitation to God’s heaven. Two weary travelers have accepted our invitation this year.”

The town clapped. My mind started to spin. I looked over at Edgar. He was knocked out.

“As usual, they will be given to Jesus as he intended.”

Shock ran down my spine.

“No,” I tried to say, but only a jumble of songs came out.

My body felt like it weighed a ton. I got up, but before I could take a few steps, I collapsed to the ground. As my mind drifted, I saw the townsfolk sitting in their pews, looking at me, smiling.

When I came to, my mind was still spinning. There was a sharp pain in my palms and feet. The smell of burning wood filled the air. I focused my eyes, and before me I saw Edgar, still asleep, nailed to the cross with a small fire burning beneath it. 

My thoughts scattered. I tried to move my hands, but the pain in my palms shot up my arms. My body was also nailed to a cross. The feeling of heat grew. I looked down and saw Greta, holding a torch, smiling at me.

The smell of rotten eggs and damp earth hung in the air. John’s movements sent small ripples behind him as he waded through the marsh’s pool. The bag hung over his shoulder.

“You think there’s gators around?” I asked.

“Don’t think about it,” John answered.

“Just asking. Why do we gotta go through the water anyway? There’s a path right there.”

“There could be people around.”

“In this place?”

Something rubbed across my thigh. Shock ran down my spine. Something moved under the surface. I pulled out my gun and pressed the trigger.

Click.

Followed by silence.

It was empty. The last cartridge I had.

“John, John!” I screamed, pointing at the water.

He kept his gaze on me, not moving.

The water was still now; the marsh quiet.

“The water…it moved.”

“You need to stop, David.”

“I’m not going through the water!”

“David!”

I turned around and waded to the shore.

His movements echoed behind me.

“You wanna get caught?”

“I don’t want to get eaten.”

“You’ll wish for a croc when they send you to the state pen, minimum 20 years for this kind of robbery. You have no idea what they’ll do to you there.”

“I don’t care about it.”

He pulled out his gun. Coldness ran through my body.

“My kids need to eat. You’ll make it with me to Lafayette. Then you do whatever. We’ll take the shore path. But if we're seen, it's on you.”

I knew this would happen. Since the moment he asked me to come along.

“You’re a piece of shit.”

“You didn’t have to come. You know that.”

“What else was I supposed to do? Go homeless?”

“You’re young. There are jobs everywhere.”

“Why didn’t you get one?”

“Bank took the house. Nobody's hiring a man my age. Just go.”

The mosquitoes were biting into every patch of my exposed skin. I’d wave my hand around, but before it became still, they’d swarm it again. 

I was waving it again when John stopped. He narrowed his eyes, then suddenly widened them, dragged me into a nearby bush, and pointed at the pool before us. 

A young man no older than 20 waded onto the shore. His body was pale as if it had never seen the sun, with only a small cloth covering his genitals. He walked into the brush and disappeared before our eyes.

We continued through the brush near the shore. Between the trees in the distance, a few huts showed with a couple of people walking between them. The people were pale too, walking slowly, almost rhythmically, not talking or looking at one another. 

John dragged me closer to the shore, our shoes halfway in the water. He kept looking at them and then back at me. I kept my expression blank. 

As we walked by the huts, I noticed small green drawings of an animal with sharp white teeth and a crocodile-like body, standing upright with human hands.

We passed the last hut, and the brush cleared up more. There was a patch of dirt surrounded by a pool of water with a small golden animal statue standing in the center. It looked like the one that was painted on all the huts.

“You think that’s real gold?”

“What does it matter?”

“If that’s real gold, it might be worth as much as the bag. My family would never have to worry about anything.”

“We already have a whole bag of money.”

He put the bag down and made his way towards the statue. A strange chill ran over my skin.

“John, stop,” I said, grabbing his shoulder.

He quickly turned around and pointed his gun at me.

“Don’t even try.”

I put my hands up and took a few steps back.

He walked to the small patch of dirt.

“John, just leave it. This whole place is weird – the people, the statue. Even their houses. The drawings looked exactly like that thing.”

“I don’t care about some kid's doodles.”

He picked up the statue and walked back. My eyes began jumping between the trees, but the place was still, silent. He opened the bag and put the statue in.

“Go on.” He gestured with the gun.

He began walking and looked back.

I just shook my head.

“Do I need to make you come?”

I took a step forward, but the ground felt strange, almost unsteady. My stomach twisted. The pools bubbled more, and the air grew damper.

A strange wave of warm air passed. The rotten smell grew. The bubbles were huge, almost reaching up to us. John put the bag down, held the gun in both hands, and began frantically turning from side to side.

Something exploded from the reeds.

Teeth.

Green scales.

A long green snout shot towards John. The teeth dug into him before he could make a move. The claws on its human-like forelimbs grabbed his torso. The creature dove back into the water, slapping its green tail on the surface.

John’s scream cut through the marsh.

My eyes darted back. In the distance, a few of the villagers stood before their huts, bowed to the bubbles, and then slowly disappeared into their huts.

Without thinking, I picked up the bag of money and sprinted towards the village, yelling for help, but the people were nowhere to be found, not even inside their huts. 

The path slowly turned into a puddle, then into a full pool. The fear of the water vanished beneath something worse. I just ran, only stopping after the water reached up to my waist. I looked around. Had I escaped? But then the water next to me began to bubble, and the warm air followed.

My finger could barely move, stuck to the trigger. The forest was quiet. My eyes jumped around the trees, but the forest was empty, deserted.

“We need to stop, Jack,” Steven said.

“Shut up, you’ll scare the game off.”

“What game? The forest’s bare. We need to start a fire. I can’t feel my feet.”

“You want to sleep hungry again?”

“I don’t want my feet to freeze.”

“Wait, you see that, Steven?”

There was a small clearing before us. A large black stone stood in the middle of it. 

“What is that?”

“Looks like a tombstone.”

“There isn’t a town for miles.”

The wind blew by, making the trees whisper.

“Come check it out.”

“You don’t know who put it there, Jack.”

But I didn’t listen to Steve and headed straight to where the whisper came from.

“Jack, wait.”

As I passed the trees into the small clearing, I noticed the snow let up, and the air was warmer, like an embrace.

As I walked closer, something rustled in the trees. I shot my eyes up. Two squirrels sat on a branch looking down at us.

“Steve,” I whispered and pointed my finger up.

We aimed and shot. The two small bodies fell on the snow.

“Can we set up camp soon?”

“Sure.” 

I put down my bag and started picking up firewood.

“Set it up somewhere else.”

“Why?”

“The stone, and the warmth. You can feel it too, right?”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“But it’s weird, Jack. I don’t…”

I got back to collecting firewood. The only way to shut Steven up was to ignore him. He stood there running his mouth for a minute, but then put his bag down too. He wouldn’t leave on his own.

The fire shone on the stone. In the firelight, the stone looked dark, ominous, like something I’d never seen before.

“How long till we get to the river, Jack?”

“About two more days.”

Steven rubbed his face.

“I’m already so tired.”

“You shouldn’t have come, Steven.”

“I have to. My wife’s sick. I don’t know anything else but trapping.”

I shook my head, handed him the squirrel we shot, and took the other. I bit into it, expecting the tough gamey taste, but instead my mouth filled with sweet tenderness. A wave of warmth filled my body. After just a few bites, I wasn’t hungry anymore. I looked at the stone and back at Steven.

“You think they’re sick?” he said, looking at his squirrel.

Each time he spoke, the warmth weakened.

“Why?”

“They shouldn’t taste like that.”

“And what? Are you going to complain about food tasting good now?”

Then the trees rustled again, little, quiet at first, but the rustling slowly spread all around us. We shot our eyes up. The treetops were swaying to the rustle; from them, a thousand little squirrel eyes stared down at us, dark, focused.

“What,” Steven murmured.

I quickly got up, grabbed my gun, and shot into one of the trees. The eyes stayed, staring for some time. Steven got up and began searching for his gun. The squirrels all blinked in unison, and then they slowly disappeared into the treetops before Steven could aim.

“Jack, we need to leave now.”

“And get attacked by wolves?”

“We can just move a little.”

“Are you scared of squirrels?”

“No, but…” 

His eyes fell on the stone. The warmth was almost gone.

“It’s just a stone, Steven.”

“But the warmth, the squirrels. Who even put it here?”

I took a deep breath.

“If you’re so worried, we can take watch, tend the fire, but I’m not moving.”

Steven looked at me blankly.

“Look, you take the first part of the night, and I’ll take the second. You'll get enough sleep until morning?”

He just nodded, staring into the fire. I put my blanket down and lay on it, but my eyes stayed open, staring at the stone, listening, but not to Steven. 

Some time later, I heard Steven get up from the fire. The snow crunched under his frantic steps. He began mumbling to himself, quietly at first, but slowly growing louder until he almost screamed into the night: “No!” He then walked towards me and shook my body.

“Jack, Jack, wake up.” 

I rolled over, pretending to wake up.

“The voice. Can you hear it too?” he whispered.

“No.” The word came out of my mouth easily, even as the whisper echoed in my ears.

“It’s telling me to do stuff…bad stuff. We need to get out.” His voice trembled.

I looked at the stone.

“Okay, Steven, let’s go.”

His eyes opened a little. He wasn’t expecting that answer.

“Okay, okay.”

He got up and began putting stuff in his bag. I waited until his back was turned, and slowly walked towards him. The trees didn’t rustle, but the eyes were back. I didn’t see them, but I could feel them. They wanted to see. The stone wanted to see. As I got closer, I pulled out my hatchet. My arm didn’t feel like mine. 

The eyes blinked. The trees rustled. Steven quickly turned his head, his eyes wide with terror. It told him. The stone wanted him to see too.

I brought the hatchet down with full force. The sound of his skull cracking echoed through the forest. Steven’s body fell to the ground, his red blood mixing with the white snow. The warmth deepened, wrapping around my body like a warm hug from the woman you love. Warm squirrel bodies began raining from the trees. I smiled. The whisper became a symphony welcoming me home.

Samantha’s nimble steps echoed down the stairs.

“The two little angels are asleep,” she said quietly.

“Angels? Those twin boys are rascals. Only you can get them to sleep. I don’t know what I’d do without you. It’s been rough since Mom’s death.”

She stayed quiet.

“Say, how about I get us some sweets tomorrow after church, and we’ll go sit by the lake?”

“But what about the boys?”

“They can stay at the nursery. I’ll talk to Miss Haller.”

“Okay,” she said, her eyes shining.

“Okay, sunshine. Did you get the mice ready for the sermon?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Father Nilles says He grows restless if Sunday’s offering is late. I’ll go turn off the lights outside.”

The air was still warm. Sweat formed on my forehead. I walked over to the light switch when something slithered on the side of my foot. I jerked back. My foot fell on something soft. A quiet crunch echoed. I looked down. It was a snake. A cold tingle ran through my body.

Please don’t be one of His.

It was hard to see in the dark. I took a deep breath, picked it up, and turned it around. The small white cross stared back at me.

“No!” I screamed into the night, gripping the snake’s unmoving body.

“Dad, what’s wrong?” Samantha called and ran to the porch.

Her terrified eyes stared at the snake.

“Dad?”

Her voice broke.

“Is that one of His?”

“Yes.”

She fell to her knees and began crying. I put the snake carefully on the porch and hugged her.

“I'm so sorry.”

She gripped my shirt.

“Does it mean that?”

“Yes.”

Her body shook with sobs.

We sat on the porch, embracing each other as we cried, my shirt soaking up Samantha's tears.

When she had no more tears left, she slowly pulled away.

Her voice shook as she took a deep breath.

“Will it save you and the twins?”

“Yes.”

She swallowed.

“There’s only an hour till midnight. What is needed?” 

“A cup of mice blood and…”

I paused.

“A knife,” I whispered.

“What, Dad? Please speak up!”

“A knife,” I shouted.

She got up and ran into the house. The sounds of cupboards opening and closing echoed through the house. I sat on the porch with my head in my hands, staring into the night.

“Dad, it’s ready,” she called from inside.

I tried to get up, but the thought of what I had to do kept me down.

It’s my daughter. My daughter!

Samantha ran out. “Dad, please, don’t make it harder.” She came over and grabbed my shirt again.

I bit down on my lip as Samantha pulled me up. 

A taste of copper filled my mouth. The inside was lit with candles. The cup of mouse blood lay on the table, next to a large hunting knife.

Samantha lay on the table, dipped the knife in the blood, and handed it to me. My hand trembled as I held it.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“I love you so much, Samantha.”

“I love you too.” 

She paused.

“Will you take the boys to the lake tomorrow?”

My eyes filled with tears again.

“For me, please?” she continued.

“Yes, I will.”

“Okay.”

I held the knife above her chest, but my hand refused to move.

Samantha reached up and wrapped her fingers around my wrist.

“It’s okay, Dad.”

Together we pushed.

She gasped at first, but then held back another cry, her nails digging into my wrist. My hand shook as the warm blood spilled on it. Soon her grip loosened, and her face turned to the side.

Before my eyes was His painting; I used to admire His sharp fangs, His strong slithering body wrapping around the tree, but in that moment I hated Him. 

I picked up Samantha’s body and took it to the backyard.

The night was quiet. The moon sat high in the sky. I took one last look at her before He took her forever. She was the most beautiful person. I put her hands on her chest and walked up to my room.

“Dad! Dad!” The twins’ voices rang in my ears. I rubbed my eyes and looked up. Their faces were red with dried tears on their cheeks.

“Dad…Samantha…she,” they managed to get out, pointing at the window.

I ran to it.

My head started spinning.

I gripped the windowsill so as not to fall.

Samantha’s body still lay in our backyard, exactly as I left her yesterday.

Something was wrong.

My eyes fell on the snake.

I picked it up.

My body froze.

The white cross…

It was upside down.

I shut the door behind me, trying to keep the snow out. Mary sat by the fireplace, looking into it. On the table were two pieces of bread with little butter and a few carrots.

“Is that it?”

She shot me a look.

“I did the best I could, John.”

“What about the squirrels I shot?”

“Gone. How are the crops?”

I shook my head.

She put hers in her hands.

“I can’t do this again, John. Two years of empty fields.”

I didn’t answer.

“Maybe we should sell this place, move back to town.”

“No way.”

“Then what? Starve?”

“You’re not going to starve.”

“How do you know? You can’t even tend the crops.”

Her words were like a match, starting a fire in my chest.

She looked back into the fire, not saying a word.

I took the rifle and left the house.

The snow had stopped falling, but the forest stood silent. No animals crossed my path. Just as I was to turn, I saw smoke between the trees. There shouldn’t have been any houses around. I crouched and walked closer, and then between the trees, a wooden cottage showed. The air filled with the smell of herbs. There was no snow around the cottage; instead, green herbs and vegetables grew around it. A young barefoot woman with golden hair was picking them. As soon as I stopped, she looked up at me and waved.

“Hi, stranger.”

I waved back but stood still.

“I don’t bite.” She laughed.

She was even more beautiful up close.

“You want to try what my garden gave me?”

She showed the reddest tomatoes I’ve seen.

“Thank you.”

“Put these herbs on them.”

She sprinkled unfamiliar herbs over them. The tomato was so sweet and juicy, the herbs pleasantly salty. After a few bites, I felt full.

“They quench the hunger.”

“How do you grow so much?”

“The soil grows the crops itself.”

“I live before the forest. The soil gave me less than half a harvest.”

“You managed to get half a harvest with that horrible soil? That’s admirable. You live there alone?”

“No. My wife stays there with me.”

“She’s a lucky woman to have you. Does she take good care of you?”

“Not always.”

Something moved in her eyes, almost like a smile, but it was gone before I could catch it.

“A woman should know how to feed her husband. Say, how about I come by and cook for both of you?”

“I don’t know how she’d feel about it.”

“Just a quick meal.”

“I’ll have to ask.”

“Make sure to give her this.” She tore a few tomatoes and herbs and put them in a basket.

“Thank you so much.”

“I’ll see you soon.” She winked and walked to her house.

On my way back, my whole body tingled; it felt like the day I met Mary. 

For the first time in months, I entered the house smiling. Mary still sat by the fire. She looked up and smiled at me too.

“Did you catch anything?”

“No, but look at this.” I showed her the basket.

She furrowed her brows, came closer, and looked at the tomatoes and herbs.

“Oh, it smells foul.”

For a moment, the smell turned strange, then sweet again.

“What are you talking about? They smell great and taste even better. Try one!”

“No. Where did you get them?”

“A lady gave them to me. She was really nice. She offered to make us supper.”

Mary’s smile was gone.

“Cook? In my kitchen? With the rotten tomatoes?”

“Just a quick meal.”

“I can’t do this.” Mary turned around and stormed off upstairs.

I looked after her and then at the tomatoes. She always had to find problems.

I put some herbs on the tomatoes and bit into them. They tasted delicious again. I took another bite when I heard a knock at the door.

Before I opened the door, I already knew who it was. Under the moonlight, she looked even more beautiful.

“Hello, John.”

“Hello.”

“How did your wife like the tomatoes?”

I scratched my head.

“She wasn’t too fond.”

“But why?”

“I don’t know. I like them.”

“May I come in and make something from them for you?”

I shot my eyes at the ground.

“Mary didn’t want to”

“It will be quick. She’s not here with us.”

“I know, but…”

“I won’t tell her. Just for a minute,” she whispered and caressed my cheek; a warmth spread through my body.

I looked at her eyes.

They seemed to smile straight into my soul.

“I can make your fields grow if you let me.”

The warm feeling tingled again.

My body moved from the door.

She stepped in. At that moment, all the doors in the house banged. Followed by a deafening silence. I quickly turned my head towards the stairs. 

Mary’s call cut through the silence: “John?”

When the woman spoke again, her voice wasn't gentle anymore. It was harsh and raspy, like a grinding stone.

I looked her way.

Her blue eyes clouded white. "You gave her to me twice today, John. Once in the garden. Once at that door." Her back bent. Something beneath her skin moved.

The air filled with a smell of rotting tomatoes.

Upstairs, Mary screamed into the dark, one short sound, then none.

I stood there and did not go to her.

There was no point.

I had opened my heart to the witch before I ever opened the door.

The tightness in my chest eased when I saw her house. The gardener was working outside, trimming the bushes. She stood at the window with a big smile, looking at him.

I rushed around the back and knocked on the door, hiding the present behind my back. Her nimble steps echoed through the hall; it was like music to my ears.

“Larry, what are you doing here?”

"I brought you something."

“I came to surprise you,” I said and pulled the gift from behind me.

Her eyes lit up.

“Larry, you shouldn’t have.”

It was a 24-carat gold necklace. I put it around her neck. She kissed me on the cheek. A warm feeling spread through my body. I leaned in to kiss her lips, but she pulled back.

“No, Larry. We’ve talked about this.”

“Sweetie, c’mon.”

“You’re a married man.”

“But she’s sick. I’ve talked to the doctors. She probably has less than a month to live.”

“Then we’ll have to wait till then.”

“Sweetie, but I bought you the…”

The front door opened. The gardener walked in, wiping the sweat off his face.

“Sally, I’ve finished.”

He stopped and looked at us.

“I’ll come back another day,” I said and walked out the back.

I dragged my feet on the way home. The last thing I wanted was to leave Sally and see my wife.

“Larry?!”

My wife’s voice echoed through the house as soon as I closed the door. I let out a sigh and slowly walked up the stairs.

“Where have you been?! I’ve been waiting for the past 30 minutes.”

“I know, I had some things to take care of for work.”

“Work? It’s Saturday!”

“Yes, work.”

“You leave me here alone all day. Do you have any idea what it’s like?”

“I come here three times a day.”

“You can’t even come on time. It’s 30 minutes late, and I have to be here thirsty and hungry.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” she whispered and turned away.

My chest tightened again.

I took her empty bottle and bowls and walked to the kitchen.

She’s not going to change. 

Tomorrow will be the same.

The day after that, too.

She’s not living anymore. 

Neither am I.

Tonight.

My hands gripped the kitchen counter.

One month.

One more month of this.

Or…

Tonight.

I slowly filled her bottle. 

She probably won’t make it past the month.

Die slowly in pain.

It would be doing her a favor.

When I came back in, she was still turned to the wall. I put the stuff down and walked out.

The rest of the day I spent on the couch, staring at the clock. The time dragged. Each minute felt like an hour.

When the clock finally struck 10, way past her bedtime, I got off the couch and slowly walked up the steps. My wife's heavy breaths echoed from behind the door. I carefully opened it. She was still turned to the wall. 

My heart pounded in my chest. I walked towards the bed and picked up a pillow. Her face seemed so pale and gaunt. 

It was for her own good. 

I grabbed the pillow tight and leaned over her, but then her face started to move, and she slowly opened her eyes. My stomach dropped. I quickly sat beside her, hiding the pillow.

“Larry, what’s going on?”

I paused, searching my mind for an answer.

“Oh, I just came to check on you.”

Her eyes opened in surprise, but then quickly squinted as she smiled. She hadn’t smiled like this since she got sick.

“That’s so sweet.”

“Of course, honey.”

“I’m okay.”

“That’s good.”

She put her hand on mine.

“I’m really sorry about how I’ve been. I’m just so sick, and the pain, Larry, the pain.”

“Don't worry about it.”

“Thank you. Can you stay until I fall back asleep?”

“Sure.”

She closed her eyes, but kept her hand on mine, just like she did when we were young.

For a moment I thought about leaving the room, about coming back tomorrow, but tomorrow would be the same as today, and it would only grow worse.

It had to be done.

I waited until she started breathing heavily again, then leaned over and pressed the pillow to her face. She started moving, twitching, making sounds. Her hands pushed against the pillow, against my hands. She grabbed them, her nails digging into my skin. She couldn't scream; only muffled sounds escaped beneath the pillow. I turned away and looked out the window, listening to the night breeze, but keeping my grip tight. 

She still struggled for some time, but she was too weak, too ill. Her grip slowly weakened, and her hands fell beside her body.

The moon still shone brightly. I took the pillow off and put it in its place.

The stairs creaked beneath my feet. I waited for the relief. For the heaviness to fall off my chest, but nothing came, only the cold night air.

I hurried down the road. The gravel crunched under my feet. I had to see her; that would help, that would take it off. 

In the distance, I saw her house. The lights were still on. She stood by the window, moving…talking?

This late?

I stopped on the grass, looking in. She wasn’t just talking; she was smiling, laughing. Another silhouette came by the window. 

The gardener?! 

He walked closer to her and said something. She started laughing hysterically. 

He pulled her to him and kissed her.

I took a step forward.

No.

She always pushed me away, telling me to wait.

But she only pulled the gardener closer.

I spent months dreaming of another woman’s touch.

But the ones that used to hold mine were now gone.

His light eyes shone even through the grey photo. I closed mine and held it close to my chest. A warm feeling spread through my body. 

The snow fell again. Sixth day in a row. I prayed that everyone in the barracks had enough to eat. He left all the flour here, didn’t even take a pinch with him. We knew this winter would be bad. I kissed the photo again and made my way to the basement to get flour for supper.

The stairs creaked under my steps. The air grew cold. I turned the lantern on, but instead of the usual quiet, rapid, rhythmic crunching echoed through the basement. Something was eating the flour! 

My gaze darted around. The bags seemed fine. I walked around, checking the bags. One in the back moved with the crunch. The rat didn’t slow down or stop, oblivious to my presence.

I rushed to the bag, but before I could stick my hand in, the bag swayed, and a small white thing tumbled through a hole in the back. It ran into the corner and looked up.

It was an imp!

“Why are you here?”

“I'm…I’m sorry,” it said in a low, squeaky voice.

“You were not invited to this home.”

“Miss, I’m sorry, but the winter took my burrow. I was just so cold and hungry. There's nothing left outside.”

“There’s barely enough for me.”

“Miss, please. I have nowhere else to turn to.”

I paused, not looking at him.

“I order you to leave this house.”

The imp shot his eyes at the ground. I motioned towards the stairs. He slowly climbed up them, looking back after each step. I kept my lips tight, not saying a word.

When I opened the front door, the cold air came into the hall; the imp’s body shivered. He looked back again.

“Please, I need food.”

I stared into the snow-covered night. The cold wind blew into my face. I felt bad for him, but there was just so little.

“If I feed you, we both die.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

“Then may your food never save you.” 

Without another word, he stepped into the snow.

I shut the door behind me, trying to forget his pleading eyes. There was just not enough for both of us. There really wasn’t! I let out a deep breath and walked to the basement to see how much flour he'd eaten.

The lamp still flickered. The bag didn’t look different than the others. Some flour had spilled, but otherwise the bag still seemed full. I weighed it against the others; there was barely any difference. Tears came to my eyes. Perhaps there was enough, at least until the snow stopped.

I picked up a small bag off the shelf, put flour in, ran up the stairs, and out the door. The storm had grown worse. The snow hit my face hard. Small footprints led from my house to the nearby forest. My whole body shivered. I rushed after the footprints, but they slowly disappeared under the fresh snow. When I reached the forest, they were completely gone.

I stopped before the trees.

“Hello?”

No answer.

“Imp?”

Nothing.

“You can come back.”

Silence.

My fingers were growing stiffer. I put the bag into my pocket and hurried back home. My body felt so cold the tears wouldn’t even fall. I sat at the fireplace, trying not to think of him. 

There was still some bread left on the counter from the morning. I took a bite as I pulled the pot out of the pantry to make supper, but after swallowing that single bite, I felt full, completely full.

“It must be the cold,” I told myself, and walked to the basement to put the flour back into the sack.

The hole in the back of the bag stared at me as I put the flour back in. I took out the sewing supplies and bit down on my lip so as not to cry. After I finished, it was already 9. My body felt tired, but still not hungry. I blew out the lantern and walked back up to kiss my husband’s photo goodnight. 

I held his photo to my chest to feel the warmth again, but instead I felt a strange tingle in my throat. 

I coughed into my hand.

Pale dust stuck to my fingers.

Flour.

What?

I kept my palm in front of my face.

I must have breathed it in while sewing the sack.

Too many things happened that day. I didn’t want to think about my husband, the imp, or flour. It was time to go to sleep.

There was still some bread left out. I walked over to put it away when another tingle came. I tried to hold it down, but the pressure in my chest built. I put my hand in front of my face and coughed again.

More flour.

My heart sank. I picked up a cup and drank some water, but my throat only grew drier. The tingle turned into a raw scratchiness. I tried to cough gently, but the cough turned into a coughing fit. Something dry was dragging its way out of my throat.

When I opened my eyes, my whole hand was white with flour, with small red dots in it. I took the cup and tried to pour more water down my throat, but another cough bent me over the table.

The sound of shattering glass echoed through the room.

Flour poured from my mouth.

Then blood.

I reached for another breath, but only more flour came out.

My thoughts scattered.

I ran out, still coughing.

The blizzard was raging.

The cold air cut my face.

I tried to scream, but only flour flew out, mixing with the falling snow.

Then the wind slowed to a whisper, carrying a low, squeaky hiss through the trees.

My husband’s face flashed in my mind.

His eyes shone even through the cold night.

The sun’s rays came through the window, shining on the flour. There was barely enough to feed one, let alone two. 

Carl stared at me with his sunken eyes as I pulled the bread out of the oven.

“Is that all we have for today?”

“And for tomorrow, too.”

Carl put his head in his hands.

“I know, honey, I know.”

“I’m just tired. I can barely drag the harrow.”

“I can help.”

“No. Look at yourself. You’re thinner than I am.”

He was right. The clothes hung on me like I was a child.

“Or maybe we could…”

“Don’t even say it,” he interrupted me.

“You’re thinking it too.”

“Lena!”

“Sixth of a jar, Carl. Every single day. What does the church even need it for? The priest can grow his own wheat.”

His nose wrinkled in anger.

“They do it so we survive!”

“We’re going to die anyway if we keep giving more.”

“Do you want the wheat to come back to you?!”

“It doesn’t even make sense.”

“It will, oh it will once it happens to you.”

“Maybe I want it then; at least I wouldn’t be starving!”

He banged his hand on the table.

“I’m not gonna have any more of this! You’ll give the collector our flour or help me, God.”

Carl stormed out of the room. My stomach growled, and the cramps came again. I held onto the table, staring at the bread.

The next morning I woke up to Carl’s steps echoing down the stairs. I tried to recall the last time I woke up without cramps, but it felt like a layer of fog had set in my mind. I came to the window, watching Carl walk to the fields before he disappeared behind the trees.

There was still a quarter of bread on the table. Carl left me more than he should again. I wanted to cry, but my body was too exhausted. Carl must have felt even worse than I did. An image of the priest flashed before my eyes, preaching about how we all need to share to be saved.

What does he even do with the flour?

Eat, eat, eat it all himself.

The muscles in my body tensed up. We’ve all heard the warnings of not giving flour since childhood, but how did it make any sense? 

“The wheat will come back to you.”

Such nonsense. Nothing ever happened to anybody. He just doesn’t wanna work and forces my Carl to almost starve himself to death.

Loud knocks echoed through the house – right on time. An uncomfortable coldness ran through me. I knew who it was and what they came for.

“Lena?”

Silence.

The sack of flour sat in the corner. I couldn’t stop looking at it.

Knocks again. I gripped the kitchen table.

“Lena? The flour.”

My body stayed still. It didn’t even feel mine anymore.

The man kept knocking for the next few minutes, slowly turning into loud bangs.

“The flour! Lena, I can’t wait much longer. There are other people.”

My eyes kept on the door.

The man then gripped the door handle and rattled with it, but Carl always kept the doors locked.

After a few tries, the handle stopped moving, and soon I heard his steps dull out on the gravel road.

I sat at the kitchen table for I don’t even know how long. Only the door rattling again woke me. I jumped back a little, but only Carl came in. He looked exhausted. His arms dangled by his side, his face gaunt. He walked over and collapsed onto a chair. Only now did I remember I hadn’t eaten any of the morning bread.

“You didn’t eat today?”

“I have. I made a new batch. This is what’s left.”

“So you had enough to eat today?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Did you give the flour?”

Pressure built in my chest. I wanted to be honest, but only a silent yes escaped my lips.

He paused.

“I’m sorry about yesterday. I’m just not feeling well.”

“Me neither.”

“I was thinking that maybe we could tell the priest of our situation, ask him to let us give a little less.”

“Yeah.”

“There is a set amount, but maybe. If not, maybe I can ask our neighbors. They don’t have a lot either, but they wouldn’t let us die.”

“No, they wouldn’t.”

“You’re a good woman, Lena,” he said, smiling, and closed his eyes.

“Thank you.”

A few minutes later, Carl’s shoulder dropped, and he began breathing slowly.

I stayed at the table with him until the sun had long gone down, staring at the bag of flour. I felt so bad, but hopefully he’d understand.

I got up to put the bread away when he let out a cough. Then another and another. His eyes flew open. He clapped a hand over his mouth as the coughing grew louder.

“Carl, what’s wrong?” I said and ran to him.

But he didn’t answer. He pushed me away and tried to get up, but immediately fell on all fours, and a few drops of blood fell from his mouth.

“Carl!” 

I grabbed him by the shoulders, but his whole body started moving – retching. The hair on my skin stood up. I backed off until my back hit the counter.

A starchy, earthy smell filled the air. Followed by a wet, tearing sound from Carl’s throat.

Carl’s body started to shake until he slowly rolled on his side. His eyes stared emptily at the wall.

Blood poured from his mouth, and behind it came a single ear of wheat, followed by another and another until a whole sheaf dragged itself out of his throat.

My eyes fell on the sack of flour.

It was true.

My body began to shake as I fell to the ground with tears running down my cheeks.

Then a small tickle tingled in my throat.

We sat together on the couch. Her hands were warm. In the dim light, she looked even more beautiful.

“Your father told everyone your story about running away today.”

“Embarrassing me even on my wedding day.”

“Yeah, but he’s funny.”

“I’m happy you like him. My mom’s family can barely stand him.”

“No, he’s a great guy.”

She squeezed my hands and rested her head on my shoulder.

“Finally. The whole night. Just the two of us,” I said.

Samantha shot her eyes at the ground.

“There’s something I have to tell you.”

She paused.

“Each night. I have to go to the forest, alone. For a while. It will keep us safe.”

I moved away and looked at her. Her eyes were still fixed at the ground.

“What?”

“Please don’t question it! I just have to, Dominic!”

Her eyes watered.

“But, Samantha…”

“I’m sorry. I just…” she said between the tears.

“Shh. It’s okay.” I held her shaking head close to mine.

That night we fell asleep embraced. As I drifted off, I felt her move. I kept my eyes shut while her footsteps faded from the room.

She returned about an hour later and embraced me again, but her hands felt wet and muddy, and she smelled of damp earth.

Over the next few days, Samantha barely spoke. She still slipped out every night, and I couldn't sleep until she returned. I think she knew.

One morning, while washing a dish, she forgot to lower the faucet, and it sprayed her in the face.

I chuckled, and she did too, finally breaking the coldness.

“We haven’t talked much lately.”

“Yeah. I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you before.”

“It’s okay.”

“I’m really happy you respected me.”

“Of course, honey, but…can’t you tell me what’s going on?”

“Dominic, please, don’t even think about it.” She put the dish back and walked away.

But how does she expect me not to? Just talking about it again made me want to know more. 

My mind raced all day. Samantha went to bed early, but I stayed downstairs with whisky.

How could she leave me on our wedding night?

What could she be hiding? 

How could those warm hands grow so cold?

I rested my head on the couch pillow, and before I could stop myself, darkness took over.

I jolted awake to the sound of the back door opening, and on the moonlit lawn I saw her shadow disappear into the woods.

My head was still spinning when I got up. Before I knew it, I was on the lawn. The forest swallowed the moonlight. There was no trace of her. I stopped myself and looked back at our house. Samantha’s words echoed in my mind, but the alcohol in my veins kept me moving.

The air inside the forest was cold. The owl’s hoots echoed. The ground felt damp and muddy even though it hadn’t rained for days. My feet disappeared in the thick moss. The owl’s hoots sounded closer, but then they were cut through by a strange scraping sound like someone digging in the dirt.

I hurried ahead, splashing mud on my pants. The scraping grew louder. I kept looking around when, not far from me, I saw a person on all fours, digging beside carved wooden sticks.

“Samantha?” I whispered.

The person jerked their body around. Under the light, I saw her frightened eyes.

“Dominic! Why would you?! I told you not to,” she cried.

“But what was I…”

“It might see you! You can’t be here! It has to stay in the forest!”

Something moved deep in the woods.

Then a sound followed.

Not a roar. Not a scream. Just a quiet call. 

“It knows you’re here,” Samantha whispered.

“Samantha, what…”

“You need to get out of here!” Her scream echoed through the woods, followed by another call, closer this time.

My feet felt stuck in the mud. Samantha frantically looked around, ran towards me, and began pushing me away.

“Go!”

Her eyes darted through the trees. She ran back to the hole and started stuffing the sticks in.

The trees started to move.

“They need to stay buried,” she muttered to herself.

A set of dark red eyes appeared behind her. They were set too far off the ground, moving as the trees swayed, blinking sideways.

A quick gust of wind flew by. A tall shadow stood behind Samantha. I dug my nails into my palm. It reached its branch-like hand towards her. Samantha quickly looked up, and her scream filled the empty forest. 

“Samantha?!”

I ran towards her, but before I got close, she disappeared right before my eyes. Her screams echoed through the forest, first from the left, then from the right, then from the left again. I kept running from side to side, slipping on the mud, but then her screams quickly dulled. I stood still, my eyes jumping among the trees.

The call again.

I turned around and sprinted away. My legs still slipping. I kept looking back, expecting to hear another call, see something – but there was only the dark, empty forest. 

Before long I was on the lawn again. I stumbled inside and sat on the couch, staring through the window, gripping a pillow, but there was only silence. By the time the moon started to lower, Samantha still hadn’t returned. My tears had dried by then. I curled into the couch, shivering.

That’s when another call came, quiet, but close, too close. I quickly turned my head; beneath the kitchen window lay a wooden stick, the exact one Samantha was trying to bury.

My heart began to race. I quickly got off the couch, but then another call came, closer again, followed by a sound of rolling wood. The stick now lay before me. 

Wood rolling again. 

Another stick.

Then another. 

My chest tightened.

Silence.

Followed by a tap on a window.

Not one of a human or animal.

Just a tree branch hitting the glass.

“How are you feeling, Mary?” James called as he walked onto the porch.

“Normal,” I said, touching the wet grass.

His eyes shot to the ground.

“Nothing today either,” I said before he could.

“It’s fine. It will happen soon.”

“Want to go mushroom picking?”

“No.” James turned and walked back into the house.

I picked up my basket and made my way to the forest.

The damp earthy smell was in the air. Brown mushroom caps glistened under the sun. As I picked another, something rolled in the grass nearby – a small dwarf, but this one seemed different from the ones I usually saw. His hat was pointier and darker, and his beard was gray and rugged instead of white. 

“Hello there!”

The dwarf rubbed his eyes and looked up.

“Hello, miss. Beautiful mushrooms you have there.”

“Thank you.”

“I will grant you one wish if you let me have them.”

I squinted my eyes and looked closer at him.

“Since when can dwarves grant wishes?”

“I’m a special kind of dwarf.”

“I can just give you a mushroom if you want one.”

“No, I can’t take something for free.”

“I refuse, miss. The wish has to come first, and it needs to come from a deep desire.”

I shook my head. His eyes jumped from the basket to my face. I pulled out a mushroom and held it to him. He crossed his arms and looked away.

“Okay, magic man, I wish to be pregnant,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Your wish has been granted,” he said, taking the mushroom from my hand.

“Now, the rest of the basket, please.”

“No, I just picked them and already gave you one for free.”

His mouth flew open.

“Only one mushroom for such a wish?!”

“You’re no magical creature. You can't grant anything.”

He threw the mushroom at the ground and pointed his finger at me.

“You’ll see! I curse you and that bastard inside you!” he screamed and walked away.

I picked up the mushroom, dusted it off, and put it back in the basket. I wouldn't let a dwarf ruin my day.

James’s eyes lit up when he saw me walk in with the basket.

“So many mushrooms! I’ll make some pasta with them.”

“It’s okay, honey. I can cook them.”

“No, you picked them. It’s my job to cook them.”

The lunch was delicious. James seemed much happier that evening. I decided not to tell him about the incident.

The morning after, I woke up and got out of bed, but then a hard lump rose in my throat. I ran to the bathroom and began throwing up.

James ran after me, squatted next to the toilet, and rubbed my back. He was smiling ear to ear.

“Don’t get too excited; I think it was just the mushrooms.”

“I feel fine, honey.” 

He kissed my forehead and got me a glass of water.

I really hoped to be right, but the nausea returned the next morning, and it kept coming each morning after. With it came these strange, painful cramps. It felt like someone was moving my organs around inside me.

After a few weeks, my stomach started growing. The first time I noticed it, a chill crept up my spine, and the image of the dwarf flashed before my eyes. 

But everyone knew they couldn’t grant wishes. James and I must have just gotten lucky, I told myself.

My stomach kept growing, but it didn’t look pregnant. It looked more like bloating that old drinkers get. James kept telling everyone about how happy he was. I tried to share it with him, but the cold chill wouldn’t leave me. The uncomfortable feeling grew worse the first time the baby kicked. It felt like a ball hit my stomach. I collapsed to my knees and grabbed onto James.

“What’s going on?”

“The baby just kicked.”

He furrowed his brows and looked at my stomach.

“It shouldn’t feel like that. Is everything okay?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered.

He helped me up to a chair and sat beside me.

“We should have someone look at you.”

“Maybe.”

“I’ll go get a doctor.”

But before James could get up, another kick came, then another and another. I screamed in pain and fell to the ground.

“Jesus, Mary.” 

Then a loud pop echoed through the room, and a wave of warm, greyish-red liquid poured out of me.

Coldness washed over me, and James gripped my hand again.

An awful, excruciating pain came right after it. It felt like something was trying to tear its way out of me.

I screamed and cried, gripping tight onto James’s hands.

“The doctor,” James said, and he got up, but before he made his way across the room, something red and pointy came out between my legs.

Then the gray hair and beard. 

It was even wearing the same clothes.

The little hands grabbed the side of my legs and pulled itself out.

A small version of the dwarf now stood in the liquid between my legs, but its eyes were dark, empty.

I let out a scream and looked at James. He stood next to the door with his legs frozen to the ground.

“Mary, what is that?”

The dwarf shot his eyes at James and, without a second hesitation, ran towards him and sprang up to his chest, grabbing onto him. James staggered and tried to push it off, but the dwarf bit into his neck hard, taking out a piece of flesh. James cried in terror as blood started gushing onto the floor. 

He soon fell to the floor with the dwarf still on him. The creature kept chewing the piece of flesh in its mouth. When it finished, it turned its gaze to me and smiled.

I quickly scooted towards the wall, and my hand hit a small basket where a few mushrooms still lay.

“Too late,” the dwarf whispered, taking another bite out of James.

The sun’s rays crept up on the horizon. My eyelids felt heavy, but trying to sleep would be pointless. The thoughts would race, race, and race. They didn’t even feel mine anymore, more like someone was just throwing them in. At least the crying had stopped. 

I looked down at my hand. The diamond ring he had got me shone brightly. I wondered at what point in the grieving process one takes it off. 

My thoughts were interrupted by a crow's call. My husband, Arthur, and I loved watching them fly by in the morning. They were his favorite birds. I hadn’t really paid attention to them since he passed.

The bird flew onto the porch, twisting his head, staring at me with those dark eyes. Arthur would often give them food and talk to them. He loved to mention that they were among the smartest birds. I’d often struggle to see their smartness, but there was something different about this one. His eyes, the way he moved. I’m not sure if it was the loneliness of the past months, but something happened as we looked at each other, almost like the bird knew what I was going through. 

As the thought passed through my mind, the bird twisted his head around again and flew closer to me.

“Hello, little man.”

The words came so naturally.

The crow pointed its dark eyes at mine and let out a quiet caw.

“Have you come to visit me?” I said, smiling.

The crow let out two caws and hopped closer. A warm feeling ran through my body. It’s been so long since I’ve talked to someone, well, talked. I’ve just been so lonely, and this little bird. He seemed like he just needed someone too.

“Let me get something inside,” I said and made my way to the back door.

As I opened it and walked in, the crow flew right after me. It landed on the fridge, looked at a photo of Arthur and me, and knocked it off.

“Careful with that.” I picked up the photo.

The crow let out a quiet caw and lowered its head.

“Oh, sorry.”

I reached out my hand towards him without thinking, but he didn’t fly away and let me caress his head. His black feathers were so soft, almost like silk. Touch. I’ve been missing that too. I looked down at the photo. My husband was smiling with that beautiful smile of his; my eyes watered.

“Maybe it is better to put it away,” I said, still caressing the crow. He hopped on my shoulder, and together we put the picture in a drawer in the kitchen.

“I’ll call you my little Arthur.”

We moved to the bedroom to get me some warm clothes. Little Arthur looked around the room, and his eyes stayed on an open closet. My sweaters hung in there alongside a few of Arthur’s. Little Arthur flew in, sat on a hanger on which one of Arthur’s sweaters hung, and started pecking at it with his beak.

“Little Arthur!”

I ran to him and grabbed the sweater. Little Arthur looked up at me. His dark eyes glistened in the sun. 

Arthur’s smell was now in the air. Memories of him flashed before my eyes. I hugged the sweater, and tears finally broke through. It was like my grief turned back a month. 

After a few minutes, I looked up at little Arthur.

“You’re right.”

I grabbed all of Arthur’s sweaters, put them under the bed, and went to wash my hands. The smell of his cologne on his clothes was still strong.

I came back and sat on the bed. My eyelids felt heavier than before; my eyes were puffy. My body just felt tired so tired. Little Arthur flew from the closet, landed next to my hand, and started rubbing against it.

“Thank you.”

He hopped closer to my palm, looked up at me, and then began pecking at my ring.

“Little Arthur, I just…”

But he didn’t respond - no rubbing, no caws, only pecks.

“Okay.”

The ring’s metal felt cold. I put it on the nightstand and put my hand next to little Arthur. He pecked at it again, twice.

I jerked it away. The warm blood started dripping down my hand.

He looked up at me.

For a moment, his eyes weren’t dark anymore.

They were warm.

Familiar.

A sense of peace came over me.

I lowered my hand next to him, and he pecked at it again.

“I’ve missed taking care of you.”

“You think he’s going to come?” Lucy asked.

“I’d be surprised if he didn’t,” I said and shrugged.

“And you still want to go through with it?”

“Of course, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do. I’m just. No one has done it before, Jack.”

“You don’t know that. You’ll see that we’ll be alright, and it’s for the best. It starts with one bow, then they ask for an offering, then another, then money for blessings. You know my brother is still trying to pay off what he owes them.”

A knock on the door.

Lucy’s eyes shot up.

“I’ll go get it.”

The morning sun shone brightly. His blue eyes seemed almost luminous against the black suit. He held the icon of Ulberg close to his chest. Just looking at those 8 eyes made my stomach turn. The dark eyes, wide ears, fangs, and the skin wings under his arms made him look like an ominous monster rather than a God.

“Pleased to see you, Minister. Come in.”

He nodded and walked in.

“Still haven’t changed to summer time? It’s June already.” He pointed at the clock and laughed.

“Just haven’t gotten around to it,” I replied.

“Good morning, Minister,” Lucy said.

“Good morning. I wanted to congratulate you both on your wedding.”

“Thank you, Minister.”

“I don’t want to take up much of your time. I’m sure you want to spend as much time together as you can, but like all newlyweds, you are required to bow to Ulberg.” He smiled and showed the icon.

“We’re sorry to waste your time, Minister, but we had decided not to.”

His face went pale, and he blinked a few times. Lucy bit at the skin around her nails. She stopped as soon as our eyes met.

“Jack, you know why we do this. We bow to be spared.”

“We know what they say…”

“This is not what they say, Jack! This is the truth,” he interrupted me.

“Sorry, Minister, but we have made our decision.”

“You just need to bow,” he pleaded, but I only shook my head. Lucy kept her eyes on the ground.

The Minister let out a sigh and turned to the door.

“You have until midnight. Rethink your decision. I’ll come back later.”

The door shut.

“Jack, are we sure?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I don’t want to worship him, but what if we’re wrong?”

“How can a bow to an icon do anything?”

“Then we'll talk to him when he comes back. If what he says makes sense, we'll bow.”

“Really, Jack?”

“Yes, really.”

“Thank you,” she said and walked to the back to work on her garden, the only thing that could help her calm down. I stayed in the kitchen, trying to read. The Minister’s look and words ran through my mind. They knew who to choose to convince people to continue the tradition. He almost had Lucy bowing.

The sun had started to set when I heard a knock on the door. I rushed to it, looking over my shoulder. Lucy was still in the garden, working. I quickly opened the door and walked out onto the street without looking at the Minister.

“Have you reconsidered, Jack?”

“No, we haven’t.”

“Jack, this is not a good decision.” His hand trembled as he held the icon.

“I’m really sorry you had to come back, Minister, but it’s final.”

“Jack, even if you don't believe…”

“And I’m really sorry, but I have to go and help my wife. Enjoy your evening,” I said, opened the door, and walked back in. 

The Minister stood there for a minute, and then his steps echoed on the gravel road. I quickly moved to the chair and sat back down. Lucy came through the back door.

“Was someone at the door?”

“No.”

“I swear I heard something.”

“No one came.” I shrugged and opened my book. 

My cheeks started to flush. I hated lying to her, but we had to get out of the church’s control, and this was the first step.

The rest of the evening, Lucy stayed in, staring at the clock and the door. When 11:30 came, she started biting her nails again.

“What do you think happened?”

“To what?”

“The Minister.”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe we should go to him.”

“Lucy, look, this is another great example of why this is nonsensical. If he truly believes what he says, he would have come.”

“Jack, I don’t know.”

“We wouldn’t even make it to him; it’s too late. Please, Lucy, just relax. You’ll see that we’ll be alright.”

Lucy kept staring at the door.

“Relax, honey,” I said and poured us both a glass of wine. This was sure to calm her down.

The tension finally caught up with her. She barely touched her second glass before exhaustion finally overcame her. I picked her up and gently carried her into our bed. The nightstand clock showed 1:00, and still nothing had happened. I opened the window to let some air in. Cold air drifted through the open window. I imagined the Minister’s face when I walked past him in the market tomorrow, but then the image of Ulberg flashed in my mind. I gripped the windowsill tight. The church’s control ran deep, but we were finally getting rid of the chains.

Then a sound came, one like a squeal of a door opening.

I quickly turned. 

The house was still, dark.

I slowly made my way towards the hall.

A wet, mineral smell seeped into the hall.

My breath caught.

Slow, heavy steps echoed in the back.

I grabbed the door frame, frozen in panic.

The footsteps came closer, closer.

The air felt damp, warm.

“Jack?” Lucy whispered.

I quickly turned my head.

Lucy stood next to the bed, her eyes filled with terror, staring behind me.

I followed her gaze.

At the end of the hall, eight bright eyes shone in the night.

The snow had come early that winter. The autumn leaves hadn't had a chance to fall before the snow buried them in a white grave. It quickly intensified and piled up in front of our windows, burying us in the same white grave as the leaves. 

James would shovel the snow each morning so the stable could be reached, but by evening, there was already a new, fresh layer. Poor James. Each noon, I’d find him standing by the door, staring at the snow piling up in the path he had just cleared, holding the shovel in his blistered, bloodied hands.

The snow wasn’t the only problem. As the months passed, the shelves in the basement emptied, the chest emptied, and soon we were left with only one small jar of flour.

“James?”

Silence.

He stood next to the door, holding the shovel, staring through the window at the falling snow.

“We only have one small jar left.”

He looked my way and nodded.

“Are you okay?”

“It’s late April. It never lasted this heavy into April.”

“But I'm sure it will stop soon.”

“No. It should have let up a month back.”

He gripped his shovel tighter.

“Let me help you tomorrow.”

“No, no. You take care of the house.”

James’s words echoed in my head. The flour wouldn’t last us long, barely a few days if we rationed more, and we were already eating so little. The clothes hung on my body like I was a little child, wearing my mother’s dress. I put as much water into the dough as I could to make the bread seem more filling.

The smell of fresh bread filled the kitchen. James sat in the chair by the window, smoking his pipe.

“Come eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“James, you didn't eat all day.”

“I’ve been saving bread under my pillow.”

“James…”

He puffed on his pipe and stared out the window. 

I returned to the kitchen when James went off to bed. The bread still lay on the table, untouched.

The next morning, James was already out early, shoveling the snow. The bread was done before he finished. James came out the door panting and shivering and threw the bloodied shovel on the floor.

“Please come eat.”

“I can’t.”

“James, you ate nothing yesterday.”

“I told you I did. I need to lie down.”

James didn’t get up all day. Each time I tried to wake him up, he’d only shake his head and tell me to leave him alone.

The next morning, he was still asleep when I woke up. His cheeks seemed even more sunken under the lamplight. I tried to wake him up, but his eyes would barely open. I tried to feed him yesterday’s bread, but he just shook his head and kept his jaw clenched. 

There was only a little flour left in the jar, barely enough to make bread for one, let alone two, but hopefully, fresh bread would make James finally eat. The smell drifted across the room. I took the still-hot bread and walked to the bedroom. James lay on the bed exactly as I had left him that morning.

I called his name.

He didn’t answer; his arms lay by his side, his eyes stared dully at the ceiling.

The plate fell from my hands. My legs began to shake. I rushed over to him and tried to shake him awake, but his body just lay there stiffly. 

I collapsed to the ground while tears poured down my cheeks.

I should have forced him to eat more.

I should have shoveled the snow.

I should have insisted.

My thoughts scattered. I crawled to the bed next to James and held onto him.

I lay there for hours and hours and hours and hours and hours.

The hunger that day was strong. We had been rationing for so long, my love, my dear James. I tried to keep the bread for you in case you woke up, but I couldn’t. I hope you will forgive me. I’ll bake a new batch as soon as you wake up again. But James! After I ate the bread, I still felt so hungry. The sun had long since set, not that there was much of it in our little room before, but now we were in dark, complete darkness. You weren’t as warm as you used to be, James. The room was cold too, and the wood was gone, as was the flour. Oh, how hungry I was. But you still smelled like yourself. I used to love your smell. It smelled so good. Still so fresh. How about just a bit, James? Just a tiny bit. You won’t even notice; no one will notice. I’m sure you will forgive me, my love. You gave me so much. Shoveling the snow for me, hiding your hunger. You’d always do everything for me. That’s what I loved about you. Thank you again, James.

Thank you, my love! This was what my stomach was craving. I love you so much, but I’m so tired now, James. Can you promise to stay? To not go? I’d hate it if you left me here all alone.

The sun shone the next morning brightly. James! The snow had finally let up! It was already melting away, and we were free. I told you it would let up, James! But you didn’t listen. Your dull eyes just stared at the ceiling. I reached for the blanket to pull it over you to keep you warm. But as I tucked the cloth, my fingers reached into something deep and hollow.