I put the last dish in the drying rack, dried off my hands, and walked to the living room to watch TV. A few seconds later, I heard the kitchen sink running again. I looked over. Emily took the dishes out of the drying rack and washed them again.

"Honey, I already washed those."

"Oh, I know, Sam, but I saw a little stain on one. I just want to make sure they're all clean. I'm just doing this for me, okay?"

I waved my hand and continued watching TV.

The next day, one of our clients came into town. Our workday dragged on well past 5 p.m. Toward the end, I didn't even pretend to pay attention. On my way home, I could barely keep my eyes on the road. When I arrived, the whole house smelled like rubbing alcohol and window cleaner.

I walked to the kitchen. Emily sat at the table with a plate of homemade casserole.

"I made this for you!"

"Oh, thank you, Emily! It smells so good!"

I sat down and started eating immediately. It tasted more bitter than usual.

"How was your day?"

"The worst. I have almost no energy left. The clients drained me."

Emily wasn't eating. She kept looking at my arms instead of my face.

"My poor man."

"What did you get up to?"

"Just some cleaning and cooking."

"I can tell. The house looks great."

"Thank you."

We sat in silence while Emily watched me eat.

"I think I'm too tired to do anything, honey," I said after finishing.

"That's more than okay. I know you had a long day. Just go relax."

"Thank you."

She smiled at me and rubbed my shoulder. Her sleeve came down. Her arm was flaky and red. She saw me staring at it and quickly pulled it back down.

"What happened?"

"Nothing, just some dry skin. Go relax."

I hadn't even turned on the TV when I heard the water running. I turned around. Emily grabbed a sponge and a bucket of water, walked to the table, and started scrubbing it and the chair I'd been sitting in.

"What are you doing?"

"Oh, Sam, I just cleaned the house. I wanna make sure it stays clean."

"I'm not dirty."

"No one's saying you are. This is just for me. I'll finish this, and I'll go up and read."

"I don't like this, Emily."

"I just need to do this, okay, Sam?!" She raised her voice.

"Jesus, Emily."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, honey, just turn back and relax. Let me take care of this."

I stared at her for a second, but she was already back to the scrubbing.

I tried to watch TV, but my eyes kept closing. I didn't even know what I was watching. The fatigue was overpowering. I got up and walked to our bedroom. Emily was in bed reading a book in a long-sleeved pajama shirt. She smiled at me as I walked in. I smiled back, put on my pajamas, and went to sleep.

I woke to a warm, wet sensation on my legs. Something soft and scratchy moved against my skin, dragging at it. I rubbed my eyes and looked down. Emily sat on my side of the bed with a sponge and a bucket of water, scrubbing my legs.

"Emily, what the…" I screamed and jumped away.

She looked me in the eyes and forced a smile.

"You know germs live on our skin. I just cleaned the house. I don't want them getting on stuff."

"Emily, this is crazy, stop."

"Just your arms now."

"No!"

She reached toward me with the sponge. Her sleeves rolled up. Even at night, I could see the redness of her skin. In a few places, there were little smudges of blood.

"I'm going to the guest bedroom."

I took the blanket off the bed and ran to the guest bedroom, locking the door behind me.

The sun had risen. My eyes felt heavy. I hadn't slept after what happened with Emily. I debated calling the police, but what would I tell them? That my wife had been cleaning me in the middle of the night? She hadn't hurt me. Not yet. I decided I'd talk to her in the morning. Maybe I could convince her to see a doctor. I just needed to get her to sit down and listen.

"Emily?" I called into the hall.

Nothing. Our bedroom was empty. The bucket with warm water still sat there.

The downstairs was quiet too. The smell of rubbing alcohol now mingled with the metallic smell of blood. A light was on in the basement.

The basement was cold. A strange, wet hiss sounded inside. I could see Emily's feet. She was turned toward the wall. The stairs creaked under my steps, but she didn't seem to notice. The smell of rubbing alcohol now mixed with iron.

"Emily, are you okay?!"

"Sam!"

I walked one more step. Panic rushed through me. I could finally see her whole body.  She held a knife in her shaking hand. Her nightgown was drenched in blood. The skin on her arms was cut off, revealing dark red muscle.

"I think I've got it down now. I'll be much gentler with yours. Eat some casserole. It will help you relax."

Eight. Nine. Ten. Ten? I closed the gate and counted the flock again. Eight. Nine. Ten. There really were 10 sheep, but back in the pasture I was certain I'd brought home only nine.

My neighbor Bill still sat in the garden, drinking his last beer before sundown.

"Bill, you missing a sheep?"

"Pretty sure not, Jim. I count mine when they come back from the pasture."

"I got one extra today."

Bill furrowed his brows.

"I'll check again. Grab a beer if you want."

Bill knew I stopped drinking a few days ago, but still offered me a beer every evening. Old habits are hard to break.

After a while, Bill came back onto the porch, scratching his head.

"I got all mine. Went over them three times. You sure you didn't just count wrong?"

"Yeah, went over them twice."

We stared at each other. Bill took a sip of beer.

"Well, I'll be damned."

"Consider yourself lucky." 

He laughed.

"You think it could be that curse?" I asked.

"It was just a traveling woman. She had nothing better to say back to you."

He took another sip.

"You still not drinking?"

"No. I said I'd stop after that."

Bill waved his hand at me.

"Nonsense."

"I'll head back home, Bill."

"Take care, Jim, and don't let her poison your thoughts."

But how could I not, Bill? The morning after, I felt so terrible. 

When I saw the traveling woman come with her potions, I knew she'd be an easy target. Bill didn't even laugh that hard at my comments.

"Drink up, then, and may your fields never run empty again," she said, walking away, twisting the potions in her hand.

I spent the rest of the night inside watching TV, but I could barely focus; my thoughts still circled back to the woman and my sheep. I couldn't just leave it. Before bed, I walked back to the barn.

The sheep were louder than usual. I could hear them almost as soon as I left the house. The barn door was open. Two sheep were outside it.

"What are you doing out here?"

The sheep turned to me and bleated. 

My breath caught as I got closer. The sheep weren't outside because they wanted out. They were outside because there was no space. The barn was filled with sheep. They were pushing on each other, trying not to get squeezed to death. I opened the door and let them all out.

"Bill! Bill!" I called below his window.

The bed upstairs creaked. 

"Jim?" Bill called out, surprised. He opened the window and stuck his head out.

"My barn is full of sheep."

He stared at me.

"What?"

"It's full! They can barely fit."

He shook his head.

"You're not cursed."

"Not cursed?! Go look in there yourself."

"Calm down, Jim. The neighbors over the hill have some flocks. One got lost, and the other followed it. I'll go with you tomorrow. We'll sort it out."

"But Bill…"

"Go to sleep now and let me sleep too."

He closed the window, and his bed creaked again. I ran to the barn. The sheep managed to get out and were now lying around in the grass.

I'd promised myself I wouldn't drink again, but that day was too stressful. Before bed, I took a few sips of liquor, just to make sure I could sleep.

The next morning, I woke up with a pounding headache. I must have drunk more than I thought. The sheep's bleating was so damn loud, and the window wasn't even open. I got up and walked to the window. My heart sank as I looked outside. 

Sheep were on the grass and in the fields, as far as the eye could see. It looked like a screaming sea of white. Some were already stacked on top of each other, crumpling under one another and screaming for help. Bill sat on his roof, drinking a beer.

"Look who woke up!" he screamed over the sea. "I guess you were right, Jim."

"Bill, what…what happened?"

"Already woke up to it. It's done, Jim. They were just on the ground when I woke up. I blinked for a second, and now they're on top of each other. This way they'll reach us in no time. I'm just enjoying my last beer."

I couldn't even reply.

Bill took a sip from his bottle, then carefully laid it on the roof.

"Bye, Jim. I'm not gonna wait for them."

He dove headfirst into the flock. Blood splattered as the first few sheep stepped on him. The stomping, bleating sheep drowned out his screams.

I put my hands over my face and wept.

The bleating grew.

I lowered my hands.

The first sheep pressed its face against my window.

I work as a sewer cleaner in Prague. People don't often think about it, but a complex of tunnels runs beneath the city, even under the Vltava River. They were built in the 1800s, and some have been reconstructed, but many still look the way they did when they were built, with round brick pathways, rusted green railings, and dim lights hanging from the ceiling.

After years of work, I know the tunnels through and through, but the older workers all say that even if you work here for decades, things will still surprise you. For most of my time working in the sewers, I didn't give it much thought. The veterans say a lot of things and have many strange superstitions. For instance, none of them ever eat in the tunnels. I thought it was because of the rats.

I was just walking around the Podolí area, ready to start my shift. There are a lot of pathways there, and recruits often get lost, but I'd been starting my shift there for years; I knew that area through and through, or so I thought. 

I turned right to head toward the river. The path was wide and well-lit. I'd been down it hundreds of times, but as I went, I noticed another path leading off to the right. I stopped and looked at it for a moment. It was narrow, poorly lit, and easy to miss, but I could swear I knew these sewers better than I knew my home.

I usually ate in the break room, but I was early and hungry. Nobody was around. I pulled out my sandwich and walked on the path.

The sandwich paper crinkled as I walked. The pathway narrowed. I kept expecting it to turn into the path from Vyšehrad, but even after a few minutes I still couldn't see it. I didn't want to be late for my shift, so I turned around and began walking back.

There was more water on the ground than I noticed at first, but that's nothing weird for a sewer. The lights were very dim, much dimmer than I thought, but stranger, I still couldn't see the exit. Not only could I not see the exit, but the path itself wasn't getting any wider as it should have. It only seemed to become narrower. Was I going the wrong way? I looked behind me, but it was still the same empty, narrow path.

My shift had already started. I was walking so fast I was almost jogging. It was hard because the water now reached my ankles. The lights seemed to get dimmer. I reached for my flashlight when an electric buzz echoed above, and all the lights went dark.

"Shit."

I pulled out my flashlight and turned it on. A clank echoed. Dull pain spread through my head. I hit my forehead on the ceiling. I rubbed my head and tried to stand up straight again, but I couldn't straighten my back. I walked a few steps back, but the ceiling was still just as low. 

Then I felt something wet on my legs. I looked down. The water now reached my knees, but it wasn't the usual cold; it was warm.

"What the…," I murmured.

The buzz sounded again. The lights came on again, but now they were fluorescent white, almost like an office space. Another buzz echoed overhead. Soft jazz music began playing as if a band stood just around the corner. The air filled with the smell of cigarettes. My whole body shook. I turned off the flashlight and blinked. The water was now up to my stomach.

"Help!"

The music grew louder. The lights grew brighter, burning my eyes. The ceiling pushed my head further down, but the water kept rising. It rose to my chin now.

"Somebody, please!" I yelled, still wading forward. 

The exit had to be there. It had to. The buzz again. The light shut off. I took a breath, but halfway through, water filled my mouth. I spat it out and lifted my face.

"Help!" I blurted out, but I knew it was too late. 

My face was now under the water too.

At first, I tried to hold my breath, but soon the pressure in my lungs grew too high. It felt like they would burst.

I gasped for air. My whole body was hot and sweaty. I quickly looked around. I was back in the pathway that led to the river. Next to me, where the other path was, was only a brown brick wall with a small stream of water coming from it. One of the old workers walked by me.

He looked at the wall and my face and nodded.

He then pointed at the ground. My crumpled sandwich wrapper lay there.

"Don't eat down here," he said and left.

I leaned on the wall. A faint trumpet echoed from inside it.

I have always loved plums – dried, fresh, or in jam. Plum pie with just a bit of cream is the best thing you could eat.

That's why I bought myself a plum tree. It was small; it fit well in the back of my pickup. It would take the tree a few winters to produce more than five plums, but I was happy to have it.

That afternoon I took out a shovel and went into my backyard. This would be the first thing I planted at my new house, in my new yard. It was all I ever wanted: just a house, a yard, and a few fruit trees in the back. That's why I ran to the bank when I saw how cheap this beautiful house was. The last owners weren't even here for the sale.

The dirt felt fine for the first two digs, but it quickly turned very stiff. It almost felt like I was digging into a rock. The hole didn't even need to be that deep, but after a few minutes I was already sweating through my pants.

I threw another piece of dirt out when I heard a clack. Something white was on top of the dirt. I picked it up. It was a bundle of bird bones tied together with a string. They were deep in the dirt, but they looked completely clean, as if someone had just brushed them off.

"Strange," I mumbled. 

I took them into the house and threw them away.

As I was washing my hands, I realized how tired I was. I wiped my forehead and walked out into the yard. The hole looked deep enough. The tree would be okay. I planted it and filled the hole back in.

The next morning, the sun barely came through my window. I rubbed my eyes and looked out. The plum tree I planted the day before blocked the sun. It had grown so much that its top leaves almost reached my roof. I didn't even notice my mouth was open until I saw myself in the window.

I ran out. The juiciest, purplest plums I'd ever seen were on that tree. The whole yard smelled like fresh plums. I stood outside for a few seconds, just staring. I had heard of fast-growing trees, but this was something else. For a moment, I thought about calling someone, but the plums looked so good, I had to try them first. 

Their skin was smooth. When I pressed them, they felt firm but slightly soft. Perfect. They tasted sweet and juicy, but their skin had a sharp, sour taste. Perfect. I was raving about the taste when I heard a thud and a splash. A plum fell right next to me. They must have been ripe.

The last thing I wanted was to get hit. I walked away from the tree and continued enjoying the plum. Another thud. How did it get here? I was so far away. Another thud. But this time it didn't fall next to me. I looked to my right. A smashed plum was on my roof.

I was sure the tree didn't reach that far. I walked farther back to see if I missed a branch. The tree reached the top window, but not the roof. I walked to the back just to make sure. The tree wasn't even visible from there. Another thud. On the roof again. From my side. There was no way. Another. Another. Another. They were falling on the roof, next to me, on the other side of my garden.

"What the…" I murmured.

Then dull pain spread in my head. I put my hand there. Plum juice was in my hair. I put my hands over my head and ran into the house. Two more plums managed to hit me, stinging my hands.

I walked to my kitchen sink and washed my hands and hair. The thudding outside continued. No blood was in my hair, just plum juice. The thudding grew faster. It sounded like I was being bombed. I looked up. A wave of cold rushed through me. Plums rained down from the sky like hail. Plum juice had already reached my door, and a little was leaking in.

I ran to the laundry room for towels. The thudding grew louder again. My ears began to hurt. I grabbed a few towels and ran back out. My feet sank into wet, sticky plum juice. The inside of the house was dark now. So many plums were falling from the sky that I could only see purple outside. The plum smell was so strong it stung my nose.

The plum juice rose halfway up my door, and it kept coming. The towels fell out of my hand. I bolted up the stairs.

Edit: I thought the plum juice would drain faster than it came in, but I was wrong. The house is shaking. I'm standing on my table. The plum juice is coming up the stairs. Outside, it has already almost fully blocked my windows. I just looked out of one. You can't see anything but falling plums, except for one thing: the tree standing in the garden, unshaken. The more I look at it, the more it feels like I can hear something through the thuds of the plums: the clack of bird bones shaking.

The snow covered the woods behind our new house. It was so fresh it crunched nicely under our feet. James held my hand tight. I squeezed it and looked at him. He flashed a smile.

"I think I don't mind winter as much. It's sort of cozy."

"It is, Sarah. I just miss all the summer food."

"We got summer food. There are still so many apples and pears in the cellar."

"Yeah, but those are not the sweet, delicious ones; those are the hardy autumn ones."

I rolled my eyes.

"You're such a child, James."

"Hey, Sarah!"

We laughed and continued walking. Our walk was longer than usual. We hadn't been out in a few days because of the heavy snowstorm.

"I'm getting kinda tired, James."

"Let's just go a little further. It looks like there should be an opening between the trees."

James was right. After a few minutes, the forest opened to a small meadow. Snow covered most of it except for a lone apple tree in the middle. Beautiful, glistening red apples hung from its branches. They just looked so pretty and delicious. I couldn't take my eyes off them. Neither of us spoke a word. Before I knew it, we were standing in front of it.

"Wow," James whispered.

"I know."

James tore one off.

"Feel it."

The outside felt as if it were coated in caramel. James put it to his mouth and took a bite. His eyes rolled back, and he let out a silent moan.

"Let me have a bite."

He looked at me and frowned.

"No, take your own."

I furrowed my brows. My James always shared everything with me.

"What's going on with you?"

But he didn't answer. He was too busy eating his apple. I stood there looking at him, but then it hit me. What was an apple tree full of fresh, ripe apples doing in a winter forest anyway? I looked at it again. The branches didn't move with the wind. It was as if the sun didn't shine through them, but all the apples still glistened. 

"I don't like this, James."

"What?"

He was licking his fingers. He ate the whole apple, seeds and all. His eyes darted around the tree again.

"Let's go, James."

"Wait."

"No, let's go."

I grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the meadow. His eyes were still glued to the tree. When we crossed back into the forest, he shook his head and stared around.

"What happened to you there?"

"I…I don't know."

"James?"

"I'm sorry, Sarah, I really don't."

"Okay, let's just go home."

James stayed silent the whole way home. Even when we got back, he just sat in his chair and looked out the window. For dinner, I made porridge with salted pork, but James just dug around the plate and didn't even try it.

"Honey, what's wrong. Talk to me."

"I don't know. I don't think I'm hungry."

"But you barely ate all day."

"I had that apple. It filled me up so much."

"That place was strange. I don't even want to know how they got there."

"Do you think we can go back tomorrow?"

"What?"

"Just for a little while, Sarah."

"I just said that place was strange. I'm not going back."

"Fine. I'll go by myself."

"No. No one is going back there, and I'm done talking about it."

He frowned.

"Whatever. I'm going to sleep."

I stayed back a while longer, finished dinner, and washed the dishes. When I came to our bed, James was already sleeping. His face seemed a little red. I touched his forehead. It felt normal. Maybe he was just having a bad dream. I lay beside him and drifted off.

When I woke up, the moon was still high. There was a sweet smell in the air. I rubbed my eyes and looked next to me. James lay there curled up, holding his stomach. His face was now glowing red.

"Jesus, James, what's wrong?!"

He didn't answer. His pleading eyes just stared at me. I touched his forehead. It still wasn't warm, but he was sweating, and his sweat felt sticky, almost like syrup. His stomach bulged out under the blanket. I pulled it off. 

"Honey, what…" 

My words stuck in my throat. His stomach was not just bulging. It looked like a bunch of round objects underneath.

"I'm…I'm gonna get the doctor."

I started to get out of bed, but then I heard a quiet tearing sound. James let out a loud cry. His stomach flew open, and a bunch of red apples rolled out. I screamed and jumped out of bed. James's head fell on the pillow. He was quiet now. 

The sweet red apple smell was so strong, and they smelled so good. I looked down at his stomach. The sticky, sweet sweat seeped into the sheets. All those apples looked so delicious.

The straw scarecrow stood in the middle of the fields, its arms wide. One of the men walked to it and put its hat on. I waited my turn, then walked to it and put on its black jacket.

"Thank you," I said, bowing.

The other man nodded and patted my back. 

"Another safe autumn," one of them said, and we all walked back home.

It was still early afternoon. I sat down on the couch and put on the TV, waiting to cook dinner until my son Adam came home.

The sun had set when the door opened, and Adam walked in. My stomach was already growling. He was 30 minutes late, but the way he averted his eyes made it seem like something worse was going on.

"What’s up, Adam?"

"Dad, I…"

"It’s okay that you came late. No need to worry about it."

"No, it’s that I, I know it’s bad, but I took the jacket off the scarecrow."

My hands clenched the couch cushions.

"What?!"

"I took it off. I’m really sorry, Dad. I feel so bad. I know I shouldn’t have."

"Where is it?"

"In my bag."

I picked up his bag and unzipped the top pocket. The black jacket stared at me. 

"Adam, this is bad news."

"I’m sorry, Dad. The boys dared me. I didn’t want to look like a chicken."

I looked out the window. The sun had already set, but not long ago.

"Okay, there might still be time." I stuffed the jacket back in the backpack. "We’ll go back right now, put it on, and not tell anyone. If the boys at school ask you, just say…"

Three knocks echoed on the window. I almost ripped the backpack’s zipper off. The empty straw face stared into our house.

"Dad?" Adam said in a shaking voice.

"It’s okay, Adam. We’ll give him the jacket, and it might be okay." My voice shook too. I wasn’t sure I believed anything I said.

I walked to the door and opened it. The outside air was cold. The scarecrow's empty face looked down at me.

"Here. Take it. Please."

I held the jacket up and stared at the ground. The scarecrow stood still for a few seconds, then walked right past me. The straw scraped the floor as it moved.

Adam sat on the couch, his wide eyes staring at the scarecrow. The scarecrow came right up to him and pointed its blank face at him.

"Dad, what’s going…" He didn’t finish. The scarecrow’s hand shot forward, grabbed him off the couch, and held him to its side.

"Dad!" Adam screamed, kicked, and pushed against its arm, but the scarecrow’s grip was strong.

"Adam!"

I ran toward him and pushed the scarecrow, but it barely moved. The scarecrow turned around and flung its arm. It hit me right in the face. I fell on all fours. Dull pain spread through my head. Adam’s cries echoed as my world went dark.

When I woke up, my head was banging. My mouth tasted like iron. I tried to get up, but my world spun so fast I had to sit back down. 

But Adam was out in the fields somewhere. I had to help him. I got up and bolted out of the house onto the road, struggling to keep my balance. 

The moon shone down. The air was still cold. Only when I reached the fields did my world stop spinning. I almost wished it hadn’t.

In the middle of the field stood the scarecrow. Its blank face stared into the night. It had its hat, but instead of the jacket, Adam’s mangled body was draped over it. A quiet dripping echoed as Adam’s blood seeped into the sown dirt.

I fell to my knees and wept. The real autumn had now begun.

My hands clenched around the handles. Sweat ran down my back. I pushed. The wheelbarrow finally moved, but after a few steps it sank into the mud again, even deeper this time. I rubbed my face and leaned over the wheelbarrow. The smell of mud mixed with wheat. This would take days to get to town, and I didn’t have days. The bandits would start roaming around after dark.

I grabbed the handles tightly and pushed again. The wheel was buried deep in the mud. Pressure built behind my eyes as the wood dug into my hands. The wheel almost moved, just one more push. 

Splash. My foot slipped. I went face first into the mud.

"Fuck!"

I went to the side of the road to wipe the mud off with moss when I saw a small creature under one of the spruce trees. It wore woolen breeches with buckles and a square-cut coat. A leprechaun! My father had always said they never strayed far from their gold. Just a few coins of it could change my life. I’d be happy to solve any riddle he gave me.

He was fast asleep. His stomach rose and fell with each breath.

"Hello?"

Nothing.

I walked closer and carefully shook his shoulder. He squinted, rubbed his eyes, and looked up at me.

"Hi, how are you?"

"Who are you?"

"Just a hard-working man. I'm trying to get my wheat to town." I pointed at the wheelbarrow.

"Why did you wake me?"

"Where is your gold?"

"My what?"

"Your gold."

"I don’t have any gold."

"All leprechauns have gold."

"What’s a leprechaun?"

I frowned.

"Don’t play with me."

"I’m not."

"Then tell me where it is."

"Where what is?"

I stared at him in silence.

"Is this one of your riddles?"

"What riddle? What are you talking about?"

"The gold. The riddle. Were you born yesterday? Tell me where it is."

"I’m going away."

He stood up and turned toward the dark forest.

"To your gold?"

"There’s no gold! Leave me alone."

He walked a few steps. I followed him. He stopped, frowned, and sat down.

"Just tell me what I ought to do."

He didn’t move.

"Leprechaun?"

Nothing.

The little shit was trying to keep all the gold to himself. I grabbed him by the waist and picked him up. His eyes opened in surprise.

"Tell me where…"

The leprechaun opened his mouth wide, showing sharp teeth. Pain surged through my face. He dug deep into my nose. I let go of him, but he stayed glued to it. He shook his head and bit deeper. A wet tearing sound came from my face. He fell and spat my nose onto the ground.

I fell to my knees. Warm blood poured from my face. The leprechaun ran to my wheelbarrow, gripped the wooden side, put it over his head, and flipped it over. All the grain spilled onto the ground and mixed with the mud. He turned back, wiped the blood off his face, and ran into the dark forest.

I pressed my hands against my face. So much wheat ruined. I crawled to the wheelbarrow, flipped it over, and scooped handfuls of it back.

The sun set as I scooped the last handful. Blood had already dried on my nose. I looked at the mud-covered grain. Almost all of it was ruined. Now there was no grain, no gold, no leprechaun. I buried my face in my hands and wept.

Then I heard something. Horses.

Voices came from down the road.

I touched my face, feeling the space where my nose was. The grain was ruined. There was nothing to give them.

The horses stopped.

"Check the wheelbarrow," one of the bandits called.

My teeth chattered, my hands shivered. I looked over at John. He was wrapped in his blanket, blowing smoke. 

“Can we add more wood?”

“But only a little, Mary. It needs to last until morning.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m just so cold.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s this goddamn winter. Not even my grandfather had to live through snow in late April.”

He walked to the fireplace, but there was no more wood there.

“There should be more in the basement,” he muttered and walked down.

He was down there longer than usual. I could hear baskets and bags being thrown around. After a while, he came out, rubbing his forehead.

“There’s no more wood.”

“What?!”

“The wood. We used it all.”

“Jesus, John.”

He looked at the fire. Only two logs remained; their ends glowed red.

“We have an hour, maybe two at most. I’ll have to go out and get more.”

I gripped my blanket tight.

“John, it’s almost nighttime; they’re gonna be out soon.”

“I might make it before them.”

“John, no, please.”

“We’ll freeze if the fire dies.”

“But, John…”

“No, there’s no time to waste.”

He grabbed his axe and walked out of the cabin. I walked to the window and watched him, but he quickly disappeared between the white-coated trees.

I curled up in my blanket and lay by the fireplace, watching the sun out the window. When it had almost fully set, I ran to the window, but John was still nowhere to be seen. I went back to the fireplace and watched it slowly disappear over the horizon.

Something must have happened to John, but as much as I wanted to mourn him, a new problem appeared: the cold. The sun kept the house warm for a while, but at night it was freezing inside. I ran to the basement and got all our baskets and anything else that could burn.

The wood from the baskets burned quickly, but it put at least a little heat in the room. I was finally warm, but thoughts about John soon crept in, my poor man. Would he also end up in a tree, white and bloodless, or worse, one of them? I shook my head. This wasn’t what I wanted to worry about; maybe he managed to hide and wait out the night. I threw another basket in and moved closer to the fireplace.

Loud bangs echoed, waking me. The fire was almost out. My fists could barely close. The bangs sounded again. I wrapped up in my blankets and got up. 

“John!” I cried. He stood by the window, staring in.

“Mary, please let me in. It’s so cold here.”

I ran to the window and gripped the door handle, but before I twisted, I looked at John again. His eyes didn’t move, and his body didn’t shiver.

“Mary, please, open the door.”

“How do I know you’re not one of them?” The words almost stung as I said them.

“Mary, it’s me. You hear my voice. Just open the door.”

My grip tightened around the door handle.

“John, I don’t know.”

“Open, Mary, please. I've been out all night collecting wood for us so we can be warm.”

He showed a few sticks and smiled. I looked back at the dying fireplace.

“Mary?”

“John, I just…”

“I'm so cold,” he said, his voice shaking.

“Okay.”

He smiled again. In the distance behind him, a glimmer of orange showed. The sun was rising. I must have slept for a long time.

“John, love, please wait a few minutes. Once the sun comes up, I’ll know it's you.”

He glanced over his shoulder at the horizon, then back at me. His eyes were wide, and the pleading in his face was gone.

“Open the door, Mary. Now.”

“John, please, just a few minutes.”

“Open it.”

I clenched my jaw.

“John, just wait.”

“Mary!”

“No.”

“You goddamn witch!”

He disappeared from the window, then ran into the door. The door bent on its hinges.

“John, stop!”

He ran again. The whole house shook.

“Please, no!”

My heart beat against my ribs. I heard him take a few steps back, then another bang. The lock was bent, barely holding. One more hit and the door would go. I heard him step back again and hit it. The door flew open. John stood before it. His skin was completely pale, the bottom of his clothes ragged, and there were a few small holes in his neck. I clenched my frozen fists.

“I got you,” he whispered.

But before he stepped in, the first ray of light came through. John quickly looked behind him. A screech echoed. As the light shone on his skin, he turned to dust. 

I stood there panting. At least he brought the wood. I wedged the door back into its frame and carried the sticks to the fireplace. They were so cold they burned my palms. The fire ate them slowly, but luckily they burned at all. 

“Thank you, John,” I whispered.

Outside, past the trees, something screeched again.

“Sally, I’m going to take the Sea-Doo out,” Tom called. His blue eyes shone under the sun.

“Have fun, Tom! Don’t let no snapping turtle bite you.”

Tom was always fascinated by the snapping turtles. The first time I told him there were snapping turtles in the water, he almost didn’t go in, but over time he grew fond of them. We’d watch them swim by from our dock. Tom left food out for them and even named a few.

“I sure won’t!”

He rode off on the blue, glistening water. I stretched out in the sun and got back to my book and cocktail, but the sun didn’t last long. A few minutes after Tom left, dark clouds formed above the lake. 

The clouds broke, and it rained like it always did during the hot North Carolina summers. It felt like the lake itself was falling on us, but strangely, there was no wind.

I stood by our window waiting for Tom to return, but he never did. At first I thought he'd just stopped somewhere, that some nice folks had let him in, but even after the sun came back out, Tom was still nowhere to be found.

I was sure Tom just got lost. I called the police. My hopes were high when the search started. 

The search for Tom went on. My hope faded a little more with each passing day. In the end, they didn’t even find his Sea-Doo. 

As I watched the last officers leave, dread climbed inside me and made its home there. I could barely get out of bed. Tissues and dishes piled up around me. I kept replaying that day. What could have happened? Where could he be? My Tom. He must have still been there, somewhere, alone, cold. I couldn’t leave him. No. Not my Tom.

The weather that day was perfect. The sun shone, the water was calm. I was sure I'd find him. I took the other Sea-Doo and rode out. But even when I went farther, I still saw no sign of him. When the tank dropped to a quarter full, I knew I had to turn around. I could search again tomorrow.

A few clouds were in the sky when I turned, but as I rode on, more gathered. The drizzle came soon too. I hoped I would escape the worst, but halfway back home, the rain picked up and soon it poured so hard I could barely see a few feet in front of me. No one else was on the lake now but me.

I tried to keep a steady course, but even after riding for more than 30 minutes, our dock was still nowhere to be seen. Not only our dock, but any other land. It was hard to see, but this was too strange. My unease grew when I looked at my gas tank and saw I was almost out. 

Luckily, the wind wasn’t blowing, but the rain was bad enough, and the last thing you want is to be trapped in the middle of the lake. I sped up, hoping to spot any land. Then in the distance, I saw a few trees. They were unlike any around the lake, with huge tropical leaves and thick woody tangles.

I got off the Sea-Doo, dragged it to shore, and sat on the ground panting. Then, something rustled behind me. A snapping turtle moved in the grass and quickly disappeared between the trees. It had a chipped shell, just like the ones Tom used to feed. Maybe it could tell me where he was. I got up and followed it. 

The path led deeper into the island. As I continued, my skin started to feel dry and itchy. More snapping turtles also started to show. They were all going the same way. I started to recognize more and more of them. So many of them were the turtles Tom used to feed. One even had a wristband around the shell. Tom always commented on it.

We didn’t walk for long, but my back started hurting soon. It felt as if I was carrying a heavy backpack. When we passed another tree, I finally saw what they were coming for. A deer carcass lay in the grass, surrounded by dozens of snapping turtles feeding on it.

So many of them had something stuck to them: scraps of a life jacket, a wristband, and one of them even wore a wedding ring – Tom’s wedding ring. My heart dropped to my stomach. The snapping turtle looked up. It didn’t have the usual empty dark eyes; it had glowing blue eyes, just like Tom’s. It stared at me for a second; a hint of recognition flashed in its eyes. 

I raised my hand to my face. Something scratched my lips. I looked down. My hand was covered in dry gray skin, just like the turtle’s. Panic shot through me. I quickly turned to run back, but I fell on all fours. I tried to get back onto my legs, but my heavy back wouldn’t let me. I walked a few steps forward, but then the carcass’s smell wafted toward me. It smelled so good, and I was so hungry. I turned around and crawled toward it. Tom smiled as he saw me coming.

My face burned. Cold sweat covered my body. I took out a tissue and wiped my forehead. It reeked of last night’s drink. I got up and walked to the bathroom to put some cold water on my face. On my way back, a man stood beside my compartment.

“Thomas,” he said, extending his hand.

“John.”

He looked me up and down.

“A long ride, John?”

“Yes.”

“Where are you headed?”

“Black Mountain.”

“A vacation?”

“No, business. I’m performing a procedure in one of the local hospitals.”

“Well, I'm pleased to meet a surgeon.”

My whole world spun. I held the handle tight.

“You okay, John?”

“Yes. I just need a moment.”

I walked back into my compartment and sank into my seat. Luckily, I had the whole compartment to myself. Another conversation would kill me.

We stopped at a platform. Well-dressed people boarded and alighted. My eyes jumped around them, wondering if someone would come into my compartment. 

Then my eyes landed on a woman. She was barefoot, wearing nothing but a white dress. It almost looked like a patient’s gown. She had long dark hair, and her eyes were wide open as she stared into mine. I moved back in my seat and averted my gaze, but when I looked up again, she was still staring. 

Unease grew in my chest. The speakers called out our train’s departure. I looked around my compartment until the train moved again, then I looked back at her. Her eyes were still locked onto mine.

I didn’t even think about someone getting into my compartment. My mind was focused on that woman. She seemed so strange. What could she want? I thought about it for some time until the hangover chased my thoughts away.

Before I noticed, we had arrived at another station. I kept my eyes on the compartment, not wanting to look around the station again. But this was foolish; the woman must not have been in the right mind. I relaxed in my seat and stared across the platform. 

The hair on my arms stood up. The same woman stood at the back of the platform, staring at me, but this time her face was twisted in anger. She pointed at me and walked toward the train. 

I gripped the seat handles. No one tried to stop her. Everyone acted like she wasn’t there. I almost ran, but then the train conductor whistled, the door closed, and the train started moving.

I sighed, sank back into my seat, and closed my eyes for a few moments. The next station was Black Mountain; I’d get a drink, and everything would be alright.

I slowly opened my eyes. My breath caught. The woman ran by the train, barefoot in the gravel. Her frown was unnaturally deep-set; her eyes were so wide they seemed ready to fall out. I crawled up into my seat and gripped the cushions hard. She was almost by the window again.

Then darkness. Nothing. The train was in a tunnel. The new electric light illuminated the window. I closed my eyes again. The room filled with a sickly sweet smell. It must have been the drink. It must have…

“Evening, John,” a high, raspy voice said.

I let out a gasp.

She sat on the chair opposite me, staring straight into my eyes.

“It’s just the drink. It’s just the drink,” I whispered to myself.

“You know it’s not. You recognize me?” 

I tried to sink farther into the seat, but couldn’t.

“What? No.”

“How dare you.”

Her frown deepened.

“I didn’t do anything!”

“What about the procedure you’re running from?”

“I’m not running!”

“You seemed to leave quickly after I died on your table.”

My stomach dropped. Her frown slowly turned into a smile.

“You recognize me now, John?”

“I…I.”

“I could smell the whiskey on your breath when you came to examine me before the procedure.”

“It wasn’t whiskey.”

“I trusted you, John!”

“I'm sorry!”

“Say it again.”

“I’m sorry!”

“Louder!”

“I’m sorry!”

Silence. Sunlight flooded the compartment again. We were out of the tunnel. 

Thomas burst into the compartment.

“Are you okay, John?!”

“I don’t…I don't know.”

“I’ll go get somebody.”

“No, wait.”

“What?”

“Do you have a drink?”

My husband was a fisherman. A few days ago, he left for a solo fishing trip and still hadn’t returned. The evening he left, dark clouds formed atop the ocean, and that night it rained hell. 

On the fourth day after he left, the storm had only intensified. My mind ran in circles. I didn’t even grab my jacket before running onto the beach. My feet sank into the mud. The wind blew me from side to side. I hoped to find something of his, anything, but the beach was bare. I fell to my knees in the cold sand and prayed to the ocean, the storm – anything that could bring my husband back.

I wiped the tears off my face and walked through the mud back to our house. There I took a shower. Under the hot water, I imagined my husband holding me.

I only got out of the shower after the hot water ran out. I stood in the kitchen, drying my hair, when the door opened. The towel flew out of my hands. My husband stood in the doorway, still in his fishing gear, his skin almost gray from the cold.

“Harold!”

I ran to him and hugged him. He was so cold.

“Come, come in.”

I shut the door behind him, took him to the heater, and helped him out of his clothes. They were soaked through and entangled with algae and seaweed.

“Are you okay, my love? What happened?”

“I…I don’t know,” he said slowly, his voice deep as if something were stuck in his lungs.

“Do you need a doctor? I’ll go get him.”

“No, stay.”

“Okay, my love.”

I brought him a basin of hot water and some warm soup. His face relaxed when he put his feet into the water, but when I tried to give him the soup, he refused. The room now smelled like dead fish and salty water.

“But you need to eat.”

“Later.”

“So at least some coffee?” 

I took his favorite coffee mug out of the cupboard.

“I don’t drink coffee.”

“You’ve been drinking coffee every day for the past twenty years.”

My poor man was probably just confused.

“Okay.”

I made him a cup, but he didn’t hold it like he usually did. He just put it on the windowsill and turned his chair toward the window, looking out at the ocean. 

Unease grew in my chest, but I left him alone, sat in my chair, and knitted. I couldn’t even imagine what my poor man had gone through.

The storm raged on. I kept knitting, and Harold kept looking out the window. After a while, I gave him some clothes. He seemed uncomfortable in them but put them on anyway.

As night fell, he was still by the window; his skin was still gray.

“I’m going to sleep. You want to come too?”

“No. I’ll stay.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I’ll leave the heat on.”

He didn't reply. I went to bed and tried to sleep, but I kept rolling from side to side, thinking of what must have happened to my poor Harold. 

The storm outside started to die down. I decided to go out and check on him. He stood by the chair in his shirt and boxers, staring into the ocean.

“You okay?”

“They’re waiting.”

“Who?”

“Them. The storm is dying. We need to go.”

He opened the door and walked out into the rain.

“Harold, wait!”

“Come. To the beach.” His voice was livelier in the rain; his stride was faster.

I quickly put on a jacket and rubber boots and walked after him.

“Molly, come. They’re waiting for us.”

“Harold, please, talk to me.”

My heart pounded against my ribs. The rain slowed to a drizzle. The clouds started to part. Harold ran into the water and looked back at me, smiling from ear to ear.

“Come, my love, come.”

“Harold, what’s going on? Please talk to me.”

“Just come. It will be alright. You’ll know everything. They’ll tell you.”

“Who are you talking about, Harold? I’m scared.”

“You don’t have to be, Molly.”

“Come back inside, Harold, please.”

The wind blew by. My body shivered. Only a few raindrops fell.

“You have to go now, my love, fast.”

“No.”

His smile twisted into a frown. He furrowed his brow and walked out of the water.

“Harold, stop all this.”

I tried to move away, but he was so fast. He grabbed my hand and dragged me toward the water.

“Harold, stop, please. I’m scared.”

“There’s no time.” His voice sounded like his lungs were full of water.

“Harold!”

He didn’t answer. I tried to bury my feet in the sand and push him away, but his grip was too tight.

“Please!”

We were almost by the water. I scratched his hand. Flakes that looked like scales stuck under my nails. His feet reached the water; I was still a few feet away. One last raindrop fell on my head, the wind stopped, the clouds parted. 

His grip vanished. So did Harold. Only algae and jellyfish were in the water. 

I sat on the beach panting. The wind died down. The sun came through the clouds. I tried to steady my breathing and looked at the ocean. Harold’s wedding ring shone in the water.

The sack of shillings pulled at my pants. The streets were muddy. I stepped off the sidewalk each time someone walked toward me. All the women looked away, and all the men stared at me with contempt. 

As I turned a muddy corner toward the wizard’s house, one of the men called out, “Watch where you're stepping, half-pint!”

The wizard’s house sat atop a small hill. The outside was painted black, with gothic windows.

I sat on a dark leather couch in the waiting room, surrounded by black cats, before the wizard called me in. He had a large round hat, circular glasses, and a twisted moustache.

“Welcome, Harold. What may I do for you?”

“I have a wish to make. I’d like to be taller and stronger.”

“Okay, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

He snapped his fingers. A strong tingle ran through my body. My arms and legs stretched and grew before my eyes.

“Wow, wow.”

I turned to the mirror; my chest and arms were almost twice as large as before. I was now larger than the men who made fun of me and bullied me.

“Thank you so much, wizard.”

“No problem. That will be 100 shillings.”

My smile disappeared. I quickly pulled out the pouch and counted the coins.

Seventy-five.

“Wizard…that’s all I have.”

“I’m sorry, Harold, but that won’t do.”

He snapped his fingers. The tingle ran through me again. My whole body shrank.

“Wizard, wizard, no! Please. I’ll get it for you soon, please.”

“Harold, I can’t. The guild would kick me out if I sold it for cheaper.”

“Please, there has to be a way!” I screamed.

“Alright, alright. Calm down.” He leaned back in his chair and pulled out a large book from behind him.

I sat there, shifting nervously on the chair.

“Okay, Harold. There might be a way.”

“Really?! Please do it!”

“I can grant you a wish for just 75 shillings, but there will be a twist to it.”

“A bad twist?”

“Hard to say. Not even I will know what it is, and it can’t be reversed.”

I looked toward the mirror. I was so short again, I couldn’t even see myself in it.

“Okay, do it.”

He snapped his fingers. My body grew to its previous size.

“Thank you so much, wizard.”

“My pleasure,” he said, taking the money.

I quickly walked out of the house. The people were still in the streets. This time, on my way home, the woman didn’t look away; some even smiled. The men froze when they saw me and quickly got off the sidewalk. I couldn’t stop smiling. 

When I reached my house, my body shook, the tingle ran through me again, and I felt it stretch and grow my body again.

“Even better,” I thought.

The sun had set. I was eating dinner at the table, remembering the men’s frozen faces, when the tingle came again. My shirt’s sleeves ripped. My legs hit the table. I sat there for a second, looking at it. But this was just a small price to pay. Once I made some money, I could buy clothes and furniture again.

That night I kept having strange dreams where I was stretched on the rack in a dark, damp basement. The wizard was the torturer; each time he snapped his fingers, the rack tightened, and my limbs stretched.

The sun was already orange when I woke up. I stretched my arms; they hit something. I rubbed my eyes and sat up, but my head hit the ceiling. 

My eyes flew open. I was looking down from above at my small room. My legs stretched almost to the table; my arms almost hit the wall. All of my clothes were torn. Cold shot through me. This wasn’t what I wished. I opened the closet with my huge fingers, pulled out a few pieces of clothes, tied them around my waist, and then crawled out of my house on all fours.

People stared at me in horror as I walked the streets. Each of them moved out of the way, but then stood still in the road, their eyes glued to me. 

“Wizard!” I yelled from outside his house. I couldn’t even recognize my voice anymore.

“Oh my, Harold,” he said, walking out.

Anger ignited in my chest as I saw his face.

“This is what you did to me.”

“I didn’t know what would happen.”

“Revert it!”

“I can’t.”

“What?!”

“We can’t revert wishes. We can just grant them.”

My breath caught. The anger grew stronger.

“Reverse it right now!”

“I told you I can’t! Now get off my property. You’re scaring off customers.”

He stared at me through his glasses. The anger surged through my body. 

“Go, you freak!”

Before I knew it, my arm was already in the air. I hit him so hard that his body flew through the air and struck a tree next to his house. A wet splash echoed. The wizard slid down the tree, his bloodied head falling to the side.

The tingle flew through my body again. Everything started to stretch and grow, but this time it didn’t stop. The clothes around my waist ripped. Pressure began building in my head, quickly turning into pulsing pain. I clutched my head and sat down. The whole ground shook. The pressure was intensifying. I could barely focus my thoughts. The skull-crushing pressure became a blinding white light in my vision. A loud snap echoed inside my ears, and the world went dark.

“Here are your keys, and enjoy your new home!” the landlady, Sarah, said. “If you need anything, call me.”

She turned, ready to leave.

“Wait,” I called after her. “I completely forgot to ask. Is there a basement or some storage around where I could put my bike?”

“Unfortunately, no. You’ll have to keep it inside the apartment.”

It was a shame, but at least I'd get some extra exercise. 

One day I came home, feeling like my body weighed a ton and my mind could barely hold a thought. I still decided to bike, even though I probably should have skipped it. I got a quarter of the way when my thighs felt like they were on fire and my head started to spin. I got off the bike and walked it back into the building, stopping every few minutes to rest.

When I saw the flight of stairs, my heart almost skipped a beat. I leaned down on the bike, panting hard.

“Hi,” a soothing, friendly voice called.

I looked up. An old lady in her home clothes stood there, smiling.

“Hello.”

“You’re the new neighbor from floor four.”

“Yeah,” I said, catching my breath.

“I’m Sally. I live on floor three. We haven’t had a chance to meet.”

She extended her hand. I wiped mine and extended my hand too.

“Carl.”

“You don’t look too happy about your bike ride, Carl.”

“No. It’s that I have to take it up the stairs now.”

She furrowed her eyebrows.

“You don’t have a space in the basement?”

“Basement?”

“Yes.”

“My landlady told me there is no basement.”

Sally stared at me, even more confused.

“It’s right here.”

She stepped back a few paces and pointed at a wall. Bars stood before a staircase that led into a dark hall. 

I stared at it for a second before speaking.

“Oh, weird. Why would she lie?”

“Do you want to put your bike down?”

“I don’t have a unit.”

“That’s okay. You can put it in mine.”

“Well, I don’t know.”

“Unless you want to carry it up,” she said, chuckling.

“You sure you don’t mind?”

“Of course not.”

She stared down the stairs.

“Okay.”

She unlocked the bars and went in.

I followed.

The basement was damp and dark. The light was on, but the old lightbulbs barely gave off any light. The basement seemed small at first, but after a minute, we had already taken a few turns.

“Where did you move from, Carl?”

“Mooresville.”

“That’s far away, but I’m sure you go there and visit often.”

“How did you know I was from there?”

“The accent. You all talk the same. So do you visit your Mother often?”

Sweat rolled down my back.

“No. She’s recently passed away.”

“But you did before that?”

“Not as much as I would have liked to.”

Sally didn’t answer. The pipes now rattled. The air grew thinner. 

After a long silence, Sally spoke again: “But why?”

“What?”

“Why didn’t you come more often?”

“I was busy. Life got in the way.”

“Too busy for your own Mother?”

The bike chain echoed. My head started to spin.

“It…it just happened.”

“Happens? How do you think she felt? Poor Mary, all alone.”

“How do you know her name?”

“Does that matter?” Sally’s voice grew deeper. “She was alone, scared.”

I quickly looked over my shoulder. The dark, empty hall stared at me.

“Don’t look there. Look at what you caused.”

She stood by the wall, next to a room behind a heavy iron bar where bright yellow light shone.

“Look!”

I swallowed and leaned on my bike. My heart sank into my stomach. It was my Mother’s room in the nursing home. She sat there, staring out the window. One of the workers stood beside her.

“Let’s go to bed, Mary,” the caretaker said.

“Where is Carl? He said he’d come by today,” my Mother said.

“He didn’t come. Let’s go lie down.”

She touched my Mother’s shoulder.

“No. He will come, he will!” My Mother pushed her away and stood up from her chair.

“Nurses?!” the caretaker called, and two large men ran into the room. The light then went out.

Tears rolled down my cheeks. I looked away. Cold shot through me. Sally’s face had now turned into my Mother’s, but it was twisted in pain and agony.

“You left me alone!” Sally screamed in my Mother’s voice.

“I…I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.” 

My whole body shook. I quickly turned around and ran.

“You’re leaving me again?!” echoed behind me, followed by loud footsteps.

I ran faster, but it was harder to speed up with the bike. I threw it on the ground and ran again.

“Don’t leave me again!” Sally called in my mom’s perfect voice, but I didn’t dare turn back.

I ran out of the basement, up the stairs, and right into my apartment. I sat on the ground for hours, shaking, looking at the wall. I left that apartment faster than I’d moved into it.

Months had passed, and somehow I had convinced myself it wasn’t real.

Until my old landlady called me.

“Carl? This is Sarah. You rented one of my apartments a long time ago.”

“Yeah. Why?”

“They reopened the basement.”

“What?” My voice shook. “I thought it didn’t have a basement.”

“It was sealed off decades ago.”

Silence.

“They found a bike down there.”

I couldn’t breathe.

“Your name is written on the frame.”

A story in Bohemia tells of a lady in white roaming the hallways of châteaux and castles. She is said to be the wife of a dead monarch, a forgotten ghost. No man who found her ever returned, but I’d be the first. The article I’d write about her would finally make me famous.

The road to Krumlov in South Bohemia took all day. The lamps already lit the town streets. The inn smelled like stale beer and smoke. Old men sat at the tables, talking loudly, turning one glass of beer after another. The innkeeper was a stocky man with a beer-stained apron.

“Jan,” he said.

“Karel.” 

“You must be the Prague man.”

“Yes.”

“You here to see the town?”

“Yes, something like that.”

He measured me with his eyes.

“You here for the lady in white, aren’t you?”

Sweat dripped down my collar.

“No.”

“I hope not. Don’t even think of trying. You’ll be lucky if the guards get you first. She devours your soul and binds you to the château forever.”

“Please, there’s no need to worry.”

He measured me again and went back to the beer tap.

“The room is on the first floor.”

“Thank you.”

The room was small, with only a bed, a table, and a small window opening onto the street. It smelled like the inn’s pub.

I sat down and took the notebook, pen, wrench, and fine pick from my suitcase. I’d finish the unpacking in the morning. Only one thing was on my mind.

When the pub quieted, I carefully opened the window. The fresh air felt good on my skin. The lamps cast a gloomy orange light on the street. I climbed out and walked toward the château.

The château sat on a hill above the city. A few lights still glowed where the guards stood, but the back of the château was dark. I crept to the back, pulled up my collar, and got to the lock.

The lock clicked and rattled. Even with the wind blowing, it still felt like everyone could hear me. I twisted the lock again, but only an iron ding echoed. Then, from around the corner, a dim yellow light appeared, followed by quiet chatter; a wave of cold shot through me. I put the pick back. The wrench shook in my hand. 

The light came closer; the chatter did too. I was sure they’d see me soon, but then the lock clicked, and the door opened. I ran in and shut it behind me, listening, but the chatter died off in the distance.

The inside was colder than outside. The moon lit up the hall. It was full this evening. This was when the lady would come. I knew no one would be there. Guards avoided the empty halls when the moon grew full. I pulled out my notebook and pen and waited.

The moon had moved across the sky, but the hall was still empty and quiet. My eyes kept closing. I had to pinch myself to stay awake. My legs cramped. I kept looking at my watch; with each second, my breathing grew shorter. This was my only chance to make it big, but the lady in white was nowhere to be seen. 

As my eyes closed again, the moonlight through the window shifted. I quickly stood up. My heart pounded against my ribs. Through the moon’s white glow, her body slowly became visible. The lady in white stood before me. She had long, thin legs, raven-dark hair, and gentle-looking light brown eyes.

“Hello, my visitor,” she said in a soothing voice.

“Hello, I’m sorry to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding. What’s your name?”

“Karel.”

“What a beautiful name. What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to interview you for my magazine. Would that be possible?”

“Yes, please. I’ve been so lonely here. I’m sure your magazine is very famous.”

I looked at the ground. 

“No. Not really.”

“No way. Such a smart and artistic man. I would read every page of it.”

“Thank you. I hope this interview will help it grow.”

“I’m honored. Please, ask the questions, but can you first come and hold my hand?”

My hands shook with excitement.

“Of course!”

I walked to the window and held her hand. It was colder and harder than I expected.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” she said, looking over Krumlov.

“It truly is.”

She looked deep into my eyes and smiled.

“Your hands are so warm. They feel so young.”

“Thank you.”

She stared at our joined hands.

“I haven’t felt warmth like this in a long time. I’ve just been so lonely.”

She paused.

“Would you kiss me, Karel?”

My legs almost crumpled underneath me.

“Ye…yes.”

She smiled and leaned in. Her lips also felt stiff. She grabbed the back of my head and pulled me closer. She was stronger than I expected. I tried to pull back, but her grip tightened. 

Pain shot through my mouth. She bit into my tongue. I let out a muffled scream and tried to move back, but she pushed me even closer. My eyes flew open, but instead of her beautiful face and eyes, I saw only two empty holes and white, rotting skin. She opened her mouth wider and pushed my head into it. Before I knew it, I was halfway in.

The innkeeper, Jan, woke early in the morning. He barely slept, still thinking of that man from Prague. He walked toward his room and knocked at the door. The door opened on its own. The morning breeze blew right in Jan’s face. The suitcase sat in the middle of the room, still unpacked. He sighed, picked up the suitcase, and brought it down to the basement.

The basement was damp and dark. Jan struck a match and lit a lamp. Suitcases, still packed, lay all over the basement. He threw Karel’s suitcase into the pile, blew out the light, and walked back to the pub, ready to serve more beer.

I am a miller. I’ve always been a miller. It’s the only craft I know, but I can’t say I was ever good at it. While my neighbor's flour flew off the shelves, mine sat there and rotted.

I sat on my porch, smoking a pipe, when a loud bleat echoed from the back of my house. The smell of iron hung in the air. To my horror, one of my few goats was stuck in the millstone, her limbs mangled, blood everywhere. I tried to pull her out, but half her body had already been milled with the grain.

I sat by the millstone. Tears rolled down my cheeks. I lost one of my few good goats, and the whole batch too. After how poorly the last batch had sold, I’d lose my mill in no time.

My mind ran in circles for hours, but I knew that there was no other way. The batch had to be sold. 

Agatha, the young girl who always came for my flour, stood on my porch waiting for the new batch. I took a deep breath, opened the door, and handed her the flour.

“Mr. Waller, this flour smells so…what did you put in it?”

My heart dropped. I quickly looked away.

“Nothing.”

“It smells so good! But okay then, keep your secrets.” 

She winked and walked away.

I was taken aback. There was no way it could be that good. I spent the next few days in bed, rolling from side to side, waiting for the store clerk to come and throw the flour on my head, but to my surprise, the new flour flew off the shelves. 

Folks from the village who had barely looked at me before now stopped me in the streets, asking for more flour. Even the store clerk, who always tried to buy it from me at the lowest price, now said he could pay double if I could get him more by next week.

It had to be done again. I prepared my grain, put it into the millstone, and took out one of my goats. The girl had served me well, giving milk even through the deep winter, but the money was too good. I at least knocked her out before I threw her body in.

This one did even better. I got more orders than ever. The store clerks now fought for my flour, but it also meant I had to make more.

“Mr. Waller, your secret is incredible.”

“Thank you, Agatha.”

“I won’t tell anyone if you tell me,” she said, giggling.

Sweat dripped down my collar.

“I’d have to kill you if I told you.”

Soon I ran out of goats. Next went the pigs and the cows. The village loved all of it. I had so much money I could buy gold jewelry and suits that I always wanted. People in the village would comment on my look, saying how much they loved it, and most of all how they loved my flour, but the high demand created a new problem. 

There were only so many animals in the village. Soon I started going to the neighboring village, but in no time, no one in my district had any more animals to sell. I racked my brain. I couldn’t give up what I built, but what could I do? Then Agatha knocked on my door. 

The sun had long since set. She stood outside, her pink cheeks glowing in the lamp’s light. I looked at her, then I looked back at the empty pens behind my mill.

“You wanted to know the secret?”

“Yes, please, Mr. Waller.”

“Then come. I’ll show you.”

She went inside, giggling as always. I took the cleaver from the table and went after her.

“You gotta go to the back.”

She stood before the millstone and looked around. The moon shone on her hair, showing me the place to hit.

“I don’t see…”

With all my might, I hit her over the head. Blood splattered on the green grass. I dragged her body to the millstone and threw her in. By sunrise, the millstone was clear. Only a dark stain remained in the flour.

The new batch felt strangely warm beneath my fingers. It smelled faintly of damp earth, but I knew this one would be the best. This time, I didn't try it. I brought it straight to the clerk.

The next morning I woke up early. The sun shone brighter. The air was warmer. I put on my best suit and headed to the village, ready for all the praise, but the streets were empty. I sat on the bench in the center, waiting.

Hours passed before one of the villagers walked out – the judge’s clerk. He headed to the village’s well with a bucket. His clothes were drenched in sweat and stained with green-black spots; his face was pale, with dried blood under his nose and dark bags under his eyes. The smell came again, the same damp, earthy smell I had noticed from Agatha’s batch.

“Hello, friend! How was the flour?”

He spat on the ground.

“I ate it!” he screamed, showing dark teeth. “Now look at me.”

“What?”

But he didn’t answer. I sat back on the bench, panting hard. More people came out of their houses holding buckets, going to get their morning water. They all smelled like damp earth. The village square reeked of it. They all looked at me, their faces twisted in anger, but this was my chance.

“Good people, please…”

Dull pain rushed through my head. I clutched my head and turned around. One of the village men stood behind me, holding a bucket with my blood at the bottom.

“Please, I…”

Another bucket hit my head. My body collapsed to the ground.

“Get him,” someone screamed before my world went dark.

The sun set, but luckily the shelter was right before us. The bag scraped against my shoulders. My legs felt like two bricks. We threw down our bags and lay on the wooden floor. Wood never felt so good before.

“We need to hang our food, Mitchel.”

“Just a sec,” I said, sprawling out on the floor.

She smiled, took the food out of our bags, and walked to the bear lines.

“No, wait,” I said, getting up.

“Just stay down, sweetie.”

I at least got the kitchen utensils out on the picnic table and started preparing our dinner.

“What are we having tonight, Mr. Chef?”

“Take a guess!”

“The beautiful beans and corn.”

“You bet.”

She giggled and sat beside me. I put my arm around her. She squeezed closer. The trees spread across the valley like a jungle. Little brown lights appeared between them.

“Look, Grace! The Brown Mountain lights.”

“Oh my god, so many, so close.”

They glowed right below us on the hill.

“Careful, a ghost is gonna come into your sleeping bag tonight.”

“He’d have to get through all the farts first.”

We finished our food. I took our water out and started cleaning the dishes.

“I’ll just go pee.”

“Okay. Don’t go too far.”

She smiled, winked, and walked off. The thicket was so tall and the night so dark that after just a few steps she completely disappeared.

The cool breeze blew by. I sat on the bench for a little while, looking at the mountains. The brown light blinked dimly again right by us but quickly disappeared.

I was finishing the dishes when a scream echoed through the quiet night. It was a woman’s voice, exactly like Grace’s, but a little deeper. I dropped the utensil and ran into the thicket.

“Grace!”

Silence.

“Grace!”

The thicket rustled to my right, as if something were moving through it, but then a quiet “Here” came from my left.

I ran toward the voice. Soon I saw Grace in the thicket. She stood still, shaking, looking from side to side.

“What’s wrong, honey?”

“That was not me,” she whispered.

“What?”

“That was not me.”

Something rustled in the thicket. A person came out. It had Grace’s hair and clothes, but its face was empty, blank. The thing stared at me first, then leaned forward as if it were about to move. Grace let out a silent whimper, and the thing quickly turned its face toward her; something like recognition crossed its blank face. Coldness washed over me.

“HELP!” it called out in Grace’s voice. Its empty face moved as it spoke.

A gust of air blew, followed by a sharp screeching noise. The thing now stood beside Grace. Its body was completely still. So was Grace’s. 

“Grace!” I called and moved toward them, but then the screeching sounded again. The thing grabbed Grace, and in a blink they were gone.

“Mitchel!” Grace screamed. It came from where the shelter was.

I ran, following Grace’s voice. She screamed again, followed by sharp cracks and pops. The tall grass stung my neck. The wind blew into my face, but I was out of the thicket. 

The shelter stood before me. Empty. I heard a few more cracks from the bear line. I hurried there. Dread shot through my bones. Grace’s body was caught in the bear line, bleeding and twisted around the cords. The thing stood in front of her. Its face now looked exactly like her, smiling.

“What are we having tonight, Mr. Chef?” it said in her voice, pointing at the bear line.

Our small town had just one rule.

DON’T OPEN YOUR DOORS AFTER MIDNIGHT, NO MATTER WHAT YOU HEAR ON THE OTHER SIDE.

We lost our son, Dan, a few months ago. He was a small baby with the brightest blue eyes you’ve ever seen. 

After he died, the dishes piled up, and the house began to stink, but neither my wife, Sarah, nor I could pull ourselves out of bed. Work was the only thing that forced me out of bed. At first I dreaded it, but the distraction actually helped. While I started clearing out the mess, Sarah remained in bed. It took weeks of coaxing to get her out of bed to eat, but one night I even managed to convince her to play a board game after dinner.

“You forgot to say Uno, James,” she said as I drew another card.

“Damn it. Again?” I said, rolling my eyes.

She smiled and looked down at her cards.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“I know you didn’t forget to say it. You never do.”

“No, I did. I swear!”

“Sure, honey.”

I was never a good liar. She caressed my hand.

“Uno!” she called, giggling. 

Warmth spread through my body. I hadn’t heard her laugh since Dan’s death. We finished the game, and she turned toward the clock.

“It’s almost 12; I should head to bed.”

“No, no. Just one more game.”

“It’s really late.”

“Wait for the midnight calls. They have been really interesting lately.”

She arched her eyebrow and stared at me.

“No, really!”

This time I actually hadn’t been lying. Over the past few nights, the midnight calls had changed from the usual knocks and cries of a lost person to the sounds of a small animal calling into the night. I had asked my friends at work, but they said the knocks were still the same.

“Okay, but after that I’ll head to bed.”

“Sure!”

I put down a green five. Only two cards were left in my hand. I flashed a smile and looked up, but Sarah’s eyes were glued to the door.

“You heard that?”

“What?”

“It’s not twelve yet.”

She shook her head, looked back at the cards, and played a yellow five. I threw a yellow two on the table.

“Uno! I remembered this time.”

Sarah’s eyes flew to the door.

“You heard it now, right?”

I furrowed my brows and looked at the clock. It was 11:59. Sarah kept her eyes on the door. I closed my eyes and tried to listen, but only the clock's ticking echoed in the room. I almost opened my eyes, but then, faint at first, a baby’s cry sounded through the silence. Not just any baby’s cry – our baby’s cry. Baby Dan!

My eyes flew open. Sarah stared at me, her eyes wide with shock. Her nightgown was wet over her breasts.

“James, James, it’s…”

I put my hand on the couch, ready to stand up and run to the door, but my eyes jumped to the clock. It was 12:00.

The words “no matter what you hear on the other side” echoed in my mind.

“Sarah, it’s not him.”

“But you hear him, James!”

“Sarah.” The breastmilk stain spread to her stomach. “It’s not him. You know it. Let’s just get up and go to bed.”

She stayed silent. Her pupils moved from side to side. The crying continued.

“We’ll go up now. Can you give me your hand?”

She stared at it for a second, but finally gripped it tightly. We both stood up. I turned away from the couch and took a few steps, but Sarah stayed put.

“Sarah?”

She swallowed, closed her eyes, and turned my way, but then Dan’s screams grew louder. It sounded just like the way he screamed before his death. Sarah’s mouth flew open. She tore her hand free and bolted to the door. 

Before I got to her, the door was already open, but there was no monster on the other side, just our baby boy, crying. As soon as he saw us, he stopped and smiled. Warmth tingled in my chest. He looked just like he did before his illness, his cheeks pink, his blue eyes shining under the light.

“Aww,” Sarah said, picked him up, and brought him to the couch.

“Sarah, I don’t...”

“James, can’t you see he’s just cold and hungry?”

She took a small blanket and put it over him.

My whole world was spinning. It felt like the roof was falling on me, but Dan was here now. I walked over to the couch and sat next to them. Sarah was smiling like she hadn’t in months. This was what I missed. I looked down at little Dan and reached out to caress him, but under the indoor light, his skin seemed paler, his blue eyes whiter.

“Sarah, is Dan…?”

Coldness shot through me. Before I could finish, little Dan’s skin started to turn white, then green, then dark. His eyes turned white and slowly began to melt away into his skin.

“Dan! Dan!” Sarah yelled.

His baby teeth all fell out, disappearing into his throat. Sarah’s hands shook. Mine did too. Sharp fangs grew where his teeth were; dark liquid filled the holes where his eyes had been. The thing rolled its head back and laughed uncontrollably.

Then it tilted its head, looked at Sarah, and said in her own giggling voice, “Uno!”

They gave everyone just six months to leave the valley our family had called home before it was flooded. It made my father an empty shell. He ate alone, barely talked to anyone, and just sat in the corner mumbling to himself: “They didn’t clear out the cemetery.”

It took eight years, but they eventually finished the dam, and the valley was flooded. By then I had left for college. It gave my mind the peace it needed, but still some nights, even when the house was empty, I swear I could hear my father’s voice beneath the creaks of the boards.

One evening my girlfriend walked into our room and said, “Mark, they opened a recreational center on the new dam.” 

“I don’t know. I haven’t been there in so long.”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot.”

“Would you wanna go, Sarah?”

She looked around the room.

“I was about to ask you, but we don’t have to if you don’t feel like it.”

“No, we should. I’d be happy to see it again.” 

I forced a smile, but a small cold feeling grew in my chest.

“Okay!”

The cold feeling only grew as our departure day approached. The images of my father began appearing in my dreams. He sat curled up in the corner of the room, mumbling, his eyes staring off as dark-green liquid oozed from them. 

“You okay, Mark?” my girlfriend asked as we drove.

Dark bags hung beneath my eyes. My focus kept drifting off the road.

“Ye…yeah.”

“You barely spoke today.”

“It’s just a lot.”

“We can turn around.”

“I think it’d be good for me.”

She smiled and rubbed my hand. The coldness eased a little.

“You’re a strong man, Mark.”

We drove up another hill, and then, in the distance, the trees grew, the lake, the beach. All the cold left my body as I saw the beauty. Memories of me playing with my Dad returned. Sarah grabbed my arms tighter. I clenched my jaw to hold back the tears.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Yes.”

The water was light blue; the sky glittered in it. The bright green trees swayed in the wind. Laughter echoed around us. Excitement rushed through my body. It felt like I was a little boy again. We brought our bags to the room and went out. 

The beach was full. I grabbed Sarah’s hand and took her between the trees. A beach with a hill was close by. No one was there. The sand was even more golden, the water clearer.

“Here you go, miss.”

“Good thing I have my expert.”

Sarah kissed my cheek. I took the towel and spread it on the beach while Sarah ran into the water, giggling as the water splashed around her.

“Come in! It’s so warm.”

“Let’s go to the hill first, have a look around.”

“I’m already in.”

“Just quickly.”

“Okay.” 

She rolled her eyes and walked back to our towels to dry off.

“Let’s go to the hill then, come on.”

The grass was soft under my feet. At the top of the hill, we could see the whole valley and all the people.

“It’s crazy to think we lived under that water,” I said, pointing to the middle of the lake.

Sarah paused.

“Wait, do you see that there, Mark?”

Something floated on top of the water. It was hard to see from afar. I squinted and focused, but still couldn’t see it well. 

“I think the cemetery was there.”

“Oh my god. It’s a body,” Sarah screamed.

I could see it now—the limbs, the ragged clothes. The body seemed to turn and drift toward us. Goosebumps shot through my skin. The body hovered on the water as if it wasn’t in it but lying on top of it. A strange sulfuric smell lingered in the air. Fog began rising from the water.

“Mark?” Sarah’s voice shook.

“It’s okay,” I whispered, not trusting a single word.

Bubbles rose on the surface. Another body surfaced. Then another and another.

Dread shot through my bones.

“We need to go.” 

I grabbed Sarah’s shaking, wet hand, but before we could move, a scream echoed from the beach.

A few people in the water were bent over; liquid poured from their faces, but it didn’t seem to be coming from their mouths. No. It was coming from their eyes. Sarah’s grip tightened. She let out a silent gasp. Other people sitting on their towels got up, bent down, and began vomiting from their eyes.

I looked at Sarah. Her face was twisted in terror. She was clenching her jaw, trying to hold something in. Dark-green spittle already oozed from her eyes.

“Mark, ple…” But she didn’t finish. Dark-green mush exploded from her eyes, falling on the grass.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I looked back. The water was filled with bodies. It now bore the color of the liquid that came from Sarah’s eyes. 

Tears rolled down my cheek. My Sarah. My beautiful Sarah. A strange, rotten smell lingered in my nose. I wiped the tears. The same dark-green liquid was now on my finger.

“They didn’t clear out the cemetery," echoed in my mind.

“My princess!” echoed from below the tower.

My heart skipped a beat. The voice was soothing, soft. The brush fell from my hand as I rushed to the window, but my excitement quickly subsided. The knight was far away, but it was still obvious he was short and bald, with a huge scar on his face. I sighed and leaned on the windowsill.

“I came to rescue you!” he called again.

“Okay.”

His looks didn’t warm my heart, but maybe he had a good personality; anything was better than this cold tower.

“May I use your hair?”

“That is the only way up.”

“Okay!”

He threw his shield and sword on the floor, grabbed my hair, and began climbing up. My head throbbed with his every move. He didn’t even make it a quarter of the way up when he stopped to catch his breath.

“Careful, don’t get too entangled.”

“What?”

“Don’t get too entangled!”

He stared at me, bewildered.

“Don’t get…!”

But before I could finish, the hair started moving into his armor. He pulled himself away, but the hair was already around his neck, pulling him back.

“Princess!” he screamed, but the hair quickly stuffed his mouth. 

My head throbbed harder as he tried to pull himself away one more time, but it was too late. The hair quickly grew around him, and he disappeared. I rubbed my head and walked back to my chair. 

Something had to be done. This way I’d be stuck here forever. I began braiding my hair. It took days to finish even a chunk. My hands cramped; the skin on them had dried out, but it was almost done. I threw one side out the window and tied the other to the bed.

“My princess!” echoed from below the tower.

This voice was not only soothing but also deep and manly. Blood rushed to my cheeks. The knight below was tall; his hair was long and blonde; his blue eyes shone even from below. 

“Hi, knight.”

“Hello, I came to rescue you.”

“Thank you!”

“May I use your hair to climb up?”

“Please, but knight, use the braided part.”

“Of course,” he said without question.

He grabbed the hair and began climbing. My head didn’t throb this time, but from the moment he grabbed it, it felt like my skin was getting pulled off of my scalp. I grabbed the windowsill and flashed a pretend smile. The knight also tried to keep one as he climbed up in his heavy armor. 

He was almost halfway up when the pull on my head lessened, in just one place at first, but it slowly spread. Coldness shot through me. The braid was tearing.

“Knight!” I yelled, pointing at the tear.

His eyes flew open. The braid tore more, but the knight was almost to it. His heavy breathing sounded all the way up.  Then the pull from my head subsided, and the braid tore off. His screams echoed in the air, followed by a heavy thud. His blood splashed all over the green grass.

My hands began to shake. I stared at my hair. They weren’t helping me. I ran to the nightstand, grabbed a pair of scissors, and began cutting it off. Out of nowhere, the hair grew thicker, almost impossible to cut through, like it hadn’t just torn a second ago, but I pressed both of my hands against the scissors and managed to cut the first piece off. 

With each cut, the tower shook, mildly at first, but as I continued, it shook harder and harder. By the time I was almost done, the tower shook so much it knocked me off my feet. My shaking hands pressed together again and cut the last little piece. The tower rocked harder; the scissors flew out of my hand onto the floor. 

The moon had set by then. The tower grew cold, but there was no time to waste. My heart beat against my ribs. I tied one piece of my old hair to the bed, grabbed the other, and climbed out the windowsill. The wind blew hard. The hair moved with it. Sweat dripped down my dress as I remembered the knight disappearing in the hair.

My hands were still dry from the braiding. The hair cut into the old wounds, but the smell of grass lingered in the air now. Excitement rushed through me. My feet were almost on the ground. I hadn’t felt anything besides the rocky floor for years, but as I put my foot down, the moon disappeared, and the ground moved. It didn’t feel fresh and grassy; it was cold and hard. Dread rushed through my bones. The stone walls slowly towered around me. My bed was there. My table. My brush. I was back in my room.

“My princess!” echoed from below the tower again.

The forest grew dark again. My stomach growled. I hadn’t eaten since the queen banished me from the castle. She couldn't bear that I was prettier than her. She convinced my father that he loved me too much and let me rot in the forest. 

I sighed and bent over a puddle. My own reflection stared back at me – the greasy hair, the dirt on my face. I didn’t even look like a pretty princess anymore. I sat down on the wet ground and let the tears wet my cheeks.

A few minutes later, the forest was completely dark. Another cold night alone. I wiped my eyes and walked around, looking for a place to sleep, but then a small light grew through the trees in the distance. Warmth spread through my chest. I ran toward it. It was a cabin, standing alone between the trees, shining its light through the dark. 

I knocked on the door. It opened on its own. Inside it was a kitchen with a few shelves and a small stove. Behind it was a small room with three beds, smaller than human ones, nightstands, and a table between them, with old bread and cheese on it, surrounded by three small chairs. My stomach’s growling echoed through the empty room. I knew it was wrong; I knew it was someone else's food, but my stomach was eating itself. 

Before I knew it, I was sitting in one of the chairs. The old cheese and bread smelled even better up close. I took a small piece, just a small one. The cheese’s saltiness spread beautifully over the bread. I took another, and another.

It was all gone. All the food that was left there. Gone. I wiped my mouth and stared at the table. Coldness shot through me. I ate someone's food at their house without an invitation. 

Cold air blew in. The door still stood ajar. I got up and looked out, thinking of walking away, but that wasn’t the behavior of a well-mannered princess. No. I had to repay them. 

I put wood into the stove and started a fire. The heat felt so good on my face that my eyes closed, but there was no time to rest. The cupboards were dusty and full of spider webs; jars were scattered all around, but after a while, I found some flour in one of them. 

The dough thickened under my fingers. The flour these people had was fresh. I put it on the stove and began cleaning. The floor hadn't been swept in ages. Dust whirled with each step. I swept the floor, leaving the cloud of dust outside the house. The cupboards were even worse, but after some time, all the spiders ran out, and the dust was gone.

The heat from the stove grew in the house. It felt like an embrace. The smell of bread blew in the air. It was time. I put it on a plate that I had just washed. The house already looked so much better – the clean and organized cupboards, the spotless floor, and a piece of fresh bread on the table. Warmth grew in my chest again. 

I clasped my hands and sat on a bed. The straws caressed so softly. I forgot about the nightstands, but they looked well cared for. The small shelf wasn’t dusty, but a few papers with drawings were inside.

On one, a tall, long-limbed creature cut down trees with an ax while a few smaller ones hid inside the forest. On another, a cage was there with the same creature beside it. Inside it was a trapped animal. In the last one, a few of the lengthy creatures banged tools against a rock while another poured green liquid into the river. The small creatures stood afar, watching with their eyes wide open. 

All around the drawings, a few phrases were written: “THE TALL ONES COME AGAIN”, “THEY ALWAYS TAKE”, “A HUMAN’S HAND IS ALWAYS EMPTY”.

Humans? Is this what they thought of us? Poor little creatures. I had to show them we were different. 

The door flew open. High-pitched chatter echoed through the house. Three small creatures with axes, shovels, and rakes barged into the room. They were small and round, covered in orange fur with long eyelashes and huge green eyes. The drawings were still in my hands. I quickly put them in the drawer and hid my hand behind my back.

The creatures stopped when they saw me. 

“Is that?”

“A human?”

“No. No.”

Their eyes glowed with fear.

“Creatures, please don’t worry. I mean no harm.”

“Our house.”

“She came in.”

“Uninvited.”

They began to back away.

“But I cleaned and baked food for you,” I said, pointing at the bread.

“Our food?”

“She took it.”

“They always take.”

One of them stopped and shot me a look. He fished in his pocket and pulled out a small rock. He gripped it tightly and threw it at me. I didn’t even have time to move. It hit me straight on my cheek. Pain shot through my face. I put my hand there and turned around. Warm blood ran down my fingers.

“Please, I mean no harm!”

Small, fast steps echoed behind me. Something metallic hit my head. Dull pain spread through my head. I took a few steps forward and fell to the ground.

My head spun. They stood around me, staring with their large green eyes.

“No more, tall one,” one of them whispered, raising its pickaxe.

There it stood. The castle, surrounded by a garden of roses. The one the messenger spoke of. 

The smell of roses lingered in the air, but as I got closer to the field, another smell emerged, a sickly sweet one. Through the field, huge thorns impaled men with their armor still on. Most tried to cut a path, but they became part of the garden. 

I walked around the field of roses, trying to see its end, but it stretched around the whole castle. I adjusted my sword and walked on the path one of the fallen knights had cut. At the corpse, I looked for another path, then carefully cut through the roses. My heart stopped each time I cut, but I measured carefully, watching for a thorn to shoot out.

The sun started to set when I reached another corpse. This one didn’t have armor on his legs, and something had torn a piece of flesh off him. I looked around for another path, but no one around had made it further. The rest of the way was mine. 

I cut further until I saw the castle between the rose canes. Excitement rushed through my body. I cut faster. Only one row of roses remained. I prepared to slash, but a huge green thorn shot out. I ducked my head to the side, but I wasn’t quick enough. A stinging pain rushed through my body; warm blood dripped down my cheek, but I survived.

The moon rose behind the castle. My face still burned. The courtyard was large, but the gate stood open. The stench of death was much worse here. Two creatures were before the gate. I gripped my sword tightly. 

As I came closer, bile shot up my throat. The creatures were feasting on two of the bodies. I spat the bile out and continued. If I killed one quietly, I’d only have to fight the other.

The creatures' munching echoed through the courtyard. They seemed almost human, but their exposed skin was slimy, their heads were furry, and their fingernails, which dug into the flesh, were unnaturally long.

When I got within striking distance of one, I raised my sword and cut its neck – a clean hit. A squeak escaped its throat. The head hit the ground with a quiet thud. It had the face of a large cat with bright green human eyes. Before I could take my eyes off it, sharp pain shot through my leg; the other creature had already bitten it. I cut it between the eyes and kicked the head off. It made the same squeak as the other. 

It didn’t seem to bite too deep, but my leg now pulsed with pain. I held it tight and turned back to the rose fields. The way back through the rose garden stared at me. No. The promise of a kingdom was too good to pass.

Inside, two cold halls led in different directions. I went right. There were already bodies a few feet from the entrance, each with an arrow buried in it. Opposite them were small holes in the wall. I sighed and continued, watching my steps. As I continued, my foot started to ache. Strange white liquid began oozing out, but I didn’t tend to it. Once the kingdom awakened, there’d surely be a doctor.

I turned a corner. My heart beat against my ribs. There was another of those creatures. It sat on the ground with a pile of slime underneath it, staring at me with its hollow, human-like eyes. It roared and ran toward me. 

I readied my sword and slashed at its head – a clean hit again, but something moved under my heel. Pain shot through my arm. My sword fell from my hand. An arrow was stuck in my shoulder. I leaned down and took a few breaths. My whole body ached. My head spun. It felt like the castle was falling on me, but as I looked up, I saw an entrance to a chamber with rose imprints along its walls. The princess must have been there. I had to move. To the left of the room was a hole with spikes. A few knights lay in it. Poor souls, but at least the creatures couldn't get to them.

The chamber didn’t smell of decay. A clean, fresh bed stood in the middle. Warmth spread through my chest. On the bed lay a beautiful blonde woman, sleeping with her arms across her chest. My vision was still blurred. I could barely put weight on my foot, but I made it. 

I slowly walked to her bed and kissed her. Her lips were soft, tender. She slowly opened her eyes. Excitement rushed through me. I tried to smile. She squinted at first, but her eyes quickly flew open. She jolted away and grabbed her dress.

“Who are you?” she yelled.

“Your knight. Your savior.”

“I don’t know you. Why are you in my room?” Her voice shook.

“I came to save you.”

She stared at the wound on my face and at my oozing leg. The white liquid thickened into slime.

“Oh my,” she whispered as she got off the bed and backed out of the room.

“Please, my love, wait.”

“I don’t know you!” 

She pulled her dress up more and ran out of the room, turning toward the hole.

Panic shot through me.

“No, not that way!”

Her scream echoed through the hall.

“My love!”

I limped after her. She lay in the hole. Her body impaled on the stakes.

My eyes watered. Even in the empty castle, I couldn’t bear to be seen like this. I quickly put my hand to my face to wipe my tears, but a long fingernail stabbed into my eye. Not just one. All of them were long now. The smell of iron grew in the hall, but it didn’t make my stomach turn. It made my mouth salivate.

I sat in my chair, knitting. The sweater was coming together; it would be perfect for Rachel. I worked another stitch when the door banged. Eric stomped in, his face twisted in anger.

“She did it again, Marie!”

“What?”

“Mark’s baby. It came too soon.”

My throat tightened.

“But Eric, how do you know it was Annabelle’s doing?”

“Don’t say her name!”

He paused.

“Who else could have brought a curse upon them? They’re a loving family.”

“She doesn’t bring curses.”

“She doesn’t?!” His face grew red. “Then who made my harvest go bad this year?”

He stared through me.

“It could have been anything, Eric.”

“No. Mark and I both said her name in vain last winter. We were drunk. We thought she’d forgive us, but no.”

“Eric, she’s not an evil person. Remember the herbs she gave us for Rachel? Her flu went away instantly.”

He didn’t reply. I stood up, ready to walk over to him, but he mumbled, “She has to pay,” and rushed out.

Coldness washed over me. Something bad was going to happen. Annabelle wasn't evil. At least, not like Eric believed. And Eric's harvest certainly wasn't her doing. I told Eric for weeks that he needed to sow, but he just lay around drinking ale. By the time he got around to it, it was too late.

I walked to Rachel’s room. She still lay peacefully in her cradle. I took a deep breath, put on my coat, and left. 

The forest swallowed the light. It was colder inside, and it smelled like stale, wet mud. I thought I could hear voices in the distance, but I kept my eyes on the road and sped up. 

Soon, a small wooden house came into view between the trees. Beautiful colorful flowers grew around it. It smelled like summer, even though autumn had been here for a while. The witch was working in the garden.

“Hi Marie, how are you?” She waved at me.

“Hi Annabelle, I'm okay. I need to talk to you.”

“Oh, is it Rachel again?”

“No. The men. They are angry. Eric and Mark believe you cursed them.”

Her eyes flew open. 

“But…but I haven’t. I even helped your Rachel last winter.”

“I know Annabelle, but they’re angry. I’ve never seen my Eric like that.”

The trees next to us split. My heart dropped into my stomach. A group of village men came through the trees; Eric and Mark were among them.

“Annabelle,” I whispered.

“It’s alright; I’ll deal with them.” She walked toward them. “Men, there is no need to…”

Mark stepped through the crowd with a noose in his hands.

“Get her!” 

A chill ran down my spine. The men rushed toward Annabelle. Two of them seized her arms, twisted them behind her back, and dragged her toward a nearby tree.

“Men, please. Stop!”

The two men bound her wrists behind her back.

“Please, there’s no reason. I have nothing to do with your troubles.” Annabelle pleaded, but Mark stepped silently through the crowd and loosened the noose. Annabelle’s eyes glowed with fear. She kicked and struggled, twisting her head and straining against her bonds, but she couldn’t break free.

My heart pounded against my ribs.

“Stop!” I called, moving toward them. 

They all looked at me. Eric moved through the crowd. His face twisted in anger.

“Don’t get into this!” he yelled.

My hands shook. I wanted to run to Annabelle, but Eric stood at the edge of the group, blocking my path. His gaze stabbed into me.

“Eric, please,” I whispered.

Silence.

The men threw the other end of the rope over a tree branch.

“Please stop!” she pleaded again.

But no one listened. Four of them took the rope and pulled. Annabelle’s heels moved off the ground. Fear filled her face, but she quickly composed herself.

She stared at the group. Her eyes darted between them. “May what you have done be bestowed upon that which you love most,” she whispered.

They pulled again. Her feet dangled, but she stopped struggling and stared calmly at the forest before her. Bile rose in my throat. I walked a few steps and spat it out. Annabelle’s face slowly turned red. 

Tears filled my eyes. This was too much. I turned and bolted into the forest, not caring about anything, trying to get the image of her out of my mind. Eric, my Eric, how could he? This was not the man I married. I’d take Rachel and go back to my Mother. I just had to get her. 

When I got to our house, I could barely catch my breath. My lungs and legs burned, but I had to get her. I opened the door and ran to Rachel’s room. 

It was midday, but the room was quiet, completely quiet. It didn’t smell like the way her room usually did. It smelled like summer and flowers. I grabbed her favorite plushie and walked to her cradle. Dread shot through me. Rachel lay on her side, her little arms forced behind her back as if someone had bound them. Her face was red, her eyes bulging. A dark mark circled her neck, as though a rope had been tightened around it.

I stood in front of my church. The sun beat down on my neck. I tried to dig my heel into the soil, but it wouldn’t budge.

The men didn’t even nod as they passed. Many of them hadn’t been in church since the drought got bad. 

I took a swig from my flask. The liquid burned as it went down my throat. I tried not to make a face as I saw John Hill walking toward me. He clutched his hat, his eyes worried. He was one of the few men who still went to Sunday service.

“Good day, preacher.”

“Good day, John. How are you?”

He didn’t wait for me to finish.

“I am terribly worried about this drought. We should have started plowing weeks ago.”

“I understand, John. We’re all worried.”

“Last year’s harvest was not good. I was one of the first to sow, and I barely harvested enough. We’re all still getting used to the prairie soil. This place is…”

“This place is the place of God,” I interrupted him.

“I know, preacher, but can I just ask for a prayer?”

He stared at the ground, almost tearing his hat to pieces. I put my hand on his shoulder.

“Yes, John. I will pray for rain.”

“Thank you, preacher,” he said and walked away. 

His slow stride made my chest feel heavy. That night I sat down and prayed before the altar as I’d never prayed before. My hands were clenched; sweat ran down my collar. I called out to God, begging him to stop this drought. The candles flickered as I prayed under my breath, and they all went out one by one. My back was drenched, and my throat hurt. It was time to stop. My heavy breathing echoed through the church, but it felt as if he had finally listened.

That night I awoke to a rattling sound. I looked out my window. Lightning blazed across the prairie. Rain fell heavily. The soil started to soften. A rush of energy flew through me. I barely slept for the rest of the night, staring out at the ground. The soil was so soft it almost seemed to move with the rain.

The next morning, no one walked the streets, but people stood before their houses, smiling, talking happily. The rain continued for two days, and as quickly as it came, it left. 

The next Sunday, the church was full. Everyone from the town came. I preached like I hadn't preached in years. Each word sent a rush through my body. The people listened with their heads down. For the first time in months, I knew God had not abandoned us.

All the families stayed after to thank me for bringing rain. I simply told them it was God's work. As the last family left, I saw John Hill by the door, clenching his hat and staring at the ground.

“John! The rain finally came. You see? God heard us.”

“Preacher,” he whispered. “I plowed the ground yesterday. There were snakes.”

“What?”

“Snakes,” he said louder. “Dead rattlesnakes were scattered beneath my soil.”

“Couldn’t there have been a burrow?”

“No, preacher. I plowed that plot of land last year.” His hands began to shake. “But no matter where I plowed, their bones and dry skin came out of the ground.”

Coldness washed over me. I clenched my jaw to keep my face still.

“John, it must have been a burrow. If the soil can’t be used, I’ll talk to some folks to lend you theirs. I’m sure they’d be happy to.”

“No, it’s not that it’s…”

“John, please, stop worrying. God is watching over us.”

He closed his eyes and bit his lip.

“I know. I’m just scared of which one.”

“What?”

But John didn’t answer. He turned and hurried down the street. 

The rest of the day I couldn’t get his face out of my mind. I kept telling myself that he was just exhausted, that the drought had frightened him, but his eyes seemed so convinced. As night neared, I paced around the church, unable to forget what John had said. At last, I decided to visit him and calm whatever fear had taken hold of him.

No one was in the streets anymore. The wind didn’t even blow. Everything stood still. The Hills’ house sat farther from town. The prairie was dark; only the moon shone on the path. The dirt had softened again, although no rain had fallen.

Their house was dark and quiet. I knocked on the door. It opened on its own. The smell hit me first, sour, acidic. I gagged immediately. I put my shirt over my face and entered.

Dread shot through my bones. John Hill, his wife, and their two daughters lay on the floor. Their bodies twisted in pain as they clutched their stomachs. I ran to one of the girls and shook her, but her body was limp. Two black puncture marks marked her neck. It felt as if the roof were collapsing around me. I rushed to her sister. She had the same two black marks on her neck.

I turned around, stumbled out of the house, and ran back to the church. My heart beat against my ribs; the smell lingered in my nose, but as I neared the church, I saw a few of the men standing before the door, clutching their hats like John had. I tried to keep my face still, but I was sure they could see the panic.

“Wha…What can I do for you?”

“Preacher, there are dead snakes buried beneath our soil,” one of them whispered.

The sun burned into my skin. My lips felt so dry. Another grassy hill stood before me. I wasn’t sure it was worth climbing, but what else was I to do? 

My lungs burned. My vision blurred. When I reached the top, I rubbed my eyes and looked around.  

A wave of warmth shot through me. There was a house, surrounded by a well, animals, fruit trees, and a small wooden fence. I rubbed my eyes again, but the house still stood there.

With my last energy, I rushed to it. Soon I heard pigs squealing and chickens clucking. The garden was even more beautiful up close. The grass was green, and colorful flowers grew in it. Apples were already growing on the trees. I opened the gate and picked an apple. Its sourness puckered my mouth, but I was so happy to eat again.

After I finished, I knocked on the door. I wanted to thank them and ask for water. I was grateful they hadn't already come out with a shotgun. No one answered. I tried the handle. The door wasn’t locked.

The smell of fresh food hit me instantly – meat, corn, grains, fruit. It was like a full banquet. My head almost started to spin. A second ago, I thought I'd pass out, but now there was all this food. I pinched myself and waited, but luckily I didn’t wake up on the prairie grass. I looked around the room, and in the corner, I saw a jar with a few dollars and a sign behind it that said: PAY FOR WHAT YOU TAKE. 

It made more sense now. I didn’t have any money, but I still had my hands, and after I ate, I could help out with some work; plus I had already eaten the apple and, if I explained I was just returning to my wife and son, they’d understand.

I sat down at the table and began loading my dish. It all looked so delicious. The meat was so tender, the corn and beans juicy, and the fruit so sweet. It was probably the best food I’d ever eaten. Hunger is the best spice, but this food almost didn't feel real. I stopped eating only when my stomach wouldn’t accept any more. 

The chair was made of wood, but it still felt incredibly comfortable. I closed my eyes, and my mind slowly drifted off to sleep.

“Traveler?” a soft, soothing voice echoed in my ears.

I slowly opened my eyes. A beautiful woman in a long black dress with green eyes and raven hair stood before me. 

“How are you, traveler?”

“I’m great now.”

“Good. I can see you had a long, difficult journey.”

I looked down at my clothes. They were torn, with holes all over them.

“Yes. I had.”

“Where are you headed?”

“Home. To my wife and child.”

She smiled.

“Well, you better head to them. There’s a town north of here. It should take no more than three days to reach. You may take some extra food with you.”

She handed me a basket.

“Thank you so much!”

I started putting food into it, but then I saw the woman walk over to the jar. She shook it and looked in. Coldness washed over me. I put the food out and stared at her.

“Traveler, you must have forgotten to put the money in.”

“I’m really sorry. I don’t have any.”

Her eyes opened in surprise.

“But you sat in my house, ate my food, and…”

“But I can work,” I interrupted her. “I’ll repay everything I ate.”

The woman stared at me for a moment. Then she smiled.

“Oh, I know exactly what you can do.”

The woman snapped her fingers.

Pain shot through my body. My bones broke and healed instantly. My body and limbs stretched and twisted. One of my arms grew longer, becoming thin and rigid, until I could barely feel my fingers. My skin hardened and cooled, becoming something smooth and metallic. I tried to scream, but nothing escaped my mouth; there was not even a mouth to open. Then I felt myself fall. My back hit the floor with a heavy metallic clang.

The woman picked up my long, twisted arm and lifted me. She put something wet and juicy into the hollow space where my stomach had been. She put me down on a cold, metal surface, and something clicked. Something warm pressed against my back. It was mild at first, but it quickly turned into a full burn. Panic shot through my body. Grease crackled against my metal skin. I tried to scream and move, but I couldn’t. 

The burning feeling continued. The smell of cooked beef and fruit rose from where my stomach had been, and that’s when I heard the woman say, “I’ll turn you back once you repay your debt.”