Read Five Stories for the Dark Months Online
Authors: Katherine Traylor
Tags: #romance, #girl, #unhappy, #friendship, #horror, #halloween, #women, #adventure, #travel, #triumph, #forest, #party, #death, #children, #demon, #fantasy, #zombies, #apocalypse, #alone, #broken, #journey, #friend, #tree, #spies, #betrayal, #ice, #young adult, #dark fantasy, #child, #baby, #river, #woman, #ghost, #fairy, #fairies, #men, #spirit, #cafe, #coffee, #fairy tale, #picnic, #winter, #soul, #teenager, #dead, #snow, #cabin, #scary, #soldier, #spy, #guard, #teenage, #mirror, #escape, #frozen, #frightening, #stranger, #ragnarok, #flower, #retelling, #ferryman, #glass, #dangerous, #burning, #fairy tale retelling, #norse mythology, #ominous, #threatening, #hapless, #psychopomp, #bloody mary, #eldritch, #la belle dame sans merci, #mirror witch, #snowshoe, #the blue child
“It’s all right, Mother.” The
sweet piccolo voice made every word sound like a song. “I’m quite
content.”
Hearing the word ‘Mother’ from this
precious child’s lips, Magda wanted to dance. Restraining herself,
she merely said, “I’m pleased to hear that, darling—but wouldn’t
you like something to wear, just the same?”
The girl cocked her head, as if
considering a serious proposition. “If you wish it, Mother, I’d be
pleased.”
Magda carried her to the sewing
table, and picked up the little white smock she’d found in a dusty
box underneath her bed. Of course, it was a thousand times too
large for this small maiden, but with only a little pang she cut a
slice from the garment’s sleeve, and made a sort of shift. Between
them, they fastened it about the child’s waist, tying it with a bit
of ribbon. Then Magda opened one of her ancient compacts so the
child could admire herself.
The girl studied her reflection,
then nodded. “I like it, Mother.” She made a pretty curtsey.
“You’re very skilled.”
Magda began to smile—then noticed
how thin the girl was. Her skin almost matched the white fabric of
her shift—she looked as if she might faint at any second. “But
aren’t you hungry, my love?”
For the first
time, the little girl shivered. “Yes, Mother. I’m
very
hungry.”
Quickly, Magda took a thimble to
the pot by the fire, and dipped up a bit of soup. It was weak, and
the vegetables were sparse, but broth was hot and she thought it
might be good for a young stomach. Gently, she offered it to the
girl, who took it in two hands as if it were a bucket.
The girl sniffed the broth, then
frowned. “I’m sorry, Mother,” she said, shaking her head, “but I
cannot drink this soup.”
“Why not?” Magda was immediately
worried. “Is it too hot?”
“Oh, no—but I need something
richer.”
Then Magda remembered the goat’s
milk, and blessed herself for having thought of it. She emptied the
thimble, ran to the kitchen, and filled it up with milk.
This time the girl took a sip, and
swallowed thoughtfully. Almost immediately, though, she handed the
milk back, looking quite ill. “I’m very sorry, but I cannot drink
this, either.”
Her voice was much weaker than it
had been, and Magda felt a chill. If she couldn’t find anything the
child could eat, then the girl would die—and if the girl died,
Magda knew she’d die, herself.
She knelt beside the table, and
raised her hands as if in prayer. “My angel, you must tell me
quickly: what do you need to eat?”
The girl hesitated for so long
Magda thought she wouldn’t answer. At last, in a voice that shook
like onion skin, she whispered, “If you love me, Mother, please...
give me your hand.”
Then Magda remembered the scars on
her arms, and all the long months she fed the flower with snow and
blood. Feeling suddenly much older, she offered her hand,
palm-up.
The girl walked onto the ball of
her thumb, then gripped the digit with surprising strength. As she
opened her mouth, displaying teeth like white needles, Magda turned
her face away.
She bowed her head, trying not to
move, as the child began to eat. She could ignore the pain—pain,
she’d experienced, and the bites weren’t very big—but the sound of
that dainty mouth chewing was difficult to ignore. She told
herself, as the blood ran down her hand, that this was the only
way.
At last, when her new daughter had
stripped all the skin from her thumb, the tearing stopped. Magda
raised her trembling hand as the girl chewed her last bite, and let
her step back onto the table. Forcing herself to smile, she picked
up the old white smock to stem the bleeding.
“Are you all right now?” she said,
pressing the cloth against her wounds. “Is that enough?”
“Yes, Mother. Thank you.” The girl
wiped her face with an arm that looked much rosier than before. Her
cheeks were flushed, and her red eyes gleamed like rubies. “I’ve
eaten well, for now.”
###
About the Author
Katherine Traylor is a fantasy
writer based in Durham, North Carolina. She read too many fairy
tales as a child, too many fantasy novels as an adolescent, and far
too much Harry Potter fanfiction in university. The only hope for
her now is to let some of the accumulated magic escape into stories
of her own. Her upcoming novel, THE WOODS AND THE CASTLE, is a YA
paranormal drama about a shy teenage girl with an evil invisible
friend. She thanks you sincerely for reading, and hopes you've
enjoyed these stories. Best wishes to you! <3
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