A Debt
On a windless night, deep in the Adirondack winter, the stars brushed against a moonless sky, awaiting the return of the Cabin Woman.
It was a trudging, snow-encrusted journey, shepherding her beloved fox coven home every night. This season had been especially brutal- shuttering her windows with thick panes of ice, Jack Frost himself pushing his fingers through the cracks between the logs to sample the warmth of an ever-burning fireplace.
Tonight, however, the Woman was late.
Through the increasingly frantic flurry of snowflakes, she watched the last gas-lit spark disappear through the cabin window. A glass shard embedded itself in her heart, and she yipped towards the skulk, urging them to move faster.
Please, she whispered towards the guardian pines, sagging with snow drifts above the roof, hold out a moment longer.
She’d been careless, foolish, this year. Her luck was running thinner and thinner each time she dallied, and the final thread was about to snap; she was sure of it.
Gripping the frozen metal latch, she pulled open the barn door, counting each white-tipped tail as they scurried inside, ensuring the kits were safe with their mothers. They snuggled up against hay and afgans and each other's fur, huffing happy squeaks at the comfort of home, of the joy of the pack. She struck a match against her boot and cupped it toward their lantern, praying for their safety tonight.
The cabin had gone stygian- the darkness moving in so completely it nestled between her ribs, whispering its warning through her hair. She bolted the door behind her, but the scratching had already begun.
She tugged her lamp from its place and ducked under one of the windows to count her matches. They tumbled from the box, wedging themselves between the gaps in the hardwood floor she had meant to fix last fall.
SCRRRITCH
Behind her back, the wall shuddered as claws or teeth scraped their way across the cabin walls, inching up to the window.
Flattening against the floor, she stuck out her boot, hooking it around her near-empty kerosene can and pulling it toward her.
Shaking hands fished a match from the floorboard, unscrewed the lamp and kerosene tin, and refilled the base.
tap, tAP, TAP
Steadying her breathing, she begged to the woods. Either this match lit, or they vowed to take care of her coven.
Scritch…
Fwoosh.
She closed the glowing lantern, stood, and hung it back in its place in the window. Breath caught in her throat, she closed her eyes and counted, not daring to peek outside, not yet.
1.
2.
3.
4.
The voice came, reverberating in her bones, dread gripping her temple, sealing her in place. Time is running out, lamp bearer. The sacrifice will be made.
Its hold released, and she shuddered, falling to the floor.
The yellow-glass eyes at the window blinked once, twice, then turned to the blanket of the night, enveloped in the snowflake halos of a winter storm.
Relief folded her in its arms, allowing the sobs that racked her body to flow, holding back the iron bars of grief for one more night.
--
The water had gone cold by the time she awoke in the tub. Constellations twinkled in the water; stars and the soft light of glistening snow illuminated her pale flesh in a silvery sheen that looked almost skeletal. She ran her hands over the surface, admiring the shimmering ripples over her fingertips, wishing she could bottle the stars forever.
She towled off near the last glowing embers of the fireplace, making a mental checklist for her supply run into town tomorrow, trying to decide whether the kits were finally strong enough to make the journey, when she heard a tiny, unmistakable yip.
She whipped her head to the lantern.
The light had gone out.
“NO!”
She screamed into the recesses of the night, throwing on boots and wrapping a blanket around her shoulders. A wave of nausea, of terror, of agony tore its way through her body, nearly knocking her to the ground as she grabbed her shotgun from its place above the fireplace.
Ripping open the door, frost threatening to blind her, she saw it.
The Beast-its massive dark figure huddled over the open barn door, a fox struggling in its gaping maw.
She fired a single shot into its chest, but the Beast didn’t flinch. It turned to her, fire in its eyes, something like a grin overtaking its muzzle.
“Please,” she sobbed, “take me instead. I'm ready. Please.”
Its jaws clenched, a horrible cracking sound ricocheting off the watching trees. Her fox stopped squirming.
You were given more time than most, lamp bearer, to repay your debt. You are too late.
The Beast disappeared into the windless night for the last time.
In a feeble hope, she inched towards the barn, longing to hear a cry, a whimper, a bark.
Nothing.
She sank into the snow, cocooned in silence. Tears freezing to her face, she begged the stars for an answer.
They sat in the sky, knowing what must be done, knowing what has always been.
She pressed the shotgun to her chin, thought of her foxes, and pulled the trigger.