1. December 23
CHAPTER 1
DECEMBER 23
W hen one of the council members handed me a bright purple pill bigger than my Omega-3 supplement and told me it was for birth control, I should have thanked the Blackmoor council for their time, given it back, and high-tailed it out of there.—
I didn’t. Of course I didn’t. After everything I went through to be in the secluded small town on the edge of the forest in the first place, it was going to take a lot more than a monster-sized birth control pill to keep me from going in there. Even if the unsaid implication that it was possible to be impregnated during my three days had me side-eying the pill before I choked it down, I took the damn thing because—if I didn’t—my offer to enter the woods would’ve been revoked.
It was in the contract I signed. To prove I was worthy of such an adventure, I needed to do a pee test to make sure I wasn’t already knocked-up, let them dig into my past to see if I was ducking a spouse as I wrote a check equal to my life savings to even be considered for this opportunity, and when I was the lucky woman who would be allowed to visit the dark forest of Blackmoor this Christmas, I had to willingly swallow the pills they gave me.
The purple one was the last after a cup full of at least eight more; all different than what I was used to, and apart from the birth control pill, the council member didn’t tell me what a single one did. Considering I’ve spent the last seven years trying everything I could for my hip—short of a replacement I’ll never be able to afford—I’m pretty good at recognizing pills: vitamins, prescriptions, and those you definitely can’t get over the counter—or behind it, either. Here’s hoping at least one of them will help my hip before I can do something about it myself.
That’s why I’m here, after all. In a gated-in village that shouldn’t exist, positioned on the outskirts of a dark forest that shouldn’t be real, I flew halfway across the world because using my life savings for this Christmas vacation seemed a better idea than heading into another year without doing something to change my current life around.
It’s the holidays. It’s the season of hope . And if I’m hoping for something that might be impossible, that’s okay.
This whole situation is seemingly impossible.
Magic. Not just Christmas magic, either, where little kids think of a plus-sized bearded man breaking into their homes as an event to look forward to instead of a reason to call the cops. Real magic.
I’m here for my wish.
That’s what they offer you. If you pledge three days to the dark woods and walk out of them again when the seventy-two hours are up, the magic blesses you with a single wish. You can ask for anything you want and it’ll be yours.
I’m not asking for much. To be able to live life again without the constant ache in my hip as my companion… that’s all I want. If I was being greedy, I’d wish to go back to when I was nineteen, my parents were still together and happy, and some rich kid with too much money and no goddamn sense hadn’t decided to choose answering a text over watching where the hell he was driving, but hindsight is a bitch. Even if the magic gave me a do-over, I’d never be able to forget how getting in that car accident didn’t just leave me with a rod in my hip and a slight limp.
My parents argued constantly during my recovery. Following the crash, I spent weeks in the hospital. Even longer in physical therapy. They told me I was lucky to have kept my hip at all. I didn’t feel so lucky when I had a front-row seat to my parents’ marriage falling apart.
They didn’t make it a year before they were divorced. Dad remarried within six months, Mom became even more of a helicopter parent, and seven years later, the only thing that’s changed is my dad having two more kids I’ve never met, and my mother treating me like I’m still a kid instead of a twenty-six-year old woman.
The fact that my high school sweetheart—and boyfriend from when I was fourteen until the accident—dumped me when things got too hard made it worse. My mom saw us both losing our partners and decided we needed to stick together.
And I did. For a while. But as soon as I could walk out of the family home in California, getting as far away from my old life by accepting an old camp friend’s offer to check out life in Alabama, I did.
Then, even after Val moved two states over for her husband’s job, I was stuck in my new, empty life with a tiny apartment, no nearby support, a dead-end job I still had up until three weeks ago, and an overdrawn bank account.
That part sucks, but it happened. My prick of a father stole as much as the hush money pay-out from my accident as he could get his hands on before he traded Mom for Patricia. After being talked into dropping the court case if ‘insurance’—translation: the rich kid’s mommy and daddy—paid me directly, I didn’t have it in me to sue my dad.
Way I see it, the ten grand might have helped me with my hip, but it was a pretty reasonable price to pay to learn just what kind of monster my father was.
And the council seemed to think I’d be scared of whatever lurks in the darkness? Please. Before I became a survivalist living on her own, I was a born survivor first; the accident derailed my life, but it didn’t change me. The orthos on my team tried to say I could never walk right again without the replacement surgery. I showed them. The shrink told me she’d understand if I was hesitant to drive again after getting T-boned. I used the little bit of money I kept to replace my car.
I’ve used every last cent I’ve scrimped and saved and worked toward over the last seven years to petition the council to give me a shot against a different type of monster. Well, almost every cent. I put just enough aside to send my mom on a month-long cruise throughout December so that she’ll be occupied while I chase my destiny.
I called it her Christmas present, knowing she would never be so rude as to refuse a gift.
My Christmas present? Leaving my cashier job behind, flying across the world, and doing whatever I had to to be the chosen one.
It came down to two girls: me and a busty brunette with a sad smile and a glint in her dark brown eyes that said she needed this as much as me. I’m not proud to admit that I took advantage of my story. I’m sure Kaitlin did, too. No one is going to risk being trapped in the dark forest for shits and giggles. There’s an actual monetary prize being offered—my contract said five grand and my return trips to the States covered—but to believe in the concept of earning a wish as badly as us petitioners do… we need it. There’s something about each of us that makes us both desperate and determined to face the monsters, whether they’re real or not.
And based on the whispers from those who walked into those foreboding trees and walked back out again, they’re just as real as the promise of a life-changing wish…
I’d do anything to have it. That’s why, when one of the council members rudely pointed out my slight limp, then asked me if I still enjoyed my favorite pastime of going camping and hiking even after the accident, I quivered my bottom lip and lied .
The pain sucks, but I can deal with it nine times out of then. It’s that tenth time—when I’m down for the count, hurting so bad that I can’t leave bed—that has me eager to get that wish. And if I have to tell them that it’s a struggle, but I won’t let my hip limit what I can do, even if it hurts… I’ll overcome it. I’ll overcome it all.
After conversing with each other, the council members called me brave.
Maybe I am. But I’m also determined, and there isn’t anything I can’t do if I put my mind to it… except maybe keep my parents’ marriage from falling apart, but since my dad’s a dick, my mom’s way better off without him.
I stumbled upon the legend of Blackmoor online.
I researched it.
I saved up the five-thousand dollars it cost for the flight and travel from a big city airport to the hidden village, then sent most of the money to my mom’s account after I saw what Nicklaus gave me.
I made it through their tests, and even if I feel a little bad for coming out on top over Caitlin, that won’t stop me.
Nothing will.
They think I’ll need birth control as though someone—or something—inside of the woods can knock me up? As though I’m going into the woods and one of the monsters I’ve been warned about in whispers… as thought I might have to fuck to survive the next three days?
Like I said.
I’m a survivor, and there isn’t anything I won’t do to fix my leg, fix my lonely life, and finally— finally —move on from the past.
For more than four years, I’ve been a survivalist.
My older co-worker, Ang, used to tease me and say I was a prepper. No. I was caught unaware once, and even if I have a bum hip until I’m as old and wrinkled as she is, I will never, ever let that happen again. A prepper is someone who plans and stockpiles things they might need for the future.
The world’s gone to shit. My life ain’t the greatest, but looking around? There’s no denying it’s gone to shit. Bad stuff happens all the time. Even if some kind of natural disaster does manage to knock me on my ass, what the hell will a closet full of baked beans and toilet paper really do?
No . I’m a survivalist. That means I’ve done everything I could to hone my skills so that I can make it through anything. From camping outdoors and building my own fires to going hunting with my next door neighbors, the Reed boys, I refuse to let my hip slow me down.
But this? This just might.
As soon as I swallowed every last pill they gave me, one of the few female council members went with me back to the hostel I’d been living in since I arrived at the village. There was a dress waiting for me at the front desk, and she insisted that I put it on.
This sucker weighs about ten pounds. Most of it is in the heavily sequined skirt, though the strapless gold bodice is both thick and molded to my chest. There’s no way I can wear a bra with it, but at least the material keeps the girls from escaping out of the top.
A pair of matching shoes come with the dress. I swallow my groan when I realize that the gold-colored heels are a good two inches high. Walking in those things is going to be brutal, but Sandra insists that this is what I have to wear to enter the snow-capped trees.
Only knowing what’s at stake keeps me from pointing out that it’s December in Europe, it’s pretty damn cold out, and though the skirt goes all the way to my calves, my shoulders and arms are on display. I’m going to freeze unless I get a fire going right away.
Too bad I’m not allowed to bring my knapsack with me. No fire starter. No rations. No knife even to strip some bark or cut anything that might try to come after me first. I get the heels, the glittering Cinderella-style dress, and… an orange.
Seriously.
I’m expected to survive three full days—December 23rd, December 24th, and December 25th… Christmas day itself—with only a single piece of fruit.
Good thing I’ve done some research on this part of Europe. From what I understand, Blackmoor is set near the borders where three different countries meet, but my impression on its location helped me look into the local flora and fauna. There will have to be something in there for me to forage—berries, maybe, or mushrooms—and if there isn’t?
It won’t be fun, going hungry for three days, but I can do it.
I can do anything .
And I prove it by shaking my head, sending my loose hair—because, oh no, I’m not allowed my usual ponytail in the forest—over my shoulders before I totter forward on my high heels.
Three council members are standing at my back. I spare a quick glance at them. Sandra is one. The other is a grey- haired man with water green eyes who never introduced himself, though he seems like he’s the head of the council. The third is a dark-skinned man about my age who is biting his inner cheek, brow furrowed as if debating whether he should stop me or not.
He could try. I’m stubborn enough that I’d thank him for his concern, but I’d never listen.
Ah, well, Josie. Here goes nothing.
The trees are a dark line stretched out along the edge of the small town of Blackmoor. Despite it being a little after dawn on the 23rd, the hazy, bright winter sun almost blinding when I look behind me, there are nothing but shadows and warning as I grip the orange and take the first few steps into the forest.
The rules are clear. To simply cross into the forest, park my ass, and wait out my time… that would be cheating. In order to get my wish, I have to earn it. That means heading far enough into the woods to allow the magic to test my mettle. To see if I’m worth of its gift.
I’m not afraid. What’s the worst that can happen? I die? I accepted that possibility the second I discovered that, of the last hundred petitioners, only four walked back out of the woods again when their time was up. Four . No wonder that one council member seemed hesitant to say something. He’s probably tired of watching idiots sacrifice themselves to the monsters.
So maybe I’m a dead girl walking. It’s not like I have anything to go back for anyway. But, to me, walking again without pain… that’s worth the risk. Even with my crap insurance, it would run me forty grand to replace my hip. Considering my age and the fact that the lifespan of the new hip joint would only be ten to fifteen years, I’d likely need to have two more at least. I’m already starting to feel pain in my groin, too, as the blood supply to my formerly fractured hip is starting to be lost.
I’m twenty-six. I just want to still be on my feet when I’m forty without drowning in medical debt.
Honestly? With the state of healthcare in the US the way it is, pinning all of my hopes on a wish is probably my best bet.