Chapter 1 #2
“Winter is approaching, I still need provisions. This will not be enough. And the pay is not fair, Minnie,” she pleaded, hoping to stir the woman’s conscience. But in hard times, conscience lost its might. And times always seemed to be hard in the village of Gravebrook.
“If it’s so unfair, I’ll take my business to Constance next time,” Minnie said without turning around.
“She charges twice as much as I do, you know that,” Corabeth argued.
Minnie let the ladle fall into the pot with a splash, the liquid spilling over and sizzling into the air. With a sigh, she pulled two more coins from her pocket and dropped them into Corabeth’s hand.
“Fine,” she said with a sigh, rolling her eyes. “I was hoping to buy the children some sweets, but very well, take the last of my coin.”
She was still short four coins, but Corabeth knew there was no point in arguing with Minnie. There was the danger of losing her business. And she would make do with ten coins. Perhaps she could buy the lower-grade flour mixed with barley or other grains. And the butcher—
“Are we done?” Minnie snapped, making a point of reaching for something past Corabeth so she knew she was in the way.
“I suppose we are,” Corabeth sighed and pocketed the coins, stepping out of the kitchen.
“Then hurry home before the Beast gets you!” Minnie warned.
Corabeth sighed. It was still hours before nightfall, before the Beast was expected to roam the village.
“Farewell,” she called and left the Weldon household without waiting for a reply.
Cold wind pelted her as she started to retrace her steps. All around her, the preparations for the Night of the Beast were starting to take shape. The windows and doors on the houses were being boarded up. Old Bastian walked down the road, leading two goats towards the pillory.
For the first time in Corabeth’s lifetime, the Night of the Beast was upon them—something that happened once every thirty-three years.
It almost felt unreal, nothing but a scary story, if it weren’t for the fear in the eyes of the elder villagers who had already lived through it once.
The unlucky and especially elderly ones twice.
Not all the details of the curse upon the village had survived the jaws of history.
For instance, no one remembered why the curse had been placed upon them.
But what everyone agreed on was that for one night, the Beast that was normally bound by the woods walked the village, hungry for blood.
For this reason, animals were placed all around the village and left out for the Beast. If they were lucky, by the end of the night it would be too crazed and too gorged on blood to come after the people.
This way, generations of villagers had survived the Night of the Beast.
Up ahead, four boys between eight and twelve hung around in a huddle, peering down at something. The tallest and oldest of them was waving a stick in his hand. As Corabeth approached, she saw the reason for the huddle—a small hare, trapped in the circle of boys.
“Don’t let it get away!” the oldest boy suddenly yelled, slamming down his stick atop the hare’s neck, pinning it to the ground.
Corabeth knew the boys well. However cruel the adults of the village were to her, the children somehow knew the most hurtful ways to slight her. And they did not attempt to hide the delight it brought them.
She crossed the road to avoid being noticed, but it was already too late. The ringleader, Giles, the youngest of Village Elder Fabel’s sons, elbowed the boy next to him and jerked his head towards her.
With a sinking feeling, Corabeth sagged further into herself, tried to make herself small, uninteresting, but the boys were already running up to her.
“Hey,” Giles called, and Corabeth felt a poke in her back. When she turned around to smack him away, she nearly caught the muddy stick she had been prodded with. But Giles pulled it back with a triumphant smile.
“Leave me alone,” she said and trudged on. The boys were mostly harmless, only there to torment her with cruel words, always staying out of her reach so she couldn’t give them a good thrashing.
“Where are you going?” Giles asked, poking her with his stick again.
“Home, and you should do the same, lest you want to be eaten by the Beast,” Corabeth said and waved a hand behind her, this time making contact with the stick and snatching it from the boy’s hands.
“Aren’t you in league with the Beast?” one of the younger boys, Jasper, asked. “My father says you’re a witch.”
“Then shouldn’t you stay away before I put a nasty spell on you?
” Corabeth said, raising her voice, and turned suddenly.
She took a few threatening steps towards the boys, the muddy stick raised high.
With a shriek, Jasper backed away, almost tripping, and took Giles with him.
The younger boys seemed sufficiently spooked, but there was an amused glint in Giles’ eyes as he allowed himself to be pulled away.
“Corabeth,” said a steady voice behind her. Corabeth let her hand fall, dropped the stick, and turned slowly to face Susanna Fabel, the Village Elder’s wife, who had stepped out of the general store.
“Good afternoon, Matron Susanna,” Corabeth said and brushed the dirt from her hand into her skirts.
“Is this what you have resorted to now? Scaring children before the Night of the Beast?” Susanna asked coldly, her hands clasped before her, the picture of stoic steadfastness.
The Matron’s mousy blonde hair was pulled into a tight bun, not a single strand out of place. Her features were sharp and severe. Corabeth struggled to remember a single time she had seen the woman laugh or even smile.
“I simply wished for them to leave me be. They were mocking me—”
Matron Susanna interrupted her with a dismissive sound from her throat, turning her head sharply to the side as if she couldn’t bear to look at Corabeth. “For the love of God, they are children.”
“Yes, Matron Susanna,” Corabeth said, lowering her gaze. She knew better to argue with the Village Matron. She could end up in the pillory just like her mother before her. They had already found her guilty, they were just waiting for her to commit the crime.
Somewhere along the line, the village had decided Corabeth’s mother was the black sheep of their flock.
Corabeth got a small reprieve when her mother had died in the pillory, but she had inherited her mother’s sins; there was no doubt about that.
The greatest of them was that she had never known her father.
“I’m sure even you have better things to do,” Matron Susanna said before turning away, leaving Corabeth standing there in the mud and her shame.
She took a breath, composed herself once more, and stepped into the general store where shopkeeper Martin had already covered some of the shelves with sheets.
“Closing already?” Corabeth asked, walking up to the man. Martin looked up from his ledger and smiled. If there was anyone in the village who could muster up some kindness towards Corabeth, it was him. After all, he couldn’t be picky about who he accepted coin from.
“Night of the Beast, you know how it is. I have time for one final purchase, though. What will it be?” he asked, clapping his hands together eagerly.
“How much for the larger sack of flour?” she asked, pointing at the brown sack behind Martin. It was nearly the size of her upper body.
“Twelve copper,” Martin replied and slapped his hand on it, sending dust into the air.
Corabeth sighed. “Do you have any of those flour mixes? And in a slightly smaller sack? Something that would cost around eight copper?”
Martin smiled, a sympathetic sort of smile, and disappeared into the back room for a brief moment. He returned with a smaller sack tossed over his shoulder that he threw onto the counter.
“That will be easier to bring home anyway,” Corabeth said with a forced smile, making Martin huff out a laugh. She used the rest of her money to buy some shortening, tossed the heavy sack over her shoulder, and waved Martin goodbye.
It had grown darker outside, partly because the clouds turned angrier, partly because the late autumn sun was setting earlier and earlier. She hurried down the road towards her home, her feet sinking deeper into the mud due to the added weight.
This time, when she passed the pillory, she didn’t have to see it at all. The sack on her shoulder shielded it from her vision. She only guessed she had passed it by the murmur of the men tying up the animals.
She could see her house up ahead, the last building at the end of the road before the misty forest began, and picked up her pace. She still needed to board up her own windows, which luckily would not take too long since there were only three of them.
Corabeth was just five houses away when a door flew open and the figure of a disheveled girl fell out onto the porch, changing the course of Corabeth’s life forever.
If she had come mere minutes later, or earlier, she would have made it home undisturbed.
If she hadn’t had to argue with Minnie, if the boys hadn’t mocked her, if she hadn’t stopped for an earful from Matron Susanna…