Enid swallowed. “And what did he give our people?”
“He allowed them to hunt the wild stags and boar, for the People of the Red Trees were the bravest and most stout-hearted of all the Bergischesland people. In those times, no one went hungry, for all were fed by the hand of the Erlking.”
Before Maarta could continue to weave her story, the baby began to cry once more. “Hush now, Kristof. Hush, boy.” He would not relent, and the sound threatened to drive her mad. Her breasts ached in response; it was as if they too had turned against her. She stood over him as the child’s tiny face reddened, displaying his obvious displeasure, but Maarta scolded him. “No, greedy little boy. It is too late to eat now. You must go to sleep.” Swaddling the child in his small quilt, she repositioned Kristof in his wooden crib—hopefully for the last time tonight—and quickly tended to the fire. The baby boy cried for a few more minutes but eventually ceased his hungry demands and fell asleep again.
Enid had become so quiet that Maarta thought she too had fallen asleep, but she had not. Little Enid’s eyes were wide and watchful as she patiently waited for the continuation of the promised story. Feeling hot suddenly, Maarta poured water from a pitcher into a cup. She took a few steps and handed it to her daughter. Obediently, Enid took a few sips too and put the cup on the table before returning to her mother’s side.
“Come closer, daughter, and I will tell you a secret, a true secret. The women in our family have shared this secret since before we can remember, before Saint Martin arrived in Bergischesland.” Enid crept into her lap and leaned her head on Maarta’s sore chest. “There are no more treaties, daughter. The Erlking abandoned these lands, along with the Kobolds and the Almas. All are gone, except the wolves…and the goblins, Enid.”
The child gasped and cuddled even closer to Maarta, who continued, “Real goblins always return to the Black Forest on this night, and they remind us of the treaties that have been broken. The goblins are the collectors of debts, and they are angered that we no longer give them gifts or practice the Old Ways. In days gone by, we offered them stories…how they loved to hear stories. The goblins would huddle close to our homes to hear our stories, the stories of the old heroes, of the Erlking. But none are told now. All the stories are forgotten—forbidden by Saint Martin to ever be repeated.”
Speaking the words, telling Enid this story, made Maarta feel free. How long she’d wanted to tell Enid these things!
Enid whimpered at hearing such a thing spoken aloud, further proof that she should tell the girl these stories. Maarta had spoken only once of goblins in Enid’s presence, quickly receiving a censure from her husband by way of the back of his hand. He would not tolerate foolish pagan stories told to his own daughter, Conrad warned her. And indeed, until tonight she never intended to repeat them or to ever tell Enid any of her pagan tales. But now she knew she must. She would not allow Enid to abandon their heritage, all for the love of a man unwilling to give her the faithfulness he promised.
No, she would raise her daughter to be a wise woman! A strong woman, unafraid of what lingered in the dark!
“Midnight approaches, Enid, and with it the midnight snows. And with the snows, the goblins. Let us look out the window, but don’t let them see you.” They slid out from under the thick quilt together and went to the frosted window. Enid’s dark eyes were once more filled with fear. “Look at the moon. See? It grows bright overhead, and all the living things of this world have hidden, just as we hide. But the things that are not like you and me, they come looking and hunting.”
“Will the goblins come here? Do they want stories?”
Maarta shrugged as she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “Who knows what will satisfy them? I imagine they might want something more than a story or two now. Perhaps gold or silver or something more precious.”
Maarta had never actually seen a goblin but fancied she’d heard one near her mother’s house when she was a small child. Looking out the window now, into the darkness, she wondered if anything looked back. The moon illuminated the fresh blanket of snow that covered the ground around the cottage. It smelled cold and fresh. For a second, she believed she could see a shadow—yes, there! Just there at the edge of the wood! She stared hard and avoided speaking but didn’t see anything else.
“We must build up the fire, Enid.”
“I am warm, mother.”
“We need more light, daughter. We must build the fire.” An unmistakable chill swept over her soul. The urgency grew by the second.
“Mother, we need more wood, and it’s hot in here.” As if he agreed, the baby began to cry again.
“Can’t you stop crying for once, Kristof? If you don’t stop, I’m going to give you to the goblins!” Enid’s little mouth fell open, and as if he understood his mother, the boy quieted and cried softly. A shudder went through Maarta’s body, and her ears began to buzz.
“Mother, don’t say that. Come sit with me and tell me another story. A happy story—please!”
Another wolf howled, this one very near to the house. The hair on Maarta’s arms rose, and she clutched her daughter’s hand as they stepped away from the window. She didn’t want to go outside, especially if there were wolves about, but they needed the wood if they were to keep the light bright through the night. One basket was all she needed. She prayed that Conrad had cut and stacked it already. Maarta leaned over the crib and stared down into the face of her unhappy son. “Be quiet, now, Kristof. I will feed you when I return. I must go out and gather wood. Be good for your sister.”
“Mother, do not leave me here by myself. What if the goblins come?”
She smiled at the child, happy to see that she took the stories seriously. “Then give them what they want, Enid.” The girl whimpered at her answer, and Maarta squatted down in front of her and hugged her. “Hush now. Are you a baby like Kristof? I will be just outside. I will hear the goblins if they come, I promise you, and I have your father’s ax to protect us. Now go, care for your brother.”
The boy wailed loudly again as if he too protested. Maarta covered her thin body with a coat of furs, wrapped her boots and left the cabin.
Just a few minutes away, that’s all I need. Just a few minutes!
The snow crunched underfoot, but her feet were warm in her deerskin boots. She walked to the white clump of wood, which she recognized as the woodpile. Unfortunately, Conrad had not cut the wood, so she would have to do it.
So like him to think of nothing but himself.
If she ever doubted his unfaithfulness, she didn’t anymore. A man who loved his family would never leave them without wood on a cold night. He might as well have sentenced them to death.
The baby howled in the cabin behind her, but all else was silence. Maarta felt the sensation that she was being watched. There was no time to waste! As she chopped wood with her stiff fingers, tears rolled down her cheeks. She had done this—there was no one to blame but herself. Maarta had married a man who did not respect her or her people or her ways. That would change now. She would go home, home to her parents if need be, as soon as she could. She would have to prepare—in secret, of course—but she thought she would remember the way.
Then she heard rustling in the wood and heavy clumps of snow hitting the ground. Yes, there it was again! Rustling and a strange snorting sound! It didn’t sound like a wolf or a bear. Maarta listened carefully and imagined she heard talking, two men talking. No, it must have been three or more, talking in low tones in a language she did not recognize. Foreigners here! She hunkered behind the woodpile and waited, the ax in her hand. Wolves howled, their shrill calls piercing the chilly air. The sounds of breathing were all around her, and whispers—so many whispers! Their voices demanded something of Maarta, but all she could do was fall to her knees and whimper.
And she heard another sound. Kristof’s cries echoed through the woods, and she heard the voices getting louder. Oh no! Are they near the house? Enid will be terri
fied!
Grabbing her wood and stuffing it in the basket, she began to run toward the cottage with all her might. The cold stung her lungs and her legs felt like stones, but she pressed on. She had to get inside and latch the door. The thick latched wood would keep strangers out. And she had the ax. As she ran, Enid’s name on her lips, she tripped and landed on the ground with a loud thud. Pain shot through her head, and her eyes refused to open.
And then she slipped away, into blackness. As she moved in and out of consciousness, she heard the voices again, and the screams of a child. Was that Enid? The footsteps circled her, the wolves howled, and the deep grumbling of voices filled her ears.
Then she heard nothing.
Maarta woke sometime later. The sun threatened to break over the horizon, small brown wood birds were chirping, and she sat up and brushed the snow from her body. Thankfully her hides had kept her warm and she had not frozen to death. Though her temple was a bloody mess, she could clearly see the house in the growing light.
There was no fire burning, and no smoke wafted from the chimney. This was very wrong! She staggered to her feet and wavered on wobbly legs until she could steady herself. She made her way to the side of the house, the ax and basket of wood forgotten under a blanket of snow. Maarta followed the edge of the house until she came to the front door.
It was open, and the house was dark inside.
“Enid…” she whispered into the darkness as she began to cry. What had happened here? Her pots and dishes were everywhere; even her linens had been thrown about as if a wind had swept through the place.
“Enid!” she screamed.
“I am here, mother.” Her daughter’s soft voice called to her from under the covers of her bed.
Dizziness threatened to overwhelm Maarta, but she walked to the bed. She pulled the covers back and found her daughter safe but as pale as the snow that had blown in through the front door. She gasped at the sight, for Enid was not the same. Her beautiful silky hair now had a prominent white streak at her left temple.
Maarta held her daughter close. What had she endured? What had happened here? And what did this mean? And what of the baby?
“Kristof?” Maarta cried as she ran to the crib. What if the child had frozen to death? Why hadn’t Enid tucked him in with her?
Kristof was not in his crib. He was not in the bed. He was nowhere to be found although Maarta searched for him furiously as Enid watched silently. Maarta dug around in the empty crib, but there was no trace of her son, only a few drops of blood on the white sheet. “Kristof! What did you do, Enid?”
Enid crawled out of the bed now, looking even more changed besides the white streak in her hair. Falling to the floor in front of the cold hearth with grief in her gut, grief as heavy as a river rock, Maarta watched a wide smile cross her young daughter’s lips.
This can’t be Enid! She would never smile like that. And her teeth! They are yellowed, and her nails are dirty.
This was not her Enid, she thought, but a changeling!
The thing with Enid’s face said in a matter-of-fact tone, “You said if he didn’t stop crying, we would give him to the goblins, mother. The deal was accepted. The Erlking thanks you.”
Maarta screamed.
She was still screaming when Conrad returned.
The Football Curse
Everyone knew he’d win. Except him. Traveling across those last few yards, the football tucked under his arm, the wind at his back, he didn’t dare take it for granted. He was never sure until he heard the roar of the crowd chanting his name.
Kellogg! Kellogg!
It had been almost too easy, too smooth. Sure, they’d worked that trick play for weeks. They knew it backwards and forwards, but it was something else to see each component fall into place so perfectly. First to Kelso, then to Jay and then finally back to him, the Mighty Dogs quarterback, Andrew Kellogg. He grinned around the mouthpiece and tossed the ball to the nearest ref.
When it happened, the stadium went nuts—at least half of it. The Mighty Dogs had conquered the Yellow Jackets in a heated high school competition for the ages. In a fleeting moment of sentimentalism, he wished his father could see him. This was all he’d ever wanted, to see Andrew win this game.
This is for you, Dad, he thought as he jogged toward the crowd that came to meet him, his name on their lips, their hands in the air.
Finally, the Mighty Dogs’ losing streak against their sworn enemy had come to an end. It wasn’t for nothing the crowd went wild. Andrew had done it—he’d restored their honor. All would be well now.
As the praise erupted in the stadium, the guy on the loudspeaker went berserk too. Next thing he knew, Andrew was surrounded by his team, and then the cheerleaders and then various and sundry schoolmates, even his mom and his best girl Jennifer. His teammates slapped him on the back as he removed his sweaty helmet and spit out his mouthpiece. They hugged him, tears in their eyes, and he gave everyone high-fives and fist bumps. Despite the clamor and the joy, Andrew knew that someone else watched him. He could feel eyes burning into him with absolute focus. He tried to shake it off, to revel in the moment, but he couldn’t. He glanced above the heads of the well-wishers, which wasn’t difficult since he was taller than most. He didn’t have to search or wonder long. Their eyes met, and the Man in the Black Overcoat smiled.
Andrew wanted to throw up.
Bumping his way through the crowd, eager to be free from the Man in the Black Overcoat’s penetrating gaze, he jogged with his teammates to the locker room. For the next thirty minutes, he didn’t think about him again. Instead, he accepted the praise of his teammates and reminded them that they had all achieved this goal together. Even Coach Myers was full of accolades, which was indeed a strange thing. Andrew took a shower and got dressed quickly. He felt an urgency to leave, despite the amazing win.
Before he knew it, he realized he was alone in the locker room. Andrew called out for Jared, but the only answer he got was the sound of the heavy door closing. And then a weird sort of fog rolled in, like the kind he saw sometimes deep in the woods behind his family’s home. Yes, it was exactly like that. How had that fog gotten in here?
Andrew reached for his gym bag and quickly headed for the door. He didn’t like the idea of being alone in here, not tonight. And suddenly, he understood that he wasn’t alone. As the fog rose and swirled around the room, the man stepped out. The Man in the Black Overcoat. He wore a hat too, a wide-brimmed hat, also black, and his face was hidden. But Andrew knew him. He’d made the deal with him, hadn’t he?
“Congratulations are in order, Mr. Kellogg.” He clapped, but it didn’t sound like hands. It sounded like two hammers clanking together. Andrew jumped back, his fight-or-flight response kicking in. He wondered if he could hurdle the two benches in front of him. He couldn’t see them now, and there might be others…other things in the fog.
“I have given you what you want. Now give me what I want, Mr. Kellogg. Which is it to be?”
Andrew felt confused. Which what? And although he couldn’t remember their conversation, not really, he knew they’d had one. In fact, he’d even dreamed about the Man in the Black Overcoat a few times afterward, but that had been at the beginning of the season. By the time Halloween rolled around, Andrew had convinced himself that he’d made the whole thing up. He had never talked to such a strange man. He had never signed his name in blood. He had not seen the document catch fire after he signed it.
Now, to his horror, he knew how wrong he’d been. He had made a deal with the Man in the Black Overcoat, but for what? That was the one thing he couldn’t remember.
“I don’t understand what you mean. I can’t remember.” A horrible headache struck Andrew between the eyes, and the Man in the Black Overcoat watched him without speaking.
“Choose, Andrew. You need to choose which one, or I will choose for you.”
And then Andrew remembered. He had promised this man something, back when he didn
’t believe any of this…but it had been true, it had all been true. Andrew knew that now. He would be victorious, he would bring pride back to his school, but it would cost him something.
The payment was love. He must choose whom he loved the most. Andrew felt sick again. What could he do? This couldn’t be possible!
“I can’t! You can’t do this!”
“You have made your choice, Mr. Kellogg. It has been a pleasure doing business with you, and if you wish, we can make the same deal next year. Oh dear, you are a senior now. No, I’m afraid this will be our one and only deal. Good evening, Mr. Kellogg, and Happy Halloween.”
Before Andrew could speak or even think, the fog disappeared, quickly sucking itself under the heavy door and vanishing. He was alone again. The Man in the Black Overcoat was gone with the fog. Andrew had to make a break for it. He ran out of the locker room without his bag, caring only that he had his car keys. He ran to the parking lot and sped back to his house. Jennifer and his mother would be waiting for him. They were having their own celebration tonight. And Andrew had some exciting news to share with his mother. He and Jennifer were having a baby and wanted to get married.
It would shock his mom at first, but he believed she would accept it once she had a chance to think about things. If she was okay.
You have a choice to make, Mr. Kellogg. Who do you love more? Love is the price.
Andrew began to cry as he raced home. His house was only two streets over from the stadium. As he turned down his street, he could see the ambulance waiting for him.
Love is the price.
Then he saw the Man in the Black Overcoat. Standing on the side of the road, at the edge of his driveway.
“Oh God, no!” Andrew spun into the driveway and watched the man disappear in his rearview mirror. Barely putting his car in park, he jumped out and ran into the house, pushing past the first responders who seemed to be everywhere.
He didn’t want to know! But he had to.
Halloween Screams Page 2
