Scary Stories for Young Foxes

by Christian McKay Heidicker

  He gazed back through the marsh. What if his mom had finally chased Mr. Scratch away and was sniffing for Uly at the forest’s edge? Then again, what if he hopped back alone and was eaten by a rock or dissolved by a flower?

  “Mia?” he called into the swamp.

  Wincing, he gave his forepaw a great pull, and it came free.

  “Mia, wait! I’m sorry!”

  He splashed after her, sniffing. But Mia’s unripe-apple scent was already lost among the mossy grays and strangled greens.

  * * *

  The swamp grew darker—stranger than before. The trees stretched to great, tangled heights, their twisted branches nearly touching the sky before plummeting toward an algae moon that rippled on black waters.

  Uly stopped to catch his breath. Mist coiled around his paws.

  “Mia?” he whispered.

  His voice was lost beneath the chanting of frogs.

  El-dirtch.

  El-dirtch.

  El-dirtch.

  In his darkest moments, Uly feared he’d never left the crack. That everything that had come since—the forest, the furless terror, this swamp—were all part of the same nightmare. He was afraid that his life in the Boulder Fields had been nothing more than a dream he would never have again.

  “Mia!” he called, slightly louder.

  There came a ruffling from above. He looked up and found a bone-white bird perched on the mossy limb of a cypress tree. Black stripes banded the bird’s eyes. Spiny feathers jutted out the back of its head. Its neck was as coiled as a snake.

  “Um, excuse me?” Uly whispered.

  He wasn’t sure if a bird of the swamp would be able to understand a fox of the stones, but he was willing to try.

  “Ms. Bird?” Uly whispered again.

  The bird’s neck uncoiled, and she tilted a yellow eye down at him.

  “Did you see a fox come this way? A fox like … me?”

  The bird stared. Then it slowly recoiled its neck and pointed its bill toward a hole in the canopy. There, a solitary star glowed strange and red in the sky.

  “She went … that way?” he asked.

  The bird just stared and pointed. The star flickered.

  “Okay,” Uly whispered. “Um, thank you.”

  He followed the star, and the way grew easier. The ground was slimy but solid, and protected by a tunnel of cattails. The star provided the only light, bathing the tunnel in a bloody hue. Uly hadn’t hopped far when he saw a tail bobbing ahead.

  “Mia!” he called, relief tingling through him. “I’m sorry about what I said. My sisters told me about the yellow. And they lied all the time. So yeah, um, sorry.”

  The tail continued to move through the darkness.

  “I’m sure your siblings are fine,” he said, trying to catch up. “They probably just—hey, will you slow down a second?”

  The tail exited the cattail tunnel and came to a halt.

  As Uly drew closer, the tail dulled gray, developing stripes in the strange starlight.

  “M-Mia?”

  He froze. This was not Mia’s tail. Not Mia’s tail at all. Before he could even hiccup, the tail’s owner whirled, reared up on its hind paws, and screamed.

  THREE

  ULY TRIED TO scamper backward, but he tripped over his tail and fell hard. “Oof!”

  The creature stopped screaming. It sat back on its hind legs, oily eyes staring through black markings. Its small, grotesque paws clutched a soft oval egg to its chest. Green yolk dripped from its teeth.

  “Sorry. Hic! Sorry. Hic! I’m sorry,” Uly said, trying to catch his shuddering breath. “I—I thought you were a—hic—friend of mine. Sorry.”

  The raccoon slurped the yolk. And then it grinned.

  Uly’s heart beat faster. Did raccoons eat foxes? His sisters didn’t have any scary stories about them.

  The raccoon hunched over and sniffed a circle around him. It stuck its wet nose into his right ear and huffed. It did the same to the other. Completing the circle, it stared at Uly and snickered.

  “Heh heh,” Uly said, not sure what they were laughing about.

  The raccoon’s strange paws held out the egg in offering.

  “Oh, um”—Uly hopped closer—“thank you.”

  The egg popped between his teeth and slipped down his throat. It was salty and delicious and filled him with a touch of confidence.

  “Do you know a way out of this place?” he asked the raccoon.

  It nodded eagerly.

  Uly’s whiskers perked. “Will you show me?”

  The raccoon grinned, rubbing together its tiny paws.

  “Okay, um, great,” Uly said. “Thank you. Um, a-after you.”

  He followed the striped tail, hopping over puddles and wriggling under roots, as the leaves shimmered and the shadows darkened under the light of the red star. They arrived at a slog of still black water. Uly thought they’d hit a dead end, but then the raccoon padded across a floating log.

  “Oh, um…,” Uly said. “Okay. Yeah. Sure. I can do that.”

  He hopped onto the log, causing it to roll beneath his paws. He scrambled sideways, but the log only rolled the other way, thumping him onto his hip and flipping him over. The log started to sink, and Uly just managed to bound to its end and hop to solid ground before the swamp swallowed the log with a gurgle.

  “Whew!” he said, trying to laugh.

  When he turned around, the raccoon was gone.

  “Um, h-hello?”

  Uly found himself stranded in the middle of a pool, standing on a hump of mud barely big enough for his three paws. Squinting, he spotted the striped tail on a distant bank. The raccoon met his eyes and grinned. Then it slipped behind a trunk and did not appear on the other side.

  “O … kay,” Uly said.

  He leaned out from the muddy island and peered into the water, trying to see how deep it went. Skeeters skated across his reflection, sending ripples across the red star and the patches of moonlight peeking through the canopy. He couldn’t see a bottom. He was about to test the water’s depth when a spider scrabbled across the surface, one tail from his island.

  “Hic! Hic! Hic!” Uly hopped back, lifting each paw in turn.

  The spider was as big as his head. He was certain it was about to leap onto his throat and drink his insides, but it continued to the far bank.

  Uly waited for his hiccups to settle. The darkness dripped and swayed.

  “Hello?” he whispered. “Rac—hic—coon? Are you com—hic—ing back?”

  As if in response, the red star flashed, briefly flooding the swamp with light. Uly’s eyes snapped upward. What he had thought were patches of moonlight were more of those strange white birds. Each sat on a nest balanced on a mossy branch, drooping low over the water.

  The star flashed again, and the birds craned back their necks and began to grawk in unison, their voices echoing across the pool. Uly winced. This sounded nothing like the songs he’d heard in the Boulder Fields. It was dark and choked and made no sense.

  The birds continued to grawk … until something responded.

  A smell boiled from the pool’s black depths. Bubbles burst on the surface, releasing an ancient scent of mold and rot and long-dead things.

  Uly went as still as a stick bug.

  The birds pointed their bills toward the pool, eyes wide, necks uncoiling. The water began to stir. A splash here. A slosh here. Uly’s whiskers stood alert as he tried to sense where the thing was. But it seemed to be … everywhere.

  Bigger than boulders.

  Bigger than mountains.

  A thousand mouths, each hungrier than the last …

  He gulped.

  Waves continued to swirl around the pool until eventually coming together beneath the lowest branch, where a lone bird perched. The bird panted, eyes flashing toward the sloshing water but refusing to leave her nest behind.

  Uly had a bad feeling about this. He tried to shut his eyes, but they were stuck open.

  The other bird
s continued to caw. The frogs joined in, swelling their throats. And then the water exploded in an upward rush of roaring white. There was a snap and a crunch and a bone-chilling grawk as a toothy mouth dragged the bird underwater.

  The other birds cawed toward the red star as the waves sloshed with bloody feathers. Several raccoons padded onto the shore and dug through the muck. They plucked the soft oval eggs buried there before fading back into the shadows.

  Uly tried calling out to them, but his voice came out in a rasp. “Help.”

  The water stirred again.

  FOUR

  ULY COWERED on his mud island.

  “Um—hic!—excuse me?” he whispered to the nearest bird.

  The bird uncoiled her neck and looked at him with one wide yellow eye. Her other eye was missing.

  “Um—hic—hi,” he said. “I’m—hic—not supposed to be here? I’m not a raccoon or a bird or—hic—an egg. So if you could—hic—please point your beak toward the way across this pool, then—hic—I’ll just—”

  The bird gave her bill a sharp snip, cutting him off. The other birds heard the sound and turned their bills toward Uly’s island, red starlight gleaming in their eyes.

  “Oh, um—hic—never mind,” he said. “I can find my—hic—own way out.”

  Again, the birds craned back their necks and cawed. The water around Uly’s island began to churn. There came a swish of scales to his left. A slosh of claws to his right. A wave curled with gleaming teeth. He hopped in circles, trying to keep the thing in front of him. But it was impossible.

  He looked at the bird with pleading eyes. “I—I—I can’t be eaten today! Hic! My mom is looking for me! And I never—hic!—apologized to my friend! And—”

  Water splashed over his paws, silencing him. Uly dropped to his stomach and wrapped his tail around himself. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing his ears to look like leaves, his fur to look like moss.

  The birds continued to caw. The pool continued to slosh. Any moment, the water would explode, and his body would be dragged under, ripped to pieces by the Golgathursh’s countless mouths, digested in its swamp-sized—

  “How the squip did you get all the way over there?”

  Uly’s eyes leapt open. There, on a bank just ten tails away, was Mia. He blinked a few times to make sure she wasn’t just starlight shining on moss.

  She rolled her eyes. “Don’t look happy to see me or anything.” She splashed along the shallows, trying to find a way to his island. “Lucky for you, I don’t leave foxes behind anymore. Even if they do say mean things about my siblings.”

  The creature beneath the water sensed the splashing and swept toward the shore. Uly shook his head at Mia, trying to signal her to be quiet.

  “I went back to the marsh to find you,” she called, still splashing, “but you were gone. I thought the swamp had swallowed you!”

  “Mia!” he hissed. “Get back! Get away from the shore!”

  She didn’t hear him. “But then I caught your scent and followed you here. Anyone ever tell you that you kinda smell like flower buds?”

  The sloshing waves fell still near Mia. The thing in the water bubbled, waiting to strike. Uly couldn’t watch her get eaten. He had to save her. But how?

  Just then, another spider went scrabbling past his island. Without thinking, Uly seized its spiny leg and hurled it toward the bank. The spider landed with a frantic splash … but the Golgathursh didn’t eat it. As if the spider were a pathetic offering.

  The one-eyed bird above Uly threw back its bill and let out an awful choking laugh. The water swirled beneath it and then exploded in a roar of teeth. There was another crack and a grawk as the bird was dragged into the shallows.

  Mia’s ears shot up. Her eyes went wide.

  “What was that?” she whispered, backing away from the shore.

  Uly spoke through his teeth. “What do you think?”

  Her whiskers went spiky. She believed him.

  “Quick!” she said, searching the bank. “We have to find something to drag you over here!”

  Uly was shocked. If he’d been in Mia’s position, he would have fled the second the water exploded and never looked back. Just having her stick around filled his whiskers with confidence.

  Mia gave up her search. “Looks like you’re gonna have to swim to me.”

  Uly’s confidence evaporated. “What.”

  “You’re gonna have to swim,” she said.

  “What?”

  Mia wrinkled her muzzle. “Did you really not hear me, or are you just pretending so you don’t have to do it?”

  His muzzle clamped shut.

  “That’s what I thought,” she said.

  Behind Uly, toothy mouths played tug-of-war with the bird’s body, pulling it to pieces.

  “Better hurry while it finishes chewing,” Mia said.

  Uly hopped up and down on his forepaw. “I never swam before!”

  “It’s easy!” she said. “It’s like running. Just don’t stop moving your paws.”

  “I never really ran before either!”

  “Welp,” she said, “maybe it’s time you try.”

  Uly whimpered. It was the crack in the Boulder Fields all over again. Someone was forcing him to do something he knew in his paws he could not do. He bounced in a circle, searching for another way. He hated his withered paw that couldn’t run or jump or swim. He hated his cowardice.

  “You’re not a baby anymore, Uly,” Mia said. “I can’t come grab you by the scruff and carry you over here.” She fixed her eyes on his. “And if you don’t at least try to swim, you’re gonna make me break my promise not to leave any more foxes behind.”

  Uly stifled a whimper. Mia’s tone made her sound cruel, like his sisters. But the words she used felt comforting, like something his mom would say. It put his whiskers in a tangle.

  “Besides,” Mia said in a chipper voice, “the water’s only about a foot deep. Your paws can touch the bottom!”

  He scowled at her. “I don’t believe you.”

  “I know,” she said. “Pretend like you do.”

  Behind him, the toothy mouths had slowed their chewing. The bird was nearly eaten.

  Uly stared at the water, eyebrows shaking. “What do I do again?”

  “Just jump in and—” Mia rolled onto her back and stuck her four paws in the air. Then, catching herself, she curled one paw to her chest and pedaled with three. “And just do this as hard as you can.”

  “Okay,” he said, sliding his forepaw into the water. “Okay. Okay. Okay.” With each okay, he made another hop forward—water rising to his chest, then to his chin. “Oka—”

  The ground ended, and he was underwater. His breath bubbled. Murk clouded his eyes. He hiccupped, and water shot up his nostrils.

  He started to panic but then remembered Mia’s three legs pedaling the air. He tried it. At first, he swam forward instead of up, and his lungs strained. But then he kicked harder with his hind legs, and he rose stroke by stroke until his muzzle broke through the surface.

  Uly gasped, coughing and spluttering as he continued to paddle.

  “You’ve got it!” Mia said, voice shaking with relief. “See? Swimming is easy!”

  His hind paw grazed something scaly.

  “Augh. Hic! Augh! Hic! Augh!” he screamed. “It—hic!—touched me!”

  “Don’t worry,” Mia said casually. “I hear the Gurblethrust is allergic to foxes.”

  “Ha ha—hic!—grrblub!” Uly laughed and hiccupped, and his muzzle went underwater.

  He pedaled upward, again breaking through the surface.

  Something slippery licked against his chest.

  “Oh no, oh no, oh—hic!—no,” he said.

  “Psh,” Mia said. “That’s just Mortimer. He’s a tickler.”

  “Ha ha—ulp. Don’t make me laugh.”

  “Sorry! I’m trying to help!”

  He was halfway to her now. Just five tails to go. His lungs stung with inhaled water. His legs were
numb. He focused on Mia’s smiling face and kept paddling.

  Her eyes went wide with fear when she saw something behind him. “You have to swim faster, Uly.”

  “What is it?” he said, turning his head.

  “Don’t look!” she cried. “Just focus on me.”

  He locked his eyes on the blue swirl of hers, trying not to sink, trying not to think about the water opening behind him, sharp with teeth.

  “The faster you get here, the faster I can clean you!” Mia said, voice shaking, trying to smile. “Ha ha! You’re all covered in slime!”

  Uly kicked his paws, but he didn’t seem to be getting any closer to her. He felt like he was running in place.

  “That’s it!” she cried. “You’re almost here! Just a few more tails…”

  Uly paddled as hard as he could. Mia seemed so happy to have him around. Even though no one had told her she had to. And that gave Uly enough strength to swim ten lakes.

  Mia’s jaw started to tremble. “Uly!” she screamed. “Watch ou—”

  Uly felt a tug, and the world vanished in a splash. Water filled his senses.

  “Ulyyyyyyyyy!”

  Mia’s silhouette grew faint and watery above as the Golgathursh dragged him into the pool’s black depths.

  FIVE

  ULY SCREAMED BUBBLES.

  He tried paddling toward the surface, but the teeth clenched tighter around his paw. He tried clawing at the mouth that held him, but its scales were as solid as stone. The more he scrambled and scratched, the faster his breath streamed from his nostrils. Soon his air was spent.

  The jaws of the Golgathursh dragged him deeper.

  Funny. He couldn’t even feel its teeth.

  Here Uly was, about to die again. He could almost hear his sisters’ mocking voices bubbling from the depths.

  We won’t have to clean you much longer, you know.

  The Shrouded Fox will come for you.

  The centipedes’ll twine through your nostrils.

  And that will be the end of Ewwwly.

  Uly stopped struggling. His paws slowed. His lungs hitched. The water embraced him, and a warmth coursed through his body. Soon, the many toothy mouths would chew him up until he was nothing but bones. And maybe that was okay. Bones never had to worry about hunting. Or sisters. If Uly was nothing but bones, Mr. Scratch couldn’t tell his mom to hurt him again.