by Ria Xandie Finch

On a dark winter’s morning, Temperance went into the cellar to retrieve a jar of beans. Her hands ached at the memory of picking them as she climbed onto a barrel and took them down from their shelf. On her way out, she heard a tiny clinking noise ring out from some shadowy corner. Temperance smiled and followed the sound to a cracked, overturned jar.

Inside was a trembling mouse no bigger than her thumb. Temperance was expecting it. She’d noticed the mouse’s frozen droppings for many days. Had the adults found it, she knew they’d have killed him without thinking about it, but Temperance, who was equally as small and lowly, took pity on the little animal and decided to trap it instead. By the grace of God, it had worked! But nobody could see her with it.

She tucked the jar into the meager warmth of her skirts and waded through the snow, getting as close as she could to the woods behind the farm, which wasn’t very close at all. There, she crouched and opened the lid.

The mouse crept out and looked at her with its big, black eyes. It seemed to be thanking her, but Temperance knew better. Mice were too simple to speak or even reason, no matter how interesting that would be. She watched it flee towards the wood until it became a tiny, jumping speck, then vanished, and noted that it was braver than she was.

Temperance hurried back to the house, where she found her mother tending fire in the main room. A headless, worn Dutch oven sat by her mother’s feet, waiting to be filled. When Mother heard the door close, she looked up but went back to work just as quickly.

“I thank thee, child,” said Mother. “Come, now. Make haste and be about it.”

Temperance poured the beans into the pot, being careful not to spill even one. She felt a twinge of excitement as she did so. Bread always came after the beans on Saturdays. Baking Day left her whole body sore, but it filled the house with the smell of warm barley, and she’d get to taste the freshest, softest bread of the week. Most importantly, working by the fire was certainly better than being out in the bitter cold!

She knew better than to show that freely, though, to dream of comfort and leisure while everyone else sacrificed to grow the colony. So, she kept it between herself and God.

“Now, then,” Mother continued. “I shall have need of two buckets of water. Aye, two shall suffice.”

 The girl shuffled her feet. The closest well was in the woods. The deep, dark forest that swallowed people. She stood there, eyes gaping, hoping that Mother would change her mind.

“Didst thou hear me? Or hast thou gone deaf as well?” Mother’s voice was sterner now and Temperance knew that a smack was around the corner. She’d finally turned to her daughter. Her eyes were sunken and flashing. “Get thee to the well at once, Temperance. We must set the bread to baking, and I am needed here.” Pointedly, Mother straightened up. Her middle was huge with child.

Sighing through her nose, a defeated Temperance donned her thickest cloak and mittens, took up two buckets by the door, then silently prayed for protection as she stepped out into the cold. The wind tousled the snow into wispy clouds, and there were bright pink streaks in the sky. On the horizon was the forest, looming like a lion’s mouth.

The girl stared at the black, woody growth, trying and failing to move closer. No. She couldn’t go in there. She just couldn’t! Not if she valued her life! Temperance ran off in the opposite direction. There had to be another way, she thought, huffing and puffing through the knee-deep snow. Perhaps it wasn’t that cold yet. Perhaps she would get lucky.

She wasn’t. When she arrived at the stream at the lee of her house, it confirmed what she already knew in the back of her mind; it had frozen solid. She hadn’t thought of bringing an ice saw, and she didn’t dare return to the house with an empty bucket, especially after being out for so long.

There was only one option left.

As if walking to the gallows, Temperance returned to the edge of the woods. She glanced down at the snow, noticing the larger footprints going inside without hesitation. Her father was still out checking the traps. He would be back soon enough, and he would expect hot stew. She couldn’t dawdle anymore. She took her first quivering step into the forest.

Dwarfed by the gnarled, naked trees, Temperance jumped at the slightest noise and tensed at the smallest movement. She knew that devils lurked in the woods. If it was not the animals, starved by the winter, it was the earth itself. The adults said that the forest was their salvation, that once they tamed it, it would provide all that they needed, but the girl knew better. She learned the truth last autumn when one moment her elder brother was laughing and sporting with her, showing her the rabbits he’d caught, and the next he’d slipped and fallen and the rocks chewed and shattered his bones until his body, made big and strong by the shipyards, was nothing but a slab of meat at the bottom of a ravine. She remembered how his dark blood trailed from his nose and mouth and stained the golden leaves, how his dancing green eyes stared vacant like a doll’s. She lost him and her voice on the same day, and the memories ambushed her whenever someone forced her into the woods.

The wind made the trees creak and shake.

Hunger pangs.

The forest knew she was there. It knew that she was little and weak and fresh.  

So, she took tiny steps, so that the earth could not surprise her. Not once did she stray from the marked footpath.

Aye, all shall be well, she thought, if only I keep to the path.

Eventually, Temperance reached a wide clearing. The well stood in the center. It was brand new, with fresh wood and clean stones. A symbol of their mastery over the land, according to the town fathers. Normally, there would be at least one other girl there, chatting and waiting her turn to fill her buckets. But Temperance was alone. Last night’s snowfall had buried all other footprints. Temperance noticed the stillness and felt even smaller than before.

Her mittens in her pockets, Temperance tied the rope onto the freezing bucket handle with trembling, red fingers and lowered it down as she had been shown years ago, bracing herself so that she wouldn’t drop the bucket or fall in. The faster she finished this, she thought, the faster she could go home.

All the while, something glared into her like hot pokers. The hair on the back of her neck stood up in some beastly way. She froze, eyes darting, but saw nothing save for trees and snow and her house far off in the distance, black smoke billowing up from the chimney. The fire was ready. She needed to get back home, back to the fire and the barley and her mother. Shivering, she heaved the first bucket aboveground, filled the second, then grunted as she lifted them to carry them back.

A snap came from the brush.

Temperance stopped. The water sloshed. It went quiet. The doll eyes returned.

It is a trick, she thought, squeezing her eyes shut. Her mind was fooling with her again, that was all. She shuffled on, her tiny leather shoes crunching ever so quietly.

Then, there was another set of footsteps. Big, booming steps like a thousand horses that closed in on her. Before she could even make sense of the shape that had leapt out at her, the world went dark, and her arms and legs tangled up over themselves. She kicked and struggled against her scratchy, smelly cocoon, but inside she remained. And even then, in her desperation, she could not bring herself to scream for help. She’d forgotten how.

As something, whatever it was, carried her off, she felt a strangeness in the air that she couldn’t place. It felt as though it was sinking into her, infecting her as time went on.

Then, she gasped as her skinny body collided with an unforgiving surface.

The darkness broke.  

Her bones throbbing, she looked down and saw a ratty burlap sack crumpled beneath her. She looked up and saw dilapidated walls with leaking, unpatched holes. She saw the wild, dark splatters on the rotting floorboards. She saw the massive pot in the hearth and the bloodstained knives hanging nearby. She saw the bones strewn about the place that looked far too human. And then she saw him.

He was so tall that he almost touched the ceiling, with a hulking body that threatened to tear the seams of his clothes and breath that came out in fetid clouds. He wore a large, filthy cloak, pitch black, and when he pulled the hood back, she saw that he had the head of a wild boar, his cracked tusks glistening with drool and his beady eyes gleaming with hunger. Flies swarmed him and the rest of the house, landing on him and biting him, but he didn’t react. He only watched her for a moment that felt like an eternity to the girl, who couldn’t scream even if she wanted to.

Then it spoke.

“Light the fire,” the creature thundered.

Temperance was so shocked to hear the words of men coming from that beast that she couldn’t move.

“Light it!”

And she scrambled up and grabbed kindling from beside the hearth. The twigs were too damp to light, and yet light they did. The smell of rotting blood nearly choked her, now. Occasionally, she looked back over her shoulder, just in case this was some ruse to catch her off-guard and rip her apart, but the pig-man just stood there, taking long, heavy breaths as he watched her with those beasty eyes. The water inside slowly began to bubble.

“Go. Make use of the privy.”

Tears burned at Temperance’s eyes as she realized her fate. Making sausage casings was easier if the bowels were empty. Not one bit of the carcass would go to waste. He would eat well this winter. For a moment, she wondered what dark crack in the earth this abomination had come from, if maybe she had done something to summon him. But there was no time for that. She had to escape with her life. And he’d possibly given her the opportunity to do it. She walked toward the door until the creature ordered her to stop.

The pig-man clutched a long, frayed rope in his meaty hands. Its threads scratched her skin through her woolen stockings as he tied one end around her ankle and yanked it, ensuring it would hold.

“Should thou tarry,” it warned. “I shall come for thee.”

Temperance nodded and scurried out into that strange air, near the trees that did not move when the wind blew. There were blackbirds on the branches. They stared at her, unblinking and unbreathing. The privy was not far from the house, surrounded by some tiny, withered shrubs. As she approached the outhouse, whose smell of excrement was so strong and sour that it burned her throat even with the door shut, the rope got tighter and tighter, and when she reached the privy door, she stumbled from the tension. She looked up at the wooden door, a hodgepodge smattering of planks covered in scratches, then over her shoulder at the forest. Finally, she peered into the window. The beast chopped rotting, wormy potatoes with a filthy cleaver, occasionally ripping the halved worms out and tossing them into the brew. He even tossed some worms into his mouth, chewing them into a gray foam before swallowing. He was distracted. No time to waste.

Frantically, she crouched down and clawed at the knot.

“Temperance!”

Temperance looked up and saw none other but the little brown mouse from earlier. It, too, was speaking, and it even knew her name, which was shocking, but certainly not the most shocking thing she had seen that morning.

“Do you mean to free yourself?”

Temperance nodded. She would tie the rope to a tree so that when the creature yanked, it would believe that she was still there.

“That is most clever,” said the mouse. “Yet, to escape the house is not enough. That beast will always catch its quarry. Indeed, such an escape would wound his pride so deeply that he would grow even more cruel upon the second taking. To be truly free of him, you must strike off his head.”

The girl gasped. Given his size and ferocity, was that even possible?

“Fear not,” said the mouse. “As you saved my life, I shall help you save yours. We cannot fail if we work together!”

Temperance grew pale, but she didn’t turn away.

“Let me tell you a secret. That creature is scared to death of mice!”

The girl squinted. Such a big creature, afraid of something so tiny? It didn’t make sense.

“Truly, he is terrified of us! We mess with him all the time. So, here is the plan: I could distract him, and you could decapitate the beast! Does that please you?”

Temperance nodded.

The mouse chewed the knot apart with her powerful teeth, and Temperance tied the rope around a small shrub beside the privy. Then, mouse in hand, she crept over to the nearest window. She peeked through a hole in the dirty glass just enough to see that the beast was getting suspicious. He yanked the rope again and again, and when the girl did not return, he let out a huff and stormed out to investigate, his back scraping against the doorframe.

“Now!” said the mouse. “Inside! Quickly!”

Temperance heaved herself over the windowsill and into the house, looking for something big enough to slice through the beast’s treelike neck. She settled on the ice saw hanging over the door. Standing on a barrel full of something foul and sticky, she grabbed it, but it was heavier than she expected and it took her to the ground.

Just then, the beast crashed back through the door. He saw Temperance and his nostrils flared and his eyes glowed and he bellowed with rage. He tried to snatch her up, but Temperance was smaller and lighter and faster and evaded him, and once she saw a chance, she gathered all of her strength and swung the ice saw into the beast’s neck.

The pig-man howled as dark blood spurted from his wound, and he stumbled, but he didn’t fall. The saw jutted uselessly from his neck. She didn’t cut deep enough. She’d only enraged him. He grabbed her.

“I shall eat you alive,” he gurgled. “Slowly, you little bitch!” And he opened his mouth wide.

Defeated, Temperance offered her soul to God as the pig’s hot blood soaked her face and his rancid breath filled her lungs.

But it was not her time yet! The beast paused, confused, then turned to his shoulder. Lo and behold, the mouse sat there, and the pig-man was so surprised that he flailed and threw Temperance across the room.

The mouse darted across the floor, crawled along his body, did whatever she could to scare the beast, and the terrified pig-man was so desperate to get away from it that he scrambled around the room like a startled housecat. He moved with a spryness that defied his size, slamming into walls and tossing over furniture, knocking jars and knives and bones clattering to the quaking floor. All the while, he squealed and squealed so loudly that Temperance covered her ears in pain.

Soon, though, he began to slow down. In time, the beast teetered back out into the snow. There, the last of his blood spilled onto the ground, and the pig-man collapsed and did not get up again.

Temperance wasted no time. With the mouse on her shoulder, she scaled the carcass, jumped down, and ran from the shack as fast as she could, leaving bloody tracks behind. She ran toward her chimney and the smell of warm barley. She ran toward the sound of her mother’s voice, and she cried out that she was there so loudly that the crows flew away in surprise. She ran and ran and ran, leaving the pig-man and his shack to be swallowed by the wood.

The End