I fell asleep in the tree. This wasn’t the first time such a thing had happened, and given my tossing and turning the night before, it wasn’t even a surprise that I drifted off so easily. But when I woke, the position of the sun told me it was very late in the day, which meant that I’d missed my midday meal at home and Katrina would be in a high temper.
She’s always angry at you, anyway, I thought as I climbed down the trunk and landed lightly on the ground. You can’t do anything right.
Usually I was philosophical about this, but I felt a little surge of anger. Why was Katrina so hard on me, always? I was her only grandchild, the only child of her beloved son. You’d think she’d be a little bit nicer, really. You’d think she wouldn’t always be trying to find fault.
I kept to the woods until I was close to the Van Brunt land, because I didn’t want to be spotted walking on the road. I’d had enough of interfering adults for one day. I was irritated with myself for getting so spooked by Schuler de Jaager earlier, too. My instincts were usually good, and they’d told me not to follow the old man, but I’d let myself be dared (a Van Brunt trait if there ever was one) and had followed him anyway. And what had I gotten out of it? Nothing whatsoever.
Despite the late hour I was strolling along, my hands in my pockets and my brain whirling. The wind kicked up behind me, sending a swirl of dead leaves around my ankles. A voice seemed to follow after, a low voice that didn’t have any source.
Ben. Be careful.
I stopped, glancing behind me. There was nothing and no one there, only the watchful trees standing sentinel.
“Who’s there?” I called.
No one answered.
“Right,” I said, turning back in the direction of home, my temper surging. “I’m not falling for any more tricks.”
I’d had quite enough of being frightened and making a fool of myself the previous night. If there was someone else out here with me, they were going to have to do a lot more than that to scare me.
The wind kicked up again, more insistent. The dead leaves whipped around my knees. For a moment it felt like the wind and the leaves were trying to lasso me, trying to hold me in place, to keep me from moving forward.
Ben, the wind said, and I shivered.
I paused, and the wind settled down again. This time I looked toward the deep part of the forest instead of along the path I’d taken, the one that ran roughly parallel to the road. My vision seemed to stretch and lengthen, tunneling into the shadows that were so far away I couldn’t possibly see them. It had to be my imagination.
It had to be, because I thought I saw a figure astride a black horse, and the figure was made of shifting darkness and the light of the stars. His voice reached for me—as if his hands were extending out but couldn’t quite touch.
Ben. Be careful. It’s near.
I felt a chill all over, one that had nothing to do with the Horseman. The creature, the shadow—the Kludde, if Schuler de Jaager was to be believed—it was close to me. I felt its malevolence on the air, thought it wasn’t meant for me.
Ben, the Horseman said.
“Yes,” I said, so soft, for his ears alone, and I wondered at myself.
I wondered if I was falling under some sort of spell, if the Horseman was pretending to watch over me, pretending to care so that he could make me his own prey rather than letting me fall victim to the other monster in the woods.
Now isn’t the time to think about the Horseman’s intentions, Ben.
(and that’s not how he is anyway he watches over you he’s always watched over you)
The creature was near, but I didn’t know where. I lifted my boots carefully out of the leaves, placing them down again in the dirt, avoiding anything that might rustle or crack. My breath was stuck somewhere beneath my ribs, unable to go in or out.
Then I heard it. A little ways up ahead there was noise, something that sounded like crunching.
I could avoid it. That was what the Horseman wanted. That was what the smart part of my brain screamed at me to do. I simply had to cross through the thin layer of trees that separated me from the road. I’d be able to run straight and hard for home and the nightmare in the woods would never know I’d been there.
But the curious part of me, the part of me that was so much Brom, wanted to know what the monster was doing. I needed to see.
I crept forward, and the wind circled around me again, dancing a warning.
“I know,” I whispered, and waved it away.
The wind subsided but didn’t disappear completely. It seemed like it was nipping at the back of my neck, irritating me like a mosquito on a summer night. I ignored it, because I couldn’t afford to have half of my attention elsewhere. I was getting close—very, very close.
Maybe I could find out what the monster really was, because I certainly didn’t believe it was this Kludde that Schuler de Jaager had mentioned. Perhaps I’d discover that it was a person after all—some horrifically cruel person—just as Brom had said when they discovered Cristoffel’s body.
I don’t think it’s a person, though, I thought. I don’t think people, even evil ones, leave this kind of feeling in the air.
I crept closer and closer to the crunching noises. There was a hint of movement up ahead and I shifted so that I would stay in the protective cover of the trees. Whatever was happening was just ahead of me.
I glanced up. The branches above were wide enough for me to climb on. I clambered up, wincing every time I heard my clothes rustle against the bark, but the crunching noises continued unabated. In fact, they were joined now by . . . slurping?
It sounds exactly like the pigs at the trough when their morning feed is spread, I thought as I wiggled out onto a branch, much in the same way as I’d done the day before when I spied on Brom and the other men in the woods. Then I realized that I ought to have listened to the wind, and to the Horseman, that I might not want to see what the creature was doing, because if it was eating, then the thing it was eating was . . .
A person. A boy. A boy with a cruel, stupid face even in death. A boy who would never try to blindside me again.
Justus Smit.
And what leaned over Justus Smit? What gnawed at the cords that bound Justus’ neck to his body and sucked away all the blood that spewed forth?
I didn’t know what it was. It didn’t look the way Schuler de Jaager had described the Kludde, though. It didn’t have a real form, but was made of shadows that seemed to writhe and contort, shifting into something larger, something smaller, but always something that had sharp, sharp teeth.
Justus’ hands were already gone. My own hands gripped the tree branch so hard that I felt the curves of the bark digging into my skin, cutting through, making it bleed.
The creature stopped what it was doing, lifted its head, sniffed the air.
It looked up into the tree, directly at me. Its eyes seemed to glow, glow with an unholy light.
The blood, I thought, oh, lord, it smells my blood.
Then it smiled at me, and the smile was something horrible, somehow so much worse than anything else it had done, for its teeth were stained with the blood of the boy on the ground and there were pink bits of flesh caught in between.
“No,” I said. “No, no. No.”
I slammed backward to the trunk of the tree, not daring to look at the creature again. I glanced down long enough to make sure it hadn’t darted to the bottom of the trunk and then I threw myself to the ground, landing hard. All the air blew out of my body but I scrambled up to my feet again and ran.
There was no wind to keep me company this time, no breath of the Horseman in my air. There was only my own burning need to stay alive, and underneath it my shame at being such a fool that I’d gone hunting for this creature.
If I can get to the road, I’ll be fine, I thought, pushing through the wild tangles of brush, thorns pricking my hands, spiderwebs tangling in my face.
There was a drum of hoofbeats along the road.
Almost there, almost there.
I thought I felt long fingernails scrape across the back of my neck.
The hoofbeats were closer, closer, closer.
I pushed out of the brush and stumbled into the road, falling to my knees. The rider reined in his horse, who leaned back and pawed at the sky before clattering to a halt inches from me.
“Ben?”
I looked up in a daze. “Opa?”
Brom jumped down from Donar’s back, reaching his hand down to help me to my feet. “What on earth are you doing? I could have killed you, you little fool, or someone else might have. What are you doing falling in the road like that? And I thought you promised me you would stay out of the woods.”
“Opa,” I said, pushing him toward the saddle. “Let’s go. Please. Let’s go now.”
I could tell him about Justus Smit later, about everything I’d seen. I’d tell him the truth, too—I wouldn’t even try to pretend that I hadn’t broken my promise. I only wanted him away, away from the horrible thing in the wood.
“What’s the matter, Ben? You’re acting strange. This isn’t like you.”
I took a deep breath. The creature hadn’t appeared. Either it had decided that I wasn’t worth following, or it had reconsidered once Brom arrived. So there was no immediate danger. The only way to convince Brom to take me seriously was to stop acting hysterical and start acting like myself.
“I’m sorry, Opa,” I said. “Some, well, some very strange things have happened to me today. I’d like to talk to you about them, but can we go home first?”
He nodded, but then his face changed. He seemed to take in the dirt on my face, the cuts and scratches on my hands, for the first time. I saw his expression darken as he glanced toward the wood.
“Ben,” he said. “Was someone chasing you?”
I couldn’t lie, because I wanted to tell Brom everything later, and lying now would only put us on a bad footing. But I didn’t want to say yes and have him go haring into the woods, ready to pummel someone in my defense.
“It’s all right,” I said, prevaricating. “They’re gone now.”
“Who was it?” he demanded.
“Please, Opa, please. I’ll tell you all about it at home. I promise. But I want to wash and eat first.”
He looked like he’d prefer to go charging into the woods anyway. Brom loved a brawl, and took any opportunity for one, even though Katrina told him he was far too old to still act like a rowdy boy.
Then I saw him come to his senses and remember that I was there, and that he was supposed to provide a good example for me. He sighed, and climbed up on Donar, and I climbed up behind, holding him tight.
I didn’t look back at the woods, not once. I didn’t want to see if anyone—or anything—watched us go.
When we arrived home, Katrina took one look at the state of me and visibly boiled over, screaming like a teakettle left too long on the fire.
I was given another bath, and another lecture, and stuffed into another dress all while Katrina ranted, half in English and half in Dutch. I kept my mouth tightly closed throughout. I wanted to talk to Brom, and I wasn’t about to ruin that chance by arguing with Katrina and being sent to bed without supper.
I was sent into the parlor to work on embroidery while Katrina sat beside me and criticized every stitch. It wasn’t long before I felt my temper rising.
Why won’t she go away and leave me alone? I thought, seething. It’s almost as if she wants to make me angry, wants to see if I’ll respond so she can find another excuse to punish me.
After a while I felt my hands shaking, which didn’t help the straightness of my stiches. I pressed my lips tight together and told myself not to rise, not to let her trick me into revealing something I didn’t want to reveal.
Brom had disappeared as soon as we arrived home, and I imagined he was hiding in his study, far from Katrina’s wrath. When she was in this sort of state she’d go after anyone for any reason. Even the servants gave her a wide berth.
When Lotte announced that supper was ready, I put my embroidery aside with more relief than I’d ever felt. Katrina ceased her ranting about my faults, my height, my slovenliness and my general lack of ladylike qualities. She usually had an idea that family business shouldn’t be overheard by the servants, but everyone in the county had surely heard her that afternoon. I followed her into the dining room, wondering when I could find my chance to speak to Brom. If Katrina insisted on staying at my elbow for the rest of the evening, it would be difficult.
Brom was already at the table, though he politely stood when we entered. He pulled out Katrina’s chair for her and dropped a kiss on her head.
As he sat down again, he asked, “And how was your day, my love?”
Katrina spooned a very small amount of potato onto her plate and did not answer right away. Lotte had cooked the potatoes my favorite way—sliced thin and fried in a pan with onions until the edges were crispy. I knew Lotte had done this because she’d heard Katrina going at me all afternoon. I felt a surge of warmth toward the cook. I piled triple the amount Katrina had taken onto my own plate.
Brom was loading his own plate like he’d never eaten before, which is what he did at every meal. I hadn’t eaten anything since the bread and butter at Schuler de Jaager’s cottage—what a disaster that was— and took plenty of ham and applesauce to go with my potatoes.
“Must you eat like a feral hog?” Katrina snapped.
“I’m hungry,” I said, and shoveled potatoes in my mouth before I said something I regretted.
“Let her be, my love,” Brom said. “Ben’s been out all day running around. Children get hungry when they’re active, and it’s not as if we don’t have the food.”
“Stop encouraging her. She’s fourteen, hardly a child anymore,” Katrina said, turning her ire on Brom. “It’s because of you that she acts like a wild animal all day long. Did you know that your granddaughter was brawling in the middle of the village today, like some common boy?”
Ah, so that was it. Sarah van der Bijl tattled on me and Katrina’s been waiting for the right time to chastise me over it.
I marveled that Sarah van der Bijl was so petty as to take the time to ride out to the farm just to tell tales.
Brom only raised an eyebrow at me.
“Justus Smit and two of his friends tried to ambush me when I was alone,” I said. I didn’t even look at Katrina. This information was for Brom alone.
Storm clouds rolled into his eyes. “Diederick Smit’s boy? And what did you do to him, Ben?”
“He ran at me and tried to knock me over, but I tripped him so he fell in the street and then jumped on his back. I told him he should apologize for trying to attack me but he wouldn’t, so I pushed his face into some horsesh—er, a horse apple.”
(And he died later that thing killed him something in the woods ate him all up and I don’t know what to do about it or how to say anything about it because who would believe it)
Brom threw his head back and laughed, and his laugh seemed to fill up the whole room. “That’s my Ben. God, but I would have liked to do the same to the boy’s father today. Ignorant fool.”
Katrina slammed her hand on the table. “This is what I’m talking about, Brom! Must you undermine me at every opportunity? No wonder the child never listens to a word I say.”
Brom immediately looked contrite. “I didn’t mean—”
“It doesn’t matter what you mean, Brom. It matters what you do. Someone has to marry this urchin someday, and nobody will if she doesn’t learn to comport herself with some semblance of dignity.”
“That’s a long way off,” Brom said, frowning. He didn’t seem to like the idea of my getting married any better than I did. “She’s only fourteen.”
“She’ll be a woman before you know it. Some of the girls I knew were married by sixteen.”
Married at sixteen, I thought, and the food in my mouth suddenly tasted like ash. Married in two years? No. Brom would never let that happen.
“Why do I have to get married in the first place?” I asked. “Some people never marry.”
“Of course you’ll get married,” Katrina said. “Don’t be a fool. But at this rate whoever marries you will only want your land and fortune.”
“No fortune hunter is going to marry my grandchild,” Brom said in a loud voice.
“And what if she’s a spinster, then? What if she sits in this house alone forever, turning to dust because she can’t be bothered to learn how to sew or run a household or even clean her nails?”
I looked at my hands. They were covered in scabs from the thorns I’d battled through, but the nails were relatively clean for a change. I couldn’t attribute that to any action of my own, though. Katrina had scrubbed them while I was in the bath.
Brom gave his own hands a critical look. “I can’t say that cleaning my nails is my best quality, and yet you married me.”
“You’re a man, Brom! It’s different. She’s a girl, not a boy, and you need to stop treating her like one. You’re not doing her any favors by pretending she’s Bendix.”
A spasm of pain crossed Brom’s face, and I thought of what Schuler had said earlier—Brom loved that boy more than anyone in the world. I loved Brom more than anyone in the world, so I understood exactly how he felt.
“So what if he thinks I’m Bendix?” I said, my love for Brom making my temper finally bubble over. “I’m not a lady. I’m a boy. I’m going to grow up strong, like Opa, and like my father.”
“That’s it,” Katrina said. “I’m throwing those trousers of yours in the fire. I should have done it sooner. And there will be no more running in the woods. You’ll spend every day right here, in the house, studying and practicing music and learning all the womanly things you ought to have learned by now.”
“No,” I said, but one look at Katrina’s face told me she was deadly serious. She’d had enough of me and now she was going to rein me in, a wild horse forced into a paddock far too small. I looked at Brom.
He didn’t seem to have really heard what Katrina said. He was stuck in some memory of his own, his eyes far away.
He’s thinking of Bendix, I thought, and even though I’d just said it didn’t matter if he treated me like Bendix, I suddenly realized it did matter. I didn’t want Brom to look at me and only see the shadow of his dead son. I wanted him to see me, exactly as I was.
“Don’t go looking to your grandfather,” Katrina said. “He spoils you, and I’ve had enough of it. From now on you’ll listen to me alone or you’ll suffer the consequences.”
Everything inside me was a jumble—my love for Brom and my need to have him acknowledge me, my fear of the creature in the wood and the knowledge of what I’d seen, the strange feelings I had about the Horseman, my deep desire to have Katrina acknowledge that I was a boy, not the girl she wanted. It all spilled over, a great churning mass of feeling.
“You’re a witch,” I said to Katrina, my voice low and filled with fury. “I hate you. I hate you more than anyone in the world.”
Brom started, and he stared at me in shock. Katrina’s eyes widened, and I saw something in their depths that I never expected to see—hurt. Well, what did I care? She hurt me every day, tried to grind me into dust. She didn’t care about me.
“I won’t let you turn me into lady. I’m going to cut my hair and run away and live as a boy and you can’t stop me, and that’s what makes you really mad. You can’t stop me from doing exactly as I like. No matter how hard you try to control me, I’ll keep doing just what I want. Even if you make me sit in that parlor for the next six years I’ll still do exactly as I like in the end.”
“And where do you think you’ll go?” Katrina said, the hurt receding as her temper reasserted itself. “Who would have you?”
The Horseman, I thought, but I didn’t say it aloud. That stayed in the secret place in my heart.
“Nobody needs to have me. I’ll make my own place,” I said.
Brom looked like he wanted to intervene, but wasn’t sure how. He reached toward Katrina, but she suddenly stood, her eyes flashing.
“Go on, then. Go if you want to go. I won’t stop you.”
Katrina never should have dared me. There’s not a Van Brunt was ever born who could resist a dare.
“Fine,” I spat. “Watch me.”
I stood and ran from the table, knocking over my chair. Brom called after me, but I didn’t listen. I hated Katrina. I hated her with all of my being. She wanted to craft me and mold me and put me in a place that she understood. She never wanted to see me—the me that I really was.
I ran upstairs, pulling off the stupid dress as I went, not caring if the servants saw me running about in my shift. My hair—bound in two long, thick braids—tangled in my clothes and I cursed it, cursed the stupid fashion for girls and women to have hair down to their bottoms.
But it isn’t the fashion now, is it? Katrina got a paper from someone she knew—a relative in the City—and the pictures showed completely new hair styles and clothes, things that have never come to the Hollow.
There was something in that, some reason why it mattered that nothing ever updated or moved forward in the Hollow, some reason why the Hollow was out of sync with the rest of the world. But I was too angry and frustrated and sad and terrified to think why.
I told Katrina I would go and I have to, a Van Brunt never backs down from a dare, but oh that creature is somewhere out there and it knows me, and it doesn’t wait for nightfall to claim its victims, either.
And then there was the Horseman. The Horseman seemed to help me, or at least wanted to keep me from the other monster in the woods. But I didn’t like to think about why he was on my side.
I tugged on my trousers and jacket—they’d already been washed and neatly laid on the chair in my room—then I looked around, trying to decide what I would need if I went out into the world.
Something to keep warm, for certain. I took a thick wool blanket from the closet, but it was so bulky that it wouldn’t be practical to carry. I didn’t know how long I would have to walk until I found someplace safe to be.
One of the servants had carried my hated embroidery up to my room as well, along with all of its accompanying tools. Perhaps they were under the mistaken impression that I’d like to sew before bedtime, although any servant in this household ought to know better. There was a heavy pair of scissors in the sewing basket, and I laid the blanket on the floor and carefully cut it in half. Now it was the perfect size to be something like a long shawl or cloak, and the wool would keep me warm and keep the rain off.
Then I went to the mirror, pulled one of my braids away from my head, and clipped it off just below my ear. The scissors were very sharp and the tip nicked my skin. A tiny drop of blood welled up, but I ignored it and clipped the braid off on the other side. The remaining hair on my head sprang into loose dark curls all over my head, free from the restraint of the braids. My hair was shorter than Brom’s. Brom wore his in a queue that ended just above his shirt collar.
No one will think I’m a girl now, I thought. I threw the braids on the floor and stomped on them. No one was ever going to make me have long hair again, or wear a dress, or play the stupid piano. I was going to live my life my way. I was going to do whatever I wanted.
I felt the air on my nape and ran my hand over it, then stilled. There were three thin scabs there, running almost straight across the back of my neck, almost like I’d been touched by sharp claws.
That was your imagination. It didn’t really touch you.
(But the night is dark and there are monsters in it and where will you go to keep the monsters away?)
I shook my head, trying to shake away these traitorous thoughts. I would find a way. I would build a house in the woods
(no not in the woods, nightmares live there)
and maybe I would become friends with the native people who like Brom, and they could help me find food.
How can they live near there with the monster in the wood? I wondered. Perhaps it didn’t terrorize them. Perhaps it was only that the monster belonged to the Hollow, had come with us from the old country, just as Schuler de Jaager said.
I don’t think I should lay too much value on anything Schuler de Jaager said. The whole incident in the cottage had taken on the quality of a dream, a strange dream where nothing seemed to happen properly.
I had a blanket, and I’d gotten rid of my hated hair, and now all I needed was some food to see me through the next few days. Lotte was sure to provide in that regard, so I tied the blanket around my neck and prepared to sneak down to the kitchens.
I pressed my ear against my bedroom door, listening for the sound of anyone rustling outside or coming up the stairs. There didn’t seem to be anything, so I slowly pulled the door open and peeked into the hallway.
There was no one. I tiptoed across the landing and paused at the top of the stairs. Brom and Katrina were arguing. I couldn’t make out their words, but the rumble of their voices came from the dining room. That meant they would be out of my way and occupied and I could sneak into the kitchens without their noticing.
My heart gave a little pang then, because I didn’t really want to leave Brom. Katrina gave me no pause whatsoever, but Brom . . . Brom had always been the sun and the moon to me. Brom had taught me how to fish and how to ride. Brom had carried me up on his shoulders so I could reach the apples on the highest branch. Brom had always been there—smiling, holding his arms out so he could swing me up into the sky.
I didn’t want to leave Brom, but Katrina was making me, so I had to go. He would understand. He was a Van Brunt himself.
I was halfway down the stairs when I heard an almighty clatter at the front of the house. It sounded like horses—maybe two or three horses—and men shouting. Then there were several hard knocks on the front door.
Brom emerged from the dining room a moment later, Katrina following behind him. Neither of them noticed me frozen on the stairs.
Brom opened the front door. I couldn’t see who stood there, only that there was one man in front and one or two behind—from my angle on the stairs I could only make out their legs and feet.
A moment later, however, there was no doubt of the identity of at least one of the men.
“Where’s your granddaughter?” Diederick Smit roared.
I saw Brom’s shoulders swell, and Katrina went to stand beside him—a united front.
“What do you want with Bente?” Katrina asked.
“My boy is missing, and she’s had something to do with it. I’m sure of it.”
Stars swirled in front of my eyes, and then I saw again that terrible shape, the bloodied teeth, the blank dead eyes of Justus Smit. They hadn’t found the body then. And I’d never told Brom about it, because Katrina had started screaming about the state of my clothes.
“Don’t go making accusations,” Brom said in a tone that would have sent any sane man running for the hills. “I warned you about that already.”
“Yes, you threw your weight around the way you always do. Well, I’m not afraid of you. You can’t control everything and everyone in the Hollow, Abraham Van Brunt.”
“I don’t have to control everything and everyone, Smit. But you should know that if you slander my family there will be consequences.”
“Your little bitch of a granddaughter was seen mauling my son in the middle of the street today, and Justus hasn’t been seen since. I want to know what she did to him.”
Katrina stepped forward then, and I heard a hard crack. She’d slapped Diederick Smit across the face.
“You watch your language. That’s no way to speak in front of a lady.”
Privately I thought that slapping a man wasn’t very ladylike behavior, and I felt a little swell of pride. Katrina wasn’t always such a prig, after all.
I moved down the stairs, staying in the shadows. There were lamps set only at the bottom and the top, so I was able to creep low without anyone noticing me. There was enough from the candle Brom held for me to see Diederick Smit’s face. He looked slightly chastened, though his eyes were small and angry.
“Yes. Of course. But it doesn’t change the fact that your granddaughter is the reason my son didn’t come home, and I want to talk to her.”
“You’d better turn yourself around and go home,” Brom said. “Nobody will be speaking to Ben tonight. Your son probably ran off and hid himself in the woods because he was ashamed that Ben got the best of him.”
“Why, you damned—” Smit began, but another voice cut in.
“Come now, Brom. Be reasonable. All we want to do is ask the girl a question or two.”
Sem Bakker. Another person that Brom hated. So far it was a collection of people practically designed for Brom to dismiss. Brom never listened to anyone he didn’t respect.
I had to move, to speak. Diederick Smit was a horrible man and his son was a small-minded bully, but he needed to know. He needed to know that Justus was never coming home.
My legs were made of jelly. They didn’t want to prop me upright anymore. I held on to the banister with shaking hands and eased my way down the stairs. I wasn’t scared of Diederick Smit or stupid Sem Bakker. I was scared of the creature in the woods. I was scared that if I spoke of that horror aloud it would make it true. The scabs on the back of my neck tingled.
“It wasn’t me,” I said, stepping in the circle of candlelight.
Brom and Katrina turned as one. I saw Katrina’s eyes widen in shock at my hair, but I hurried on before she said anything.
“I didn’t have anything to do with Justus going missing,” I said. “He ran away from me and Sarah van der Bijl and Schuler de Jaager. You can ask them and they’ll tell you that it’s true.”
“Schuler de Jaager?” Brom said, an unusual sharpness in his voice. “What was he doing there?”
“He happened to see,” I said, and took a deep breath. “But never mind that. Later I went into the woods and fell asleep in a tree, and when I woke up there was a strange noise nearby.”
I remembered the crunching, the slurping, and shuddered.
“And?” Diederick Smit demanded.
“Let her tell it in her own way,” Katrina said.
There was something in her face, something in the tightness around her eyes, something in the way her lips were so flat and bloodless.
She knows, I thought. She knows, but Brom doesn’t. I did something I hadn’t done in a very long time. I reached for her hand, and she took it, and gripped it tight.
“Your son is dead,” I said. “There’s a monster in the woods, and I saw it killing him.”