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Then the Howler growled. She had lied to them of course. He was much larger than a wolf. And while he wasn’t exactly “bulletproof,” he was damn near close.

The forest held its breath as she walked, for nothing inside it dared to make a sound and risk capturing her attention. The attention of a predator.

The sound of distant screams brought a smile to her cherry-red lips.

That ought to keep him satisfied a little while longer.

I

JEREMIAH

1

JEREMIAH

By nineteen, I had learned to want in silence, which was the only reason I was still alive to want at all. There was a way to survive in the Hollow. Traditions. Rituals. Things that kept us safe. Protected. But there were no protections for what was in my mind, and my nature, except for silence and solitude.

I was all wrong. I had learned quickly that the secrets I needed to keep were not those of our village, not those of the creatures beyond our borders, but the desires of my own heart.

Only two souls knew my sin—one living. My brother, Tobias, had carried the burden of its knowledge to his grave last spring. I had thought he might understand me. I had thought he might have tried. I had been wrong. But he had told no one else, and that was a kindness far greater than a creature such as I deserved, or so he would tell me.

It was his last intentional kindness. Though there had been another unwittingly awarded to me upon his unfortunate passing. Given I had been the one to pull his blue and bloated body from the creek, I was awarded a period of grief. Exempted from the rituals and, for the most part, left alone.

I knew for certain that day that he hadn’t spoken a word to anyone, because Tobias was an excellent swimmer, and had they known what he knew, they would have judged his death a sentence for not acting against me.

I knew the Others hadn’t been the ones to kill him, though. Because not only was his body on our side of the border, but my brother had lived strictly by their rituals. He had sacrificed more livestock than anyone else.

The smoke from the ritual billowed high into the overcast sky, and for a brief time, the air would be filled with the scent of freshly cooked meat, before either the Others would claim it, or should they not be hungry, leave it to rot, and its stench would join the decay that lined the stone walls separating us. Another carcass to melt into bones. Macabre adornments of our so-called sanctuary.

The pigs squealed in the pen, breaking my momentary daze. I wiped the sweat from my brow with the back of a soil-coated arm, but not before it could sting my eyes. Back to work.

My hands had long since quit bleeding where wood handles chewed them, the skin there rough and thick, but it still cracked and split with each heave of my hoe. I cursed with my exhales, not daring to speak louder this close to the wall. One could never be certain what was listening on the other side.

It was another reason they left me to my own devices. Though all areas within our walls were supposedly safe, none wanted to get too close. We usually kept our planting closer to the house, but the harvest had been increasingly poor, and I had to better our chances by planting more.

It didn’t bother me. I didn’t fear the woods, or what lurked beyond the tree line. Not like they did.

They were probably singing by now, lining up along the boundary, scaring the children with stories about what lived beyond, warning them not to look up into the trees, not to listen to whatever voices they may hear beyond them, or whistle after dark. Necessary fear. Because everyone “knew” if you went past the boundary, the Others taking you would be the kindest outcome. If they let the things that slunk behind them do it, what came back would have your shape and your voice, but it wouldn’t be you.

Another secret to take to my grave. And I was the graveyard of many.

The ritual was complete long before the sun set, and all inside with the curtains drawn by dark.

I washed the field from my skin and stared at the creature in the mirror. Who was he really? So many years and I still didn’t know. On the surface, I looked older now, more like the fathers than the sons. I was neither anymore. My parents were gone long before they witnessed my brother’s end. Were these eyes the same as the ones they’d known? It was strange, the way my own face could seem unfamiliar even after three decades of wearing it.

Customs had demanded I cover every mirror in the home when Tobias passed, to save him getting trapped before moving on. I’d left this one uncovered, something spiteful and twisted inside me hoping that maybe I could keep him here. Let his soul linger with mine, so we might be condemned together. Maybe if he were forced to look at me every day, he might remember he once loved me.

The candlelight flickered as I sat at our table. Stale bread just enough to keep me going for another day. Tobias had once been the cook, his stews thick and bitter but always with a hint of wild mint, and served with a smile that had made me more determined to at least act like I enjoyed them. Now I ate whatever I could grab, and most days I skipped meals until my belly curled in on itself. I didn’t mind it. Hunger was a better companion than most.

I’d almost finished when I felt the shift in the air. The candle flickered, the stale environment shifted like the entire home was taking a much-needed inhale. Subtle enough others would ignore it, but I knew better.

I stood with a groan and went to fetch my boots.

A lantern would be foolish, easily spotted by anyone brave enough to peer out the window. But I didn’t need one. I had been summoned by the forest before.

My shoes sank into mud as I approached the wall, the breeze at my back urging me onward as my fingers dug into a known track and I pulled myself up and over.

The shadows here were deep and dense. They shifted as if they could pull at my clothing and drag me in deeper. Maybe people were right to fear what lived out there. Maybe I should have been afraid too. But I’d always felt safest in the places I was told to avoid. And I had something no one else did.