Page 1 of Untethering Dark

Once Upon a Time...

Chapter One

The screaming was a full-bodied sound.

The kind that started with a deep breath—a contracting diaphragm and a pair of lungs filling to the brim—before scraping the throat raw as it hurled out into the world, wreaking havoc on Astrid’s eardrums.

She tried to warn them. Tried to chase away the wandering, off-trail hikers before nightfall—before the forest became hunting grounds for the ancient beast stalking through the trees, seeking any who failed to leave him an offering. But had they listened? No. Humans rarely did. And now her temples throbbed from their shrieking terror.

If the hikers couldn’t take a resident forest witch’s word for it, they could’ve at least heeded the postedpark service signs.

No hiking after dark. No camping overnight. Leave before sunset.

Those were the rules in this stretch of forest, written plainly in all the major languages.

Ignoring them took a special kind of obliviousness only modern humans could achieve and an utterly abysmal underappreciation for consequences.

This was der Schwarzwald. The Black Forest. The monstrous things that lived in these mountains were here long before civilization and would be here long after it crumbled. That made these ancient creatures fiercely protective and territorial of this land.

Because it wastheirs.

The screaming pierced through the trees and echoed in the cavernous space between the mountains before it was sharply cut off. Silence hung thick and heavy in its absence.

It wasn’t like humans didn’t know about the things that went bump in the night. Not only was there an old oral tradition warning generation after generation of the dangers, the stories were later written down and widely disseminated in book form. In movies, even, when that technology came along.

So much for die Brüder Grimm and the tales they preserved.

People didn’t believe in folktales, monsters, or magic anymore. Disappearances were explained away—the weather, wild animals, runaways, ax murderers. Whenever “monster” was splashed across the front page of a local newspaper, the culprit was always human. Mankind found that more palatable for some reason.

Whatever. They could pay for their hubris and disbelief in blood.

At least Astrid would sleep well tonight, knowing she tried. Warning the humans was already more grace than she should’ve bestowed.

She raked her hair back from her face, the strands as silvery white as the fresh blanket of snow outside. The hair of a winter hag’s witch daughter, neither human nor hag but rather something in between.

Ever since Mutter Perchta rescued her as a child and raised her as one of her own, Astrid had become Hexe,a witch, bound for the hag’s path. A witch’s magical abilities were limited, practical. More hearth, home, and healing craft with a few wicked parlor tricks thrown in to keep things interesting. But a hag had unstoppable power. Storms wielded like a weapon, the elements at her command, and a monstrosity that wasn’t a trade-off but a freedom. There was longevity, too. A witch had decades to live. Hags had millennia.

There was just far too much to see and do in the world to be satisfied by decades.

Soon, years and years of training would finally come to fruition, and Astrid would shuck off the last pesky threads of humanity and this inconvenient conscience that taunted her with the last echoes of the dying humans’ cries.

And maybe, one day when Perchta deemed her ready, she’d take up the mantle of protecting children from wicked parents, as she herself once needed protecting.

When that time came, and Astrid rose into her full power, she’d be just as cold and cruel as a winter’s night.

She wasn’tmeantto be kind.

And just as well.

The backpackers had no one to blame but themselves for getting eaten by Altes Geweih.

Old Antlers, you’ll have your fill, but it won’t be of me.

Sinking back into her wooden rocker, nestled safely inside her home thanks to the offering she carefully laid beyond her property, Astrid nursed a steaming cup of Hagebutten tea. The deep red liquid contrasted nicely against the bone china cup. As she sipped, enjoying the bright floral and slightly tart flavor, she watched the fire crackle and pop in the hearth. A bundle of yarn and a half-knitted sweater sat in a woven wicker basket by her feet. She’d turn back to it shortly. But for now, she let the cup’s heat seep into her hands and soothe her joints, aching after a hard day’s work. She listened to the wind howling outside. Waiting for an approach.

There.

Snow crunched, just beyond her cottage gate. Something big. Something old. Somethingpowerfulstalked outside, sniffing the air.

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