Page 5 of Untethering Dark

“These parents need to be taught a lesson,” Perchta continued. “Come upstairs and I’ll show you how it’s done.”

A sly smile spread across the fox’s mouth. His mannerisms could be frightfully human at times.“Have fun.”

Astrid darted up the stairs, heart racing. This was it. What she waited twenty-nine years for. Although this home was nothing like hers had been—clean, tidy, affluent—abuse came in all shapes and sizes and from all different walks of life.

Yuletide was Astrid’s favorite time of year. She loved how snowfall made everything sparkly and new, covering up thegrime and refuse of day-to-day life. And the momentary joy of finding silver coins in her shoes, left by the alpine witch and winter goddess Perchta while she slept.

At least until her parents took the coins for themselves. Children were expensive, they said. She ought to contribute more. Be grateful for the roof over her head.

Astrid pressed her hands and face against the frosted window, looking out into the cold, dark night. Awake when she should be sleeping.

The silhouette of the mountains and the trees towered in the distance, so vast and grand. Every night she dreamed of living there, deep within the trees. Where people dared not venture, but most of all her parents. Somewhere far, far away from here.

Jingling sleigh bells rang up the road, and as they drew closer, Astrid heard hoofbeats, too. She bounced on the balls of her feet, vibrating with excitement.

Perchta was coming!

A sleigh pulled by eight large mountain goats glided down the empty, snow-covered street, stopping just below her bedroom window. The old woman at the reins stood, so regal and wise in her bearing. A crown of ram’s horns sprouted from her temples and pointed ears knifed through the curtain of her long, ashen hair, the strands teased by winter wind.

Where Perchta walked, the snow followed, sweeping away footprints and the tracks left by the sleigh. She was the most beautiful being in the whole wide world.

In the next room, Astrid’s father snored, a sudden sawing sound that fractured the peaceful quiet. It was quickly followed by her mother’s sharp, scathing voice, “Halt endlich die Klappe!” A slap rung out, her father gasping awake. Then earsplitting arguing.

Astrid rushed back to her bed, careful not to make the old springs squeak as she scrambled in. She pulled the blankets over her head, sour and long overdue for washing, and through a small gap kept an eye on the door. That way, if one of them barged in, it would look like she was sleeping.

Maybe, if she was quiet enough, they’d forget about her. Wear themselves out and go back to sleep.

The worst nights were when her mother came bursting through the door, snatching her out of bed, threatening to leave. More yelling, more screaming. Above her, around her. Sometimes her father would snatch her back, yanking her roughly by the upper arm. In this grueling game of tug-of-war, she was a toy they fought over. They never once considered how much it hurt to be trapped in the middle.

Astrid wanted to leave. But never with either one of them.

Abruptly, the arguing stopped. Midsentence. They usually argued for much, much longer. Always fighting for the last word.

Downstairs, the front door creaked opened, hinges rusty and desperately in need of grease. Astrid crept out of her room, avoiding loose floorboards and clutter to get to the top of the stairs. She peeked through the bars of the railing.

The ancient Hexe shuffled about the living room. Grumbling as she swiped a gnarled, clawed finger through the thick layer of dust and dirt that coated the mantel. “This place is a pigsty.”

An orange fox trotted from around Perchta’s long, woolen skirts.“This is the third year, and it’s only gotten worse. The parents have not heeded your warnings.”

A talking fox! She knew it! Just like the stories in her picture books. Magic was real.

Astrid stared in wonder.

Perchta picked up one of the many empty liquor bottles littering the house and sucked her teeth. “A shame. After a little scaring, they do sometimes turn it around.”

The fox dipped its head in a nodding motion. “But no more chances for these two. It’s time. The child always suffers the most.”

“That they do.” Perchta set the liquor bottle back down, a sad, weary hunch to her shoulders. But as she reached inside her cloak and withdrew a long, silver dagger, her demeanor changed. Gone was the sadness that deepened the lines of her face. Wicked glee flared to life in its place, and eyes as yellow as the Big Bad Wolf’s flashed in the dim light. “Let’s end that suffering.”

Astrid ducked behind a pile of boxes clogging the hallway as the ancient Hexe climbed the stairs. Please, please, not me. The goddess who gifted her such pretty, shiny coins couldn’t have also come to punish her, could she? Astrid hadn’t been good that year. Disobeying her parents. Running away. Screaming when they screamed at her.

It was so hard to be good when they made her feel so terribly bad.

But Perchta swept past Astrid’s hiding spot without a single glance her way, going to the door that led into her parents’ room. Astrid’s gaze snagged on the gleaming edge of the dagger as Perchta quietly slipped inside.

Curiosity tugged her forward. She had to see, had to know.

And so, she followed.

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