Grim

THE BROTHERS PIGGETT by Julie Kagawa

This is a story about a boy in love.

Once upon a time, there was a lad named Percival Piggett. Percival lived in a small, unnamed village on the edge of a forest. The forest beside the village was called The Haunted Wood and, according to suspicion, was home to all kinds of evil spirits—ghosts, goblins and the like. It was used in many an old wives’ warning tale: don’t go into the forest lest you be eaten by a wild beast, or fall under an evil spell, or become lost forever.

Percival didn’t care about the forest, though. He was too busy being in love.

The object of his affection, a girl named Maya Thornton, was a newcomer to the village and lived with her grandmother in a small hut at the edge of the woods. Her grandmother was a kooky old bat, reclusive and eccentric, and many in the village whispered that she was a witch.

Percival didn’t care about Maya’s grandmother, either.

Though he really should have.

The problem with Percival was that he was painfully shy, and not a little on the chubby side. This couldn’t really be helped, as he did work in his brothers’ bakery and pie shop, and was subject to a host of tempting sweets every day. Piggett Pies was famous throughout the village, and Percival’s two brothers, Pedro and Peter, were constantly telling him he needed to eat more. “Some meat on your bones would do you good!” Peter was fond of saying before shoving a meat pie under Percival’s nose. He’d then thump his own impressive bulk and grin through his triple chins. “The ladies like a bigger man.”

“If we don’t look after you, who will?” Pedro would often add, usually when Percival insisted that he really didn’t need a fourth slice of pie. “After Mama died and Papa ran off with that witch, we swore we’d take care of you.”

And so it went, with Percival getting bigger and bigger, which in turn made him shyer and shyer. When his brothers made him go up front and help the customers, he’d stammer terribly, which made some villagers believe he was a little slow. Most began to treat him like a not-so-bright toddler, with pitying looks and patronizing smiles, but some of the crueler village boys began picking on him.

“Piggy Piggy!” they’d call when Percival left the shop for the day. “Percival Piggy, on his way home!”

Percival would only smile benignly and trot home as fast as he could, but his tormentors would follow him to his little house with its thatched straw roof and shout insults through the door until he was curled up on his bed in tears.

One morning, they were waiting for him when he left his home for work, and trailed him all the way back to the shop, squealing and throwing mud balls that spattered against his apron.

Shaking with tears, Percival ducked inside the bakery, hoping to clean up before any of his brothers noticed. It was not to be. Peter took one look at him and turned a violent red.

“What happened?” he bellowed, bringing Pedro out from the back. Both brothers glowered at Percival like enraged twin bulls, though their anger was not directed at him. “Who did this to you?” Peter demanded, all his chins quivering with fury. “No one hurts my little brother like that. Tell me their names, right now!”

Percival sniffled. “I d-don’t know their names,” he stammered, futilely trying to rake mud from his straw-colored hair. “Just some v-village boys playing around. It’s n-n-nothing.”

“Nothing,” Pedro growled, narrowing his beady black eyes. He shared a glance with Peter, who nodded grimly. “We’ll see if it’s nothing.”

That evening, as they had done countless nights before, the boys followed Percival home. Percival, his arms overloaded with bread and pies Peter insisted he take home, ignored the jeers and cries of “Piggy Piggy Percival!” as best he could. In a fit of depression, he ate all the pies and most of the bread his brother sent home with him, and went to bed feeling slightly sick.

The next morning, however, the boys were gone. Percival didn’t see them all day, and when he left work, they weren’t waiting for him outside the shop per normal. Peter had given him a stack of small meat pies to take home, and Percival arrived at his house unharried. The pies that evening were even more savory than usual, and he went to sleep feeling full and quite content with life in general.

For the next few weeks, a search party was launched for the group of boys that disappeared from the village that night, but they were never found.

The first time Maya Thornton came into the pie shop, Percival was in the back, helping clean out the ovens. He heard the brass bell above the door jingle and, because it was early, thought it was old Mrs. Crabapple come in for her weekly loaf of bread. Peter had his head halfway in one of the cold ovens and Pedro was covered in flour all the way to his elbows, so Percival dusted soot from his hands and went up front to help the cranky widow.

A girl stood in the center of the room, her back to him, gazing around the store curiously. Percival caught a quick glance of long black hair tumbling down her back, and a deep green dress like the fancy ladies in town wore. She carried a basket in one hand, and was spinning in slow circles, taking everything in, when Percival emerged from the back room.

“Hello,” said Percival, wiping his hands on his apron as he came out, not quite noticing his customer yet. “W-welcome to Piggett Pies. How may I help you—” The girl turned just as he raised his head, and the words froze in his throat.

Percival had seen pretty girls before, even lusted after them from afar. But he acknowledged that the ladies in town would not be interested in a poor, fat, stuttering baker boy, and he was far too shy to approach any of them.

This was different. The moment the girl turned around, flashing a pair of the biggest green eyes he’d ever seen, Percival was struck mute. She was perfect. Gorgeous. Lovely. The girl of his dreams, only he hadn’t known it until now. He could only stare, wide-eyed and dumbstruck. It was also the first time he wanted to say something, to at least introduce himself, but he couldn’t make a sound.

“Hello?” the girl said, smiling—smiling—at him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there.” Brushing back a strand of ebony hair, she stepped forward. “I’m Maya Thornton. I just moved into my grandmother’s house a few days ago—she lives in a hut at the edge of the forest. It’s nice to meet you, Mr....?”

Percival still couldn’t speak. Words rose to mind—his name, good morning, I love you—but he couldn’t seem to force anything past his lips. The girl frowned, giving him a worried look. “Are you all right? You’ve gone rather pale. Are you sick?”

Fortunately, Peter came out of the back room then, wiping off his hands. Seeing Percival standing rock-still, staring at the beautiful girl across the counter, he swiftly took charge of the situation.

“Percival, there you are! Pedro is moving some crates in the back—be a good lad and help him, will you?” He clapped Percival on the shoulder, hard, and Percival jumped. “Go on, boy. I’ll take care of our customer.”

Dazed, Percival tottered into the back room, knocking over a stack of pie tins as he did, his mind whirling with images of Maya Thornton.

For the rest of the afternoon, Percival couldn’t concentrate. He tripped over himself constantly. He added salt into the pies instead of sugar. He dropped a bag of flour on Pedro’s head from the top shelf, getting it everywhere and making his brother look like some kind of yeti emerging from the snow.

“Dammit, Percival!” Pedro bellowed, shaking flour from his beard. “First salt in the fruit pies and now this. Where’s your head today, boy?”

“Sorry,” Percival mumbled just as Peter poked his head through the door frame with a laugh.

“Go easy on our little brother, Pedro,” Peter called, grinning through his thick beard. “He can’t help it. The boy’s in love.”

Percival’s face reddened even further, but he couldn’t deny it. Peter guffawed and ducked back out, and Pedro sighed, brushing off his sleeves. Percival silently stepped down from the ladder to help clean up.

“Who is she?” Pedro asked, tossing Percival a broom to sweep the drifts of flour spreading across the floor. Percival took the broom, reluctant to talk about it but knowing his brothers would pester him all day until he shared.

“Maya Thornton,” he replied, blushing even at the thought of her. “She’s perfect, Pedro. She has eyes like emeralds and hair like black silk, and her smile...” He trailed off, unaware that he was gazing dreamily at the corner, until Pedro barked a laugh.

“Rat’s whiskers, listen to you! You sound like a soft-headed poet staring into the clouds.” Percival blushed and started briskly sweeping the floor as Pedro picked up the burst flour bag. “Thornton,” he muttered, balling it up in his powerful hands. “Why does that name sound familiar? Where does this girl live?”

“With her grandmother on the edge of the forest.”

“The witch!” Pedro straightened, which made Percival jump, sending his carefully swept flour pile curling over the floor again. “I knew that name was familiar! So, the evil old bat has a granddaughter, eh?” He frowned at Percival, eyebrows bristling. “I don’t know if I like the idea of you being sweet on a witch’s spawn.”

“She’s not a witch,” Percival protested. “You didn’t see her! She was beautiful, and gentle, and kind—”

“Witches can look like anything they want,” Pedro interrupted. “You’re young, you don’t know the danger. You don’t know what they’re capable of.” At Percival’s crestfallen look, his expression softened. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t see the girl,” he explained kindly. “Just be careful. If she hurts you, or if you see anything strange, come tell us right away. Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

Pedro nodded and ruffled Percival’s hair, sending flour raining to the floor. “That’s a good lad. We’re only looking out for our youngest, you know. If we don’t look after you, who will?”

He left the room, leaving Percival to dream about Maya in peace.

Over the next few days, Maya came into the shop every morning, as lovely and graceful as ever. And every day, Percival would hide in the back, peering through the door and trying to gather the courage to go up and talk to her. The few times she spotted him through the frame, she would smile and wave, and Percival would blush like a tomato and duck out of sight, cursing himself for being such a coward.

After several days of this, Peter got impatient.

“This is ridiculous,” he growled after finding Percival in the back room again, huddled behind a wheat barrel. “I’ve watched you cringe and skulk like a rodent whenever that girl comes in long enough. Get out there and say something to her.”

Percival paled. “I can’t! What would I say? I c-can’t even talk straight when I m-meet a stranger.”

“You’ll think of something.” Peter grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled him away from the wall. Percival yelped and protested, to little effect. “You can’t expect her to reciprocate your feelings if she doesn’t even know you’re there,” his brother continued ruthlessly. “Just start with your name and go from there.”

With a final heave, Peter shoved him out the door.

To come face-to-face with Maya.

“Er,” Percival squeaked as the girl blinked and stepped back, eyes wide. “Um,” he went on, glancing back at the door. Peter stood in the frame with his arms crossed, so escape was impossible unless he fled the store itself. But then he would be so embarrassed he could never face Maya again. This might be his only chance.

Gathering his courage, Percival turned back to the girl. “Uh, h-hello,” he stammered, dropping his gaze. “I...I... That is...”

Maya smiled. “Hello, Percival,” she replied, making him glance up in shock. She knew his name! “I asked about you the first day I came in,” the girl continued. “I hope I didn’t offend you in any way.”

“No!” Percival shook his head quickly. “No, you d-didn’t do anything. I...I j-just...um.” He closed his eyes, thinking calm thoughts, the way she smiled at him that very first day. “I’m s-sorry I ran out on you like that,” he said, meeting her gaze. “I’ve w-w-wanted to talk to you ever since but I haven’t had the chance.”

“Well.” Maya cocked her head at him. “Now you do.”

They talked for a goodly while. Occasionally, Percival would get nervous and stutter, but Maya never seemed to notice. Eventually, Pedro stuck his head into the room and yelled for Percival to get back to work, and Maya excused herself, saying her grandmother was waiting for her.

“I’ll come back tomorrow,” she promised, smiling in a way that made Percival’s legs weak. “Goodbye, Percival. I’m glad I finally got to meet you.”

“Goodbye,” Percival whispered, and stared out the door for several minutes until Pedro smacked the back of his skull and shoved a mop into his hands, ordering him to the back room.

She did come back tomorrow. And the day after that. Sometimes, she would just smile and say hello, claiming her grandmother was expecting her back quickly. Sometimes, however, they staked out a corner of the shop and talked for many long minutes, while Pedro and Peter helped customers and shook their heads in resignation. And with every passing day, Percival fell more and more in love with her. Though he could never get up the nerve to tell her, or even ask her on a date. Instead, he baked pies especially for her, and always had one waiting when she entered the shop. And she always smiled and said they were the best things she had ever eaten.

His brothers watched these developments with a combination of amusement and concern, with Peter telling him to throw the young lady over his shoulder and cart her into the broom closet already, and Pedro reminding him to be careful. Pretty girls, he explained, were cunning, devious creatures. They were notorious for playing coy, stringing you along until the day they broke your heart. His warnings fell on deaf ears, however, as Percival’s world began to revolve around the times Maya Thornton came into the shop.

And then, one gray, dismal morning, she didn’t come in.

At first, Percival thought she was just a few minutes late. Perhaps she’d stopped at the fruit stall on her way there. Perhaps she’d forgotten her umbrella and had returned home to get it, as the sky did look rather ominous out the window. But as minutes ticked into hours, and Percival’s gaze lingered more and more on the front door of the shop, it became obvious that Maya wasn’t coming.

He moped his way through the afternoon, shuffling from task to task like a sleepwalker, barely aware of his surroundings. He felt like the day outside—gray, dismal, sullen. Maya had become his ray of sunshine every morning, and without her, his world had gone dark.

Peter finally gave him a good whack to the back of the head, bringing him out of his sulk.

“For Fred’s sake!” he exploded as Percival winced and rubbed his abused skull. “You’re worse than useless today, pining after that lass. Here.” Shoving a basket of pies into his hands, he pointed him toward the door. “Go find your girl. Tell her what you’ve been dying to tell her ever since she came in. Don’t give me that look,” he continued as Percival stared at him in horror. “Time to man up, boy. If you don’t snatch her while you can, someone else will. Now go.”

He gave him a push toward the frame. Percival, clutching the basket of pies, stumbled out the door and into the cloudy afternoon.

He was torn between dragging his feet to the witch’s hut and hurrying there as fast as he could, which resulted in his tripping over himself a great deal. Overhead, sullen clouds blotted the sky, and thunder growled ominously in the distance. Percival didn’t pay much attention to his surroundings, however, too busy thinking of what he would say to Maya when he finally found her.

Maya, I...love you. I’ve been in love with you from the day you entered the shop. When I see you, I can’t think of anything except how beautiful you are, and how you were kind to a fat, shy shop boy even though you had no reason to be. I don’t expect you could ever really fall for someone like me, but if you returned even a fraction of my feelings, it would make me the happiest person in the world.

It sounded elegant in his head, but when he tried to say it aloud he stuttered and tripped over the words, and ended up feeling like a fool.

He was thinking of turning around, calling off this insane quest entirely, when he suddenly realized he had arrived at the edge of the forest. And directly in front of him stood a house.

Percival shivered. Like most of the villagers, he avoided the Haunted Wood whenever possible. Not that he believed all the rumors and suspicion swirling around the evil forest, but it was better to be safe than sorry. This was actually the first time he’d stood at its borders, the closest he had ever been to the thick, tangled woods, and it gave him chills. As did the run-down shack at the forest’s edge.

For a second, he almost went back, almost turned and hurried away from this place as fast as his stubby legs would take him. He was afraid of the witch, yes, but that wasn’t the only thing that kept him from approaching the door and rapping on its gnarled surface.

What if the witch is there? Will she turn me into a toad? Would Maya protect me? What if Maya isn’t home? Or, worst of all... What if she is, and when I tell her how I feel, she laughs in my face?

He struggled with himself a moment longer, then took a deep breath. He’d come this far. No point in turning back now.

Gripping the basket handle tightly in one hand, he edged up to the door and rapped softly on the surface.

A few minutes passed. The hut was silent. Percival was about to give up and go home, when the door swung inward with an ear-splitting creak, and he was suddenly face-to-face with the witch.

She was old, that much was certain. The lines and grooves along her withered skin looked carved out with a hatchet, and her crooked nose jutted a few inches away from her face, a prominent wart on the tip. But her hair was midnight-black like Maya’s, though pulled into a severe bun, and her eyes burned a brilliant green as she stared at Percival, the corners of her thin lips pulled into a frown.

“Eh?” she rasped, glaring at the boy in front of her. Her voice was like a rusty blade over glass. “Who are you? What do you want? Come to see the scary old witch, eh, boy? Maybe throw rocks at her windows or torment her cat?”

“N-n-no!” Percival stammered, suddenly terrified. “I j-just came to see M-M-Maya. Is she h-here?”

The witch narrowed her eyes to green slits. “You must be that boy she keeps talking about. Percival Piggett, eh? Your evil brothers don’t like me very much—that Pedro Piggett once threatened to burn down my hut if I ever went near you, did you know that?” Percival felt his heart constrict with fear that the old woman knew who he was, but she only snorted and raised a gnarled claw to the woods. “Eh, it doesn’t matter. Maya is down by the lake, that way. Just take the path until you see the water. If you hurry, you should catch her.”

“Th-thank you,” Percival whispered, and hurried away, feeling the piercing green eyes of the witch follow him into the woods.

He found the path, cutting through the trees in the direction the witch had pointed, and followed it, his heart pounding in his chest. Thick, tangled trees pressed in on him from every side, clawed branches shutting out what little light there was. The forest was eerily silent; no birds sang, no small creatures scurried through the brush. And yet, Percival thought he felt eyes upon him the farther he ventured into the foreboding woods.

At last, he saw a glimmer of water through the trees, and began to run, clutching the basket tightly as he did. As he drew closer, he caught a flash of color by the water’s edge, the shimmer of a bright dress, and his heart leaped with excitement. She was here! She was here, and he would finally tell her what he felt, and she would tell him she felt the same. And then...

The trees fell away. Percival stumbled from the woods, into the open.

And stopped.

There were two figures down by the water’s edge, standing very close. They hadn’t seen him yet, and Percival ducked behind a tree, peering out at the pair by the lake. One of the figures was Maya; he could see the tumble of black hair down her back, the bright blue dress she wore today. The other...

Percival’s gut clenched painfully. The other was a boy from the village. Isaac, the miller’s son. He’d seen him many times when his brothers sent him to buy wheat for the shop, but the two boys never spoke much beyond “good morning.” He was a big lad, two years older than Percival, with dark hair, strapping muscles from a life of working the mill and a square, honest face.

That face hovered very close to Maya’s now. As Percival watched, frozen behind a tree, Isaac leaned in, one hand rising to her cheek, and kissed her.

An icy shaft plunged into Percival’s heart. The basket dropped from his limp fingers, rolling into the grass, but he didn’t notice. All he could see was Isaac and the girl he loved, their figures silhouetted against the bright gleam of the lake, pressed together in a passionate kiss.

His throat closed up, and his eyes watered, becoming blurry and dim. With a strangled cry, Percival turned and fled the forest, barely seeing the path at his feet, and didn’t stop until he reached his house. Flinging himself into bed, he pulled the covers over himself and sobbed into his pillow, feeling the icy dagger in his heart slice it into a million pieces.

He didn’t go into the shop the next morning, but lay curled under his blanket all afternoon, feeling like nothing he did mattered now. The pain in his chest wouldn’t go away, nor did the stubborn tears that leaked from his eyes every time he thought of Maya. Maya, the girl he loved. Who would never love him back. Who had lied to him, strung him along, all this time. She was probably laughing at him right now, or maybe she and Isaac were lying together somewhere, talking about the poor gullible fat boy who dared to love a beautiful girl.

He could never go back to the shop with her around, that was certain.

That evening, there was a pounding at his door. Percival was too heartsick to get up to answer it, and put a pillow over his head to muffle the noise. A moment later there was a crash, and Peter stomped into the room, followed closely by Pedro.

“Percival!” Peter’s shout made Percival’s ears ring, and he buried his head farther into the pillow. Abruptly it was snatched away, and he winced, blinking up at his older brother’s worried face.

“You never came to the shop this morning,” Peter said, tossing the pillow on the floor. “What happened, lad? Are you sick?”

“Go away,” Percival muttered, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. “Leave me alone. Let me die, I want to die.”

His brothers exchanged a glance. Then Pedro said, in a voice of deadly calm, “The girl. The witch’s spawn. She did this, didn’t she?” When Percival didn’t answer, his voice grew even colder, brooking no argument. “Tell us what happened. Now.”

Sniffling, Percival did. He told them about the witch, and going to see Maya at the lake, and her inevitable betrayal with Isaac, the miller’s son. “You were right,” Percival said, sniffling at Pedro, who listened to all of this in grim silence. “Girls are evil. She was just playing with me all this time. I’ll never be able to go back to work with her around, knowing she’s just laughing at me inside.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Pedro said, looking at Peter. The other sibling’s face was red; he looked ready to explode with rage. “We’ll take care of this. Maya Thornton will never set foot in the shop again. Just say the word, little brother, and we’ll make it so.”

Percival sniffled, wiping his eyes. He thought of Maya, her smile, the kind way she spoke to him. All a lie. She didn’t care for him at all, and he couldn’t bear the thought of seeing her every day, knowing what he did. Anger burned. He wanted her to pay. He wanted to hurt her like she so casually hurt him.

“I never want to see Maya Thornton again,” he murmured.

Pedro nodded. Without another word, he and Peter walked out of the room, closing the door behind them, and left Percival to grieve his lost love in peace.

Maya Thornton never came back to the shop. Percival did, eventually returning to work a few days later, much subdued and still heartsick over his loss. Peter finally came to his home one morning, telling him that Maya Thornton had been banned from the store, and that he’d better get his lazy ass into work the next morning or he would drag it back himself. Knowing his brother did not make idle threats, Percival obeyed.

After the first couple mornings, his heart jumped every time the shop bell tinkled, thinking perhaps that it was Maya. When it wasn’t, he found himself both relieved and disappointed. Gradually, however, the relief faded, and yearning slid in to take its place. He missed Maya, he realized. Perhaps he had been hasty in his anger, his assumption that she was playing with his feelings. He wanted to see her again.

When he mentioned this to Pedro, about maybe letting Maya into the shop again, his brother gave a short bark of a laugh and looked at him like he was crazy.

“What? Now you want her back? After what she did to you? Are you a glutton for punishment, boy?” He glowered at Percival under bristling eyebrows. “Didn’t you say she was using you?”

“I...uh...might’ve spoken rashly about that,” Percival admitted, feeling his face heat. Shame and guilt settled over him, but he forced the words out. “I...I overreacted. I want to talk to her, at least. Let her explain her side of the story. And...I want to apologize for jumping to conclusions.”

“Well, you can’t,” Pedro said ruthlessly. “Maya Thornton and her witch grandmother finally left town a couple days ago, and good riddance. They’re gone, Percival. So you might as well forget about the girl and get back to work. It’s for the best.”

She’s gone? Percival slumped to the floor, feeling his heart squeeze tight. I’ll never see her again, he thought numbly. She’s gone, and I’ll never get to tell her how I really felt. She probably thinks that I hate her now. Oh, Maya, I’m so sorry.

Grief and shame plagued him the rest of the day. When they finally closed the shop late that night, Percival trudged home, his steps heavy and his heart squeezed in a vise. Maya was gone. The love of his life was gone, and he’d never see her again, never see her smile or hear her laugh. And the worst part of all was knowing he’d brought it on himself.

When he reached his house, his heart skipped a beat for a different reason. The front door was smashed in, hanging off its hinges and splintered beyond repair. Inside, his home had been trashed, things knocked over, torn apart and shredded. Long, deep slashes scarred the walls of his room, looking like the claws of some huge beast.

Percival backed out of his house in a daze, wondering what to do next. Peter’s home was a few streets down, not far from where he stood. Maybe he should go there—

A low growl, somewhere above him, made his hair stand on end.

Heart in his throat, Percival looked up.

Something crouched on the thatched roof of his home, an enormous shadow against the night sky. Something huge and black, and obviously inhuman. Piercing green eyes stared down at him from a massive shaggy head, and a long muzzle curled back to reveal wet, shiny fangs as long as his fingers.

The thing threw back its head with a howl that turned his blood to ice, and Percival ran.

He felt, rather than saw, the thing give chase. He could hear it behind him, its low pants and raspy breathing, the rustle of its huge form through the grass and weeds. Percival’s eyes blurred with tears of fright, and his legs burned as he fled, gasping, for Peter’s home. At one point, he tripped over a stone and went sprawling to the ground, scraping his hands. He risked a glance over his shoulder and saw the creature a few yards away in the darkness, just watching him with blazing green eyes. Toying with him. Panicked, he scrambled upright and fled, as the monster gave another howl and loped into the shadows.

Peter’s log cabin came into view, and Percival threw himself at it, crossing the yard and smashing into the front door. “Peter!” he screamed, pounding on the wood. “Peter, let me in! Let me in!”

Footsteps echoed from inside, and the door swung back, revealing Peter’s frowning face in the doorway. “Percival?” he questioned as Percival barreled under his arm, slamming the door behind him. Peter turned, still frowning, as Percival scrambled across the room. “What’s going on?”

“Peter!” his brother gasped. “Get away from the—” The door exploded inward. Percival shrieked in terror, as the enormous head of a monstrous wolf came through the wooden barrier like it wasn’t there. Wood flew in all directions, splinters and wood chips spiraling through the air. Peter turned, mouth open to shout something, when the huge jaws closed over his head and yanked him outside. Peter gave a startled cry, and then there was silence.

For a moment, Percival couldn’t move. He stood there, frozen to the back wall, staring at the place Peter had been a second before. It wasn’t real, his mind said frantically. None of this was real. He was having a nightmare where he had just watched his brother be killed right in front of him by a creature that should not exist. He would wake up in just a moment, and everything would be normal.

The porch steps creaked, and the monster wolf appeared in the frame, watching him. Blood dripped from its jaws, spattering the floor, and its muzzle was coated in red. It stared at him with hateful green eyes, and something in that burning glare sent a jolt of recognition through Percival’s stomach. He’d seen those eyes, somewhere...

The wolf roared, baring bloodstained teeth, and lunged into the room. Percival screamed and fled to the back, slamming the bedroom door. Flinging himself to the window, he wrenched up the frame, just as the wolf’s head erupted through the door, snarling and terrible. With a shriek, Percival dove out the window.

He was halfway through when, to his horror, he became stuck in the frame, and wriggled frantically to get loose. Crying with terror, he slid loose and dropped to the ground just as a huge muzzle clamped onto the sill and tore a chunk from the wooden frame. Leaping to his feet, Percival fled toward the only safe haven he had left: Pedro’s brick house on the edge of town.

Either his mind had cracked, or the wolf was definitely toying with him. He would see it sometimes, from the corner of his eye, or he’d catch a glimpse of it between the trees as he fled past. What did it want? Why was it tormenting him like this? He’d figured out that this was no ordinary beast; those eyes were far too intelligent, and filled with a hatred that he’d seen before only in men.

Gasping, nearly sick with exertion, Percival was only a hundred yards from the safety of Pedro’s home when something caught his leg and sent him sprawling to the ground. Frantic, he pushed himself to his knees...and stared right into the burning glare of the wolf.

The huge muzzle was just a snap away from his face. He could feel the hot, fetid breath on his cheeks, smell the blood that clung to its fur. His reflection stared back at him from those soulless green eyes, pale and terrified, and as the wolf curled its lip, showing bloodstained teeth, Percival braced himself to die.

A gunshot rang out, booming in the silence, and the wolf jerked sideways with a roar. Pedro stood several yards away, a smoking rifle in his hands, his gaze hard and determined.

“Come on, witch!” he bellowed, firing again, and the wolf howled as blood erupted from its side. “You want me? Here I am! Come and get me! Percival,” he yelled as the wolf snarled and leaped away from the youngest brother, “get inside—now! Lock the door, and don’t open it for anything, you hear?”

Percival nodded. Scrambling to his feet, he fled the last few yards to the front door of Pedro’s home, turning in the frame as one last shot rang out behind him.

Pedro stood his ground, firing away at the wolf, which yelped in pain but kept coming. As the monster creature swept up on him, he dropped the rifle and pulled out a knife, raising it high as the wolf lunged. The blade plunged into the shaggy neck, sinking deep as the wolf bowled him over and buried its teeth into his throat.

Pedro spasmed, his limbs twitching like a jerky puppet’s as the wolf tore and savaged his body, sending tendrils of blood curling through the air. Percival watched in the door frame, unable to scream or even make a sound until the vicious mauling came to an end, and the wolf finally looked up.

At him.

Fear jolted him into motion again. As the monster bounded forward, he slammed the thick, reinforced wooden door, threw all the locks and backed away. The wolf hit the entryway with a resounding crash that rattled the frame, and Percival heard a yelp on the other side. Another crash, but the door held, and a snarl of frustration followed. Try as it might, it couldn’t get through.

For the rest of the night, Percival huddled in the master bedroom, listening to the monster prowling outside. Sometimes it would scratch at the shuttered windows, whining. Sometimes it would hurl itself at the door or walls, making the rooms shake, but Pedro’s house had been built to withstand the fiercest storms, and held firm.

Finally, near dawn, everything grew very quiet. Percival could no longer hear the beast circling the house, but he didn’t dare move. He would stay in this fortress until he was certain the monster wasn’t lurking somewhere, just waiting for him to step outside.

Witch, Pedro had shouted right before he died. It made sense now. The great wolf was the witch who lived at the edge of the Haunted Wood. She’d heard what he did to her granddaughter and had come back for revenge. Those burning green eyes, so full of rage and hate, only confirmed it.

She was overreacting a bit, Percival thought numbly, sitting with his knees to his chest on Pedro’s bed. After all, Maya had only been told never to come back to the pie shop; it wasn’t like they’d driven her out of town. But she was a witch. Perhaps she’d hated them all along, and just needed an excuse to come after them. Thank heavens for Pedro’s fear of storms. As long as he stayed inside, the wolf couldn’t get to him.

The afternoon sun was high overhead, and Percival, exhausted from his harrowing escape and staying up all night, had started to drift off on Pedro’s bed, when there was a knock at the door.

He jerked up, and nearly tumbled off the bed, his heart slamming in his chest. Was it the wolf? Had it returned? But the tap came again, softer than the crashing of the wolf against the door, and a faint, familiar voice drifted through the walls.

“Percival? Percival, are you there?”

Maya. Percival scrambled out of the bedroom and raced to the door, flinging it open.

And there she was. As beautiful and perfect as ever, though her hair was slightly mussed, and her green eyes were wide with fear.

“Oh, Percival, you’re alive! Thank goodness!” Crossing the threshold, she threw herself at Percival and hugged him tightly. Percival froze, every nerve in his body standing at attention, so startled he didn’t have the presence of mind to hug her back.

Maya drew away. “I was so worried,” she said, her eyes darting over Percival’s shoulder to the room beyond. “I have to tell you something, Percival. About...my grandmother. Will you let me come in?”

Percival was fairly certain he knew what she was going to say about her grandmother, but he quickly nodded. “Of course,” he said, and Maya smiled, following him through the door. “S-sorry about the mess. It’s been...a rough night. I’ll make us something to eat.”

“No need,” Maya said, closing the door after her. “I’ve already eaten this morning.”

“So,” Percival began, heading toward the kitchen. So many questions. So many things to say. Where did he begin. “How...how is your grandmother?”

“She’s dead.”

Percival spun back. Maya stood in front of the door with an odd look on her face. Her eyes were cold as she stared at Percival from across the room.

“Your brothers killed her,” Maya went on, and she wasn’t smiling now. “Came to our hut that night and burned it to the ground. They hung my grandmother from a tree and set her on fire, but they only dragged me into the forest, stabbed me a few times and left me to die. They thought she was the witch.” Maya smiled then, but it was a terrible, hard smile, her eyes gleaming in the shadows. “They should’ve made certain to burn us both.”

In a daze, Percival noticed all the locks on the door behind her had been thrown. He took a step back, but there was no other exit. Nowhere to run.

“I found your basket that day,” Maya went on softly. “I knew you had seen me and Isaac. He had been pursuing me for days, and I wanted to speak with him alone, to tell him to stop chasing me. He didn’t take it well, which is what you saw at the edge of the lake.” Her brow furrowed just slightly, as if in pain, before smoothing out again. “I was going to tell you the next morning, but your brothers came for me that night, and I never got the chance.”

“I didn’t know,” Percival whispered. “I didn’t know what they would do.”

Maya shook her head. “Yes, you did,” she whispered back. “On some small, subconscious level, you knew what they were capable of. They came for us that night because of you, Percival. Because you told them to.”

“Maya.” Percival held out a hand. “I loved you.”

She gave a tiny smile, though her eyes had started to glow, casting eerie green light over the walls and floor. “You know the saddest part?” she murmured. “I was really starting to fall for you. But it turns out you’re nothing but an evil pig, just like your brothers.”

And then she stepped forward, no longer Maya, and her huge, dark shadow filled the room. Percival screamed.

And screamed.

And screamed.

But there was no one around to hear.

* * * * *