Grim, page 18
“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.”
