Night falls over the valley under the Little King and every man, woman, and child are sleeping soundly in their beds. The mill lays dormant, its water wheel gently swaying with every throw of the breeze flowing past.
The silence lays thick in the air, every creak of settling wood, every crack of branches seemingly afraid to disturb the tranquility of the night.
All is still. Still and dark. All, that is, except a light flickering from a second-story window in the miller's house.
Sandra Madsen has stirred awake. Somewhat annoyed at her restless sleep, she’s decided to satisfy one of her nightly needs before going back to sleep. Her annoyance is further reinforced as she fumbles with a set of matches, trying to light a candle. After another couple of tries, she finally gets the candle lit and she gets up to leave the room.
As she opens the door her husband begins stirring as well. Sandra puts down the light, then leans down to caress Birks's hair, and whispers, “I’m just off to use the pot. You just get back to sleep now.”
Birk sleepily lays his hand on hers and squeezes it before closing his eyes again. Seeing her husband returning to sleep Sandra gets back up to fetch her candlestick, but before she picks it up, moves over to the window. Their little bedroom is sweltering despite the cool outside. She undoes the hinges and opens the window a smidge, figuring she’ll close it again before going back to sleep. Feeling the cold night air seep in she latches the window in place and takes the candle, now flickering slightly in the breeze.
Sandra opens the door and sneaks out into the hallway, careful not to make a sound. A tall feat for a woman of her stature, she smiles to herself. Her protruding belly has become somewhat obvious over the last month, making her movements more encumbered than they had been since she carried Grim all those years ago.
Thinking of Grim as she waddles down the stairs she thinks it might be time to break the news to her son that he’s about to get a little brother or sister. He’s bound to figure it out soon if he hasn’t already, and there’s little point in keeping it a secret any longer.
Sandra snickers to herself, covering her mouth with a hand. Her big boy is prone to worrying over his parents' health, insisting on working extra hard so they won't strain themselves too much. She imagines this behavior will only get more intense when they break the news to him. Grim means well, but Sandra and Birk would carry their weight until they could do it no longer.
Getting to the bottom of the stairs, she break out of her musings with a strained huff. Finding her way to the kitchen using the sparse light from the candle, she locates the tall cabinets she keeps the nightpots. She’s already decided against going outside, braving the freezing night, to get to the outhouse. Squatting, she quickly does her business, then carries the pot to the door. With haste, she undoes the lock, opens the door, disposes of the waste into her flowerbed, and before the cold can settle into her skin, she closes, then locks the door again.
Muttering to herself about terrible weather and freezing temperatures, Sandra returns the pot to its closet and waddles back to the kitchen proper. It’s time to satisfy a different craving. Opening the left-most locker she pulls out a wooden box, laying it on the counter. Humming a soft tune, she opens the box and undoes the cloth knot covering the remaining sugar buns.
Sandra didn’t usually feel the need to eat during the night, but ever since her pregnancy started to show, she just couldn’t help herself sometimes. One big bite, maybe two, then she’d be right back in bed, she promised herself.
Finishing off the slightly stale pastry in one, maybe two bites, she re-does the knot and returns the box to its spot. With a yawn, Sandra figures it’s time to get back to her warm bed and goes to grab the candle she left on the countertop. Fumbling in the dim light, she accidentally pushes it over and the candle goes sailing onto the floor, where it lands with a soft thud. As it hits the floor the flame snuffs out, casting the kitchen back into darkness.
Swearing softly, but trying not to cause more of a stir when everyone’s asleep, Sandra gets down and feels around until she finds the candle again. Slowly getting back on her feet, groaning a bit as her belly makes its presence known, she looks around the room trying to get her bearings.
The night is dark, but faint light peaks through the windows. A crescent moon hangs low over the mountains, shining just enough light into the kitchen to see its outlines. Calming down after the brief accident, Sandra waits in her spot for another minute before her vision has gotten used to the darkness. Slowly but surely, one foot in front of the other, she begins feeling her way back to the stairs.
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Remembering the pack of matches resting beside the fireplace, she makes a course adjustment and shuffles further toward the right side of the room. Feeling the coarse stone of the fireplace she quickly locates the hemp basket where they keep old newspapers and other easily burnable material.
“Yes,” Sandra can’t hold down the brief outburst as she holds up a small paper matchbox.
Trying to fish out one of the unused matches her movements suddenly lock in place as as she hears a muffled sound. It was faint, barely perceptible, but sounded almost like the clicking you might make by cracking your knuckles. Frozen like a statue, Sandra remains in her position, clutching the candle and the matches. Seconds tick by, but there’s nothing. Thinking it might just be the night playing tricks on her, the silent darkness making her jump at the creaks of an old house settling, she begins fiddling with the matches again.
There, finally. The match, then the candle, is lit and Sandra hurries towards the stairs, trying not to make too much noise in her haste. She’s uncertain why, but the night has started to feel oppressive.
Taking the first step up the stairs, Sandra is in the middle of reprimanding herself for her childish jumpyness when she hears it again.
Click, then a wet popping. It’s coming from somewhere just above the stairs.
Standing on the second step with a white-knuckled grip on her candlestick, ripples of fear shoot throughout Sandra Madsen’s mind. Indecision grips her as she struggles with whether to go check on the ominous sound emanating from where her family slumbers, or do as her instincts are screaming at her, and run away as fast as she can.
Coming to a silent conclusion Sandra readies herself and lets out a cautious, “Hello?” into the darkness. “Birk, is that you?”
The wall of darkness at the top of the stairs does not answer her, nor does another sound present itself.
Steeling herself, Sandra begins walking up the stairs. To her, it sounds like every step rings out into the night like an alarm blaring, “Here I am!” making her cringe with each creak of floorboard. Despite feeling worse with every movement, she pushes forward, step by step.
At last, she reaches the top of the stairs. Holding up her candle, with its tiny, impotent flame to ward off the darkness, Sandra sees the door to her bedroom stand before her. Letting the moment stretch on, listening carefully for any hint something’s off, she slowly reaches for the handle.
“It’s nothing,” Sandra whispers reassuringly to herself before lowering the handle, hearing the metallic click as the door opens, “just Birk knocking something over in his sleep.”
Sandra feels anger at herself for the quiver in her voice. It’s nothing. This is nothing. She’s going to open this door and find her husband sound asleep and a lamp on the floor. Then she’s going to lay down, forget all about these foolish emotions, and fall asleep holding onto Birk’s warm back.
Swallowing her uncertainty, Sandra swiftly pulls the door agape, not caring that the draft she creates makes the flame on her candle flicker and snuff out.
Darkness fills the room, a pale beam of moonlight shines through the window, bouncing off Birk’s eyes. A glimmer of warmth reaches Sandra's heart as she sees the familiar form of her husband lying in their bed.
Standing in the doorway, looking into the bedroom, the warm feeling leaves as a cold breeze from the wide open window blows through. Mounting horror dances in Sandra’s mind as she sees the eyes of her beloved are still and his stare is one of glassy coldness. She takes a step back, voice caught in her throat, streaks of tears rushing down her cheeks, as she spots movement from Birk’s neck. With a sickening crunch, a pair of bone white jaws tears loose from his jugular, spurts of crimson outlining the hitherto unnoticed mound of blackness in liquid, gleaming in the moonlight. The creature unfurls where it lies, turning from an indistinct mass of darkness into a beast of nightmares. As it moves, the sound of malformed bones clicking together spreads throughout the room. Gangly, clawed limbs stretch out to hold onto the floor, walls, and ceiling, lifting its mass into the air as it turns its head towards Sandra, fixing her with eyes made of the deepest void. The ‘face’ looks like a deformed and elongated stag skull with a jaw filled with needle teeth and gnarled, jagged antlers seemingly unfold from within the creature to scrape the ceiling.
The living nightmare observes Sandra’s frozen form, waves of unmitigated hunger and malice washing over her, making it hard to draw breath. The mix of emotions threatens to overwhelm Sandra, making her vision blur. She wants to scream in terror, but primordial instinct keeps her locked in place, unable to prevent her fate.
Sandra feels like it’s observing her. Those terrible eyes are piercing her skull laying her brain bare for it to examine. Seemingly satisfied with what it has found, the horrid entity turns its attention back to its original prize, the dead form of Birk Madsen.
The creature opens its maw, revealing rows and rows of mismatched white fangs, before it tears a large chunk of flesh from Birk’s torso.
Seeing her husband be further mangled in front of her, Sandra feels something break in her mind. Released from her frozen state she falls to her knees and lets out an ear-piercing scream, releasing all her hurt and fear. Looking at the creature, eyes overflowing with tears, she lets out a final wail before she passes out.
The last thing she sees before unconsciousness takes her, is the creature, holding a piece of her husband in its jaws, twisting its mouth into an unmistakable smile.