"Stop saying that."

"Saying what?"

"That there's a dead body on the beach."

"But there is a dead body on the beach."

A deep, heavy sigh left the blacksmith. "I've already told you what happens to people who go around telling lies." He pulled apart the knots that secured his heavy canvas apron around his waist and yanked the thing off, tossing it haphazardly over a nearby chair.

"But I'm not lying," Jonah protested. "You can ask Ms. Parsons AND the Constable. They were both there, I saw them. The Constable even touched it!"

The blacksmith leveled a dry look at his nephew. He was half a year past ten and had fallen into the habit of embellishing his stories. They were usually harmless ones. The fish he caught would become 3 feet larger, with no witnesses, of course. A walk home alone from school would produce instances of various rare cryptid sightings. The town's undertaker, a tall, pale, stick of a man with a preference for black clothing, was apparently an immortal, blood thirsty vampire. That one was, reluctantly admitted, the blacksmith's favorite out of all the stories the child told.

"Did Amantha send work home for you to finish?"

The boy visibly deflated at that. He could tell Jonah wanted very much to say no, and he was proud of him for refraining.

"As I thought. Go and get it done. I'll see about supper."

Bancrug's midwife served the village faithfully for nearly 45 years. On the 46th year, after some coaxing, she took on an apprentice so that her craft would be passed down to the next generation. Three months into the apprenticeship, with exactly 0 children born during that time and two mothers expecting, the midwife died. Needless to say, that had been a rough first year for Amantha. The thirty three year old mother of four was the closest thing the village had to a medical professional, excluding the Undertaker, and that was the only reason why there was a stranger in her bed.

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

Amantha stood over the woman with her hands on her hips, watching the her chest rise and fall unsteadily, and had been for the last hour. Every so often a raspy wheeze would escape the unconscious woman, filling the new midwife with a dreadful anxiety that that breath would be her last.

"There's still water in her lungs, I think," she said out loud to no one, certainly not expecting a small voice to answer her. "That's bad, isn't it?" Amantha blinked in surprise, and whipped her head around and then down to finally find the source.

"I really ought to tie a bell around your wrist. Go and find one of your brothers and play outside. This room is off limits for a time, alright?"

"But Jonah's uncle is here," she said back, a little earnestly, her own large brown eyes couldn't seem to leave the slumbering stranger. "He dropped off some things, but now he's asking for you." The young girl heard her mother sigh, but didn't see it or the pair of firm hands reaching out to turn her around and herd her back out.

"Tell him to meet me back here and then go outside."

Off she went, down the hall and the stairs into the small foyer where the Blacksmith sat on the edge of a worn, but comfortable looking chair. He had stood as soon as he heard the sound of boots clomping against the wood, but frowned in confusion when the girl settled in front of him alone. Before he could open his mouth to ask why-

"She says she wants you to come to her bedroom. I'm not allowed to go, though."

A moment passed where he only stared down at her with the same frown-

"What?"

A sigh from the girl in response. "She wants you to go to her bedroom alone. I have to go outside now." The child turned and skipped away, leaving him and the house with no further thought. The Blacksmith's face flushed bright red, and he glanced up at the stairs incredulously. He stood there with an awkward air for a few moments, shifting his weight from one foot to the other before finally mustering up the courage to climb the stairs.