On the very edge of the Herskian outskirts, amidst the dense trees and branches that nearly covered the gray sky, a black shape laid on the ground in the shadows. It remained curled up, similar to a cat enjoying a patch of sunlight on the floor. In the dim light, two dark green eyes shone, next to the wide jawline with yellow teeth and inky, bloody saliva that dripped from the stretched lips. Bits of flesh and tissue were glued to its molars, with the shredded remains of a maid’s cap.

The being’s claws sank into the soft earth, its heavy breaths the only sound in the stillness of the trees. It released a high pitched, rattling screech, before the large hole was fully formed. When it rose up on all fours—tail dragging against the ground—two large eggs, covered in a thick layer of slime and blood, remained below. Not too soon after the creature scurried off, disappearing between the bushes, a glowing neon light pulsated from the eggs, casting a deep shadow on them.

* * * * * * * *

Stacey winced in pain as he lifted up his pickaxe and swung at a nearby rock. His back was burning, bloody, and itching something fierce. It took everything inside him to not recoil at the sensations coursing down his spine. His face was coated in sweat, and he flexed his large fingers around the rough wooden handle. Although his legs were begging for a break, he knew that if the shift boss, Caesar Echlem, walked by and saw him sitting, he would be out of a job again. The cold weather did nothing to ease the tightness in his chest, and his breaths were short and visible in the air.

What he’d do for a warm bowl of chicken soup and biscuits. He remembered how much his Eliza loved to cook—around Thanksgiving and Christmas she baked uneven gingerbread cookies and brewed vanilla milky tea with thick spices inside of it. Then he’d take the girls out down the big hill with a sled he had made. They made snow angels, and they would all stay up late at night, wrapped in warm quilts, telling each other stories in front of the fireplace. He remembered holding his sleeping children in both of his arms in the warm orange glow—Eliza sitting in a chair and knitting a new scarf for him.

A large rock broke off, landing on the ground. Surprised to see how wet his eyes were getting, he blinked as fast as he could and moved on to towards the next tunnel.

“Mr. Hollomannn!”

Stacey tossed a large chunk of coal into his cart. Horses whinnied behind him, and far below, he spied Caesar’s tent. The aroma of coffee and freshly-baked biscuits reached his nose, and his stomach rumbled beneath him.

In the background, he could make out the snickering and jeering of the other men who were working not too far from him. He tried his very best to keep his gaze focused on the towering rocks in front of him, but he could already sense the heat building up behind his pale face. Gritting his teeth, he gripped the handle of his pickaxe so tightly that the blood seemed to escape from his fingers. A pebble struck the back of his neck, making him freeze. The snickers grew a bit louder, and he could hear someone’s boots crunching against the snow. Then a loud, booming voice echoed through the crisp morning air.

“Mr. Holloman!”

Stacey wanted to place both of his hands over his ears. His left gray eye twitched. Between the deep discomfort on his back and the throbbing in his head, he wondered if missing out on a day’s worth of pay for some extra sleep was worth it. He hadn’t eaten for over three days, not since the trial, as nobody would buy or sell to him. He did not look up.

”Mr. Holloman, my dear sir! I believe you are a bit addled in the ears. Mayhaps some whiskey should help clear up your senses?”

This time, there was a full-fledged roar of laughter amongst the others. Stacey put down his pickaxe and glared at the man who defiantly looked back at him. Earnest Jacob. He was only a mere five feet tall in comparison, with a jagged scar that ran across his lower jaw, but he was one of the swiftest and skilled workers out of all of them. Caesar’s best boy, the others referred to him. Not only did he receive higher pay, but he had access to better supplies—enough to feed that pretty wife of his and six children.

Stacey stared at Jacob’s warm coat and brand new boots. As much as he wanted to strangle the little twerp, being out of a job was something he couldn’t deal with at the moment. He didn’t have any money—he had blown all of his savings out on whiskey. It was a miracle Caesar hadn’t said anything to him.

He simply turned away.

Jacob smirked. “I’m talking to you, big fellow.”

“Ain’t nothing to talk about,” Stacey quietly said.

“I’m sure that Thomas Alden has plenty to say about the way you came over at his business.” He spat out the wad of tobacco he was chewing on into the snow. “Whose place is next? The Merriman’s dress store down on Eleventh Boulevard yonder? Or the Jackson’s shoe shop? You best tell me, so I can let them know ‘afore you arrive.”

The next wave of laughter that followed caused Stacey to slightly dig his fingernails into his palms. He swallowed hard.

“I’d invite you for a drink afterwards with the rest of us,” Jacob continued, “but I don’t think you can hold yer spirits down so well. Yer damn near drunk every single waking moment of the day. Be a shame when you try to attack one of us, or…” his voice grew lower “…have the silly notion to put yer hands upon a woman. ‘Twas what you did with Bessie Taylor, yes? Or maybe a couple of times with Eliza—”

Stacey’s gray eyes darkened, and before he knew it, he had plowed his meaty fist right into Jacob’s face. The impact echoed across the mountains, and the sensation of cracking bone felt good against his blistered knuckles, even in the cold. He couldn’t see anybody through the tunnel vision that had suddenly overtaken him, only Jacob’s startled expression, his feeble attempt to defend himself shattered like glass. Stacey wasn’t sure how many times he swung at his form, but it took eight men to pull him off of him.

All he could hear was shouting.

Caesar Echlem rushed up the rocky slope. Dark circles were underneath his puffy eyes, and his long robe dragged out behind him, with a coat thrown over it. He had clearly spent the entire night counting money, and his beady eyes fell upon Stacey, who was restrained by a few workers. Jacob laid on the ground, groaning in agony and clutching his bloodied nose, which wasn’t facing the right direction. Stacey lowered his head and sighed, staring at the holes in his boots.

“Someone get this man to a doctor immediately,” Caesar ordered. “Hurry.” When his gaze fell upon Stacey, he pointed at him with a jeweled finger. “You. In my tent. Now.”

* * * * * * * *

Despite how frigid it was outside, sweat caused Stacey’s shirt and coat to glue to his skin. He wrung his dirty hands together, watching the tent flaps rise and fall in rhythm with the morning air. Outside, the sky was gradually changing from a purple to a pinkish hue as the first few hours of sunlight arrived. His pickaxe laid on the floor next to him.

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

He glanced down when Caesar entered the tent and sat down at his desk, now properly dressed in a fine waistcoat, breeches, stockings, and polished shoes. The man paused to dip his feather into an inkwell and scrawl out a couple of sentences on a piece of paper. Stacey scratched the back of his head, his stomach twisting and turning.

”Look, I—”

“Mr. Holloman,” Caesar murmured, taking a long sip of his coffee. “You were in prison just a week ago, if I am correct? You attacked Thomas Alden at his tavern down the road.”

The young man sheepishly grinned, although his heart was thudding. “Well…I….I wouldn’t be so keen on calling it an attack. It….it was….he wouldn’t let me buy a drink.”

“As a business owner, he has the right to refuse you service.” Caesar bit into a scone covered in jam, and Stacey’s stomach grumbled—his hunger was getting unbearable. “It seems to me that you already had plenty to drink before you came to him.” His eyes narrowed. “That’s all you’ve been doing. You show up to your shift late, and worst of all, you injure one of my best workers. And you pick fights amongst the men. You have shown no productivity.”

Stacey gripped the armrests of his chair. “Sir…I….”

”I’m going to have to let you go, Holloman,” Caesar replied, dabbing a bit of jam that had ended up at the corner of his lips with an embroidered napkin. “I’ve provided you with as many chances as I can. And with what the people have been saying, you are simply too dangerous to be around. Now, maybe in the future, I may reconsider my decision. You are a decent worker when you do put your mind to it.”

”But if you would just listen to me—”

”I’ve had enough.”

“Please, please, please!” Stacey’s voice cracked. He stood up and slammed both of his palms against the desk, causing the coffee to slosh over the edge of the porcelain cup and platter. “Don’t do this. It won’t happen again, sir, I swear on my mother’s grave.” His breaths were shaky. “I been sober three days, sir. I haven’t touched a bottle of whiskey since that happened, and I don’t plan to again.”

Caesar looked disgusted at the sight of his stained papers. “That’s not the first confession I’ve heard from a drunkard’s mouth. Or a wifebeater. I will no longer be persuaded by your empty promises, Holloman. Now, I will have to ask you to get off my property.” He suddenly leaned back and placed his hand on the pistol he carried on his waist. “And if you think of placing your hands on me, you will receive much worse than a broken nose. I promise you that, my boy.”

Stacey swallowed hard. “I never beat no woman. I would never hurt one. I don’t know why you people keep saying that. It ain’t true.”

“I’m sure Bessie Taylor can say otherwise.”

”I asked her to dance with me,” Stacey replied through his teeth. “That was all.”

”Hmmm,” Caesar calmly said, cocking the pistol. “Well, you will be dancing in the afterlife if you do not get the hell off my land.”

For a long time, Stacey stared at him. The young miner’s face was covered in soot and scars—features that did not match his twenty-five years. His thick black hair stuck out of the hat he had upon his head, and his ragged coat was covered in so many patches that it could hardly prevent a gentle breeze from getting to him. Biting his lower lip, he snatched his pickaxe off the ground, and, without glancing behind him, headed off into the foggy morning air.

* * * * * * * * *

Tace placed the last branches on top of her shelter and crossed her arms, taking a good look at the structure. She had used some clay to secure the leaves, adding plenty of layers to withstand water coming through the roof in case it rained. Her arms were covered in mud, and she smiled at Isabel, who quietly sat on top of a nearby rock and watched her.

Her stomach grumbled. Her supply of tree nuts and mushrooms were running low, and she hadn’t been fortunate enough to find anymore. After picking up Isabel, she used her small knife to make marks against the tree trunks around her, so she would not lose her way returning back. The river had thawed out enough nearby so she could begin spearing for some fish to catch for supper.

The child paused for a moment, before peering between the branches at the shack near the clearing of the woods. She had seen no smoke come from the chimney, so most likely the giant had gone for a trip. For days she had endlessly tried to start a fire, but the kindling in the forest was far too wet. She knew for sure that the firewood in the shack was dry—good stuff for burning and cooking.

In the back of her mind, she was quite aware that it was wrong to steal; it was a downright sin. The Headmistress had drilled it into the heads of hers and the other children’s at the Guadana House of Mercy. But she was so incredibly hungry and cold, and she was confident that the giant man who lived in the shack wouldn’t even see that a little bit was missing. Plus, she had noticed that when he was home, he slept all day. His snores were enough to shake a house off of its foundation.

Tace secured Isabel in her dress pocket, before making her way through the trees. Snow clung to her skirts as she crawled on her hands and knees, moving as silently as she could. When she reached the clearing, she ran across the white space until she reached the side of the shack, pressing her palms against the rotting wood. Crouching on her knees, she listened once more for any sign of movement. Only the wind met her ears, which stuck out from her bald head.

Quietly, she walked across the porch, her muddy bare feet leaving prints across the floor. Her large brown eyes lit up at the sight of a generous pile of short logs sitting on the left side. The moment her small hands were about to pick up a couple, a shadow suddenly fell upon her. Startled, she shrank back.

The giant stood in front of her. His face was first filled with shock, and his nose and fingers were bright red like hers from the cold. In his enormous right hand he held a pickaxe, which he dropped directly into the snow. As his gaze fell upon Isabel, his gray eyes narrowed, and his voice was incredibly loud, echoing in the trees around them. He was indeed the biggest person she had ever seen.

”What do you think you are doing?”

Tace slowly backed away, clutching Isabel.

“You little thief,” the giant roared. “That belongs to me. You have no right to take that!” He rapidly approached her, his boots making thunderous noises across the porch, which shook the bottom and sent vibrations shooting through the floor. “You give it back to me this instant. Yer the one who’s been snooping around here, haven’t you?”

The young girl’s eyes widened. In her haste, she tripped and fell, knocking over a barrel of water. It spilled into the snow.

”Answer me.”

Tace could hardly move.

“How dare you take that,” the giant hissed. “How dare you think of even coming over here, with your filthy fingers all over my things.”

As he roughly shoved a stool aside, it slammed against the wall of the shack—breaking apart into multiple pieces. He hardly looked at it. “Get off my property. Now.”

A whimper escaped from Tace due to the noise of the impact.

“I’m going to drag you to the constable myself,” the giant snarled. His front teeth were white, slightly crooked. “You think you can steal from me? I’ll show you how we deal with thieves like you around here.”

Tace leapt off the side of the porch and took off sprinting.

”Get off my land.”

His voice echoed in the air. She could hear the man’s boots crunching in the snow, heavy and awkward. As she entered the woods, she navigated her way around one tree after another. Even as it became silent, Tace continued running as fast she could until she had reached an old tree and climbed beneath its roots, shivering uncontrollably. She remained crouched in the darkness—her arms were shaking so incredibly bad that she could barely hold still. Her breaths were heavy, shaky, as she kept her gaze on the opening in front of her.

* * * * * *

Sitting on the front steps of the shack, Stacey ran his palms through his hair as he gazed at the child’s footprints, next to the doll that was halfway buried in the gray snow. Her patterned purple dress was soaked and her button eyes coated in a thick layer of mud.

For a long time, he studied the toy. He then buried his face in his arms, hugging his knees. His gray eyes were wet— and a gradual aching settled deep in his chest.