“Well, don’t just stand there, you’ll let all the heat out,” Minnie said impatiently, motioning for Corabeth to step forward. Her dark hair, greying at the temples, was tied back with a stained, pale headscarf. She was the kind of woman whose wrinkles spoke of countless frowns, rather than laughter. Her wide hips swayed as she returned to her chores.
Corabeth let the door fall shut behind her and followed Minnie into the kitchen, where several pots were on the stove, one of them boiling over, sending puffs of steam into the air. Minnie grabbed the end of her apron and used it to pick up the hot lid of the pot, throwing it with a clatter on the empty space on the stove. Then she turned to Corabeth, put her hands on her hips, and stood expectantly.
“Well?” she urged. “Let’s see them.”
“Of course,” Corabeth said, the older woman’s words launching her into action. She pulled the clothes from her bag and placed them neatly on the clean kitchen table. Minnie came over and, one by one, inspected the patched knees and elbows, the mended rips. She hummed as she went through the clothes, turning them this way and that, but found nothing to comment on.
"Very well," Minnie finally said, reached a hand down into her apron pocket, and pulled out some coins. “Here is your pay.”
As the coins hit Corabeth’s palm, she knew immediately the load was too light. Quickly, she counted eight coins in her hand. With an outstretched hand, she remained waiting, trying to find the words.
“Do you plan to stay there the whole day?” Minnie asked impatiently. She was already stirring something in another pot.
“It’s just that… Usually, you pay me two coins per item. This time, there were seven items. Three pairs of trousers, two jackets, and two dresses. There are too few coins,” Corabeth explained, her stomach in knots. For a moment, she wondered why it was so hard to ask for the money she had earned, the money she was owed.
“That’s all the coin I have at the moment,” Minnie said over her shoulder and waved a hand at her dismissively. She couldn’t wait to get Corabeth out of her hair. But desperation nailed Corabeth to her spot. She wouldn’t, couldn’t leave without her pay.
“Winter is approaching, I still need provisions. This will not be enough. And the pay is not fair, Minnie,” she pleaded, hoping to stir the woman’s conscience. But in hard times, conscience lost its might. And times always seemed to be hard in the village of Gravebrook.
“If it’s so unfair, I’ll take my business to Constance next time,” Minnie said without turning around.
“She charges twice as much as I do, you know that,” Corabeth argued.
Minnie let the ladle fall into the pot with a splash, the liquid spilling over and sizzling into the air. With a sigh, she pulled two more coins from her pocket and dropped them into Corabeth’s hand.
“Fine,” she said with a sigh, rolling her eyes. “I was hoping to buy the children some sweets, but very well, take the last of my coin.”
She was still short four coins, but Corabeth knew there was no point in arguing with Minnie. There was the danger of losing her business. And she would make do with ten coins. Perhaps she could buy the lower-grade flour mixed with barley or other grains. And the butcher—
“Are we done?” Minnie snapped, making a point of reaching for something past Corabeth so she knew she was in the way.
“I suppose we are,” Corabeth sighed and pocketed the coins, stepping out of the kitchen.
“Then hurry home before the Beast gets you!” Minnie warned.
Corabeth sighed. It was still hours before nightfall, before the Beast was expected to roam the village.
“Farewell,” she called and left the Weldon household without waiting for a reply.
Cold wind pelted her as she started to retrace her steps. All around her, the preparations for the Night of the Beast were starting to take shape. The windows and doors on the houses were being boarded up. Old Bastian walked down the road, leading two goats towards the pillory.
For the first time in Corabeth’s lifetime, the Night of the Beast was upon them—something that happened once every thirty-three years. It almost felt unreal, nothing but a scary story, if it weren’t for the fear in the eyes of the elder villagers who had already lived through it once. The unlucky and especially elderly ones twice.
Not all the details of the curse upon the village had survived the jaws of history. For instance, no one remembered why the curse had been placed upon them. But what everyone agreed on was that for one night, the Beast that was normally bound by the woods walked the village, hungry for blood. For this reason, animals were placed all around the village and left out for the Beast. If they were lucky, by the end of the night it would be toocrazed and too gorged on blood to come after the people. This way, generations of villagers had survived the Night of the Beast.
Up ahead, four boys between eight and twelve hung around in a huddle, peering down at something. The tallest and oldest of them was waving a stick in his hand. As Corabeth approached, she saw the reason for the huddle—a small hare, trapped in the circle of boys.
“Don’t let it get away!” the oldest boy suddenly yelled, slamming down his stick atop the hare’s neck, pinning it to the ground.
Corabeth knew the boys well. However cruel the adults of the village were to her, the children somehow knew the most hurtful ways to slight her. And they did not attempt to hide the delight it brought them.
She crossed the road to avoid being noticed, but it was already too late. The ringleader, Giles, the youngest of Village Elder Fabel’s sons, elbowed the boy next to him and jerked his head towards her.
With a sinking feeling, Corabeth sagged further into herself, tried to make herself small, uninteresting, but the boys were already running up to her.
“Hey,” Giles called, and Corabeth felt a poke in her back. When she turned around to smack him away, she nearly caught the muddy stick she had been prodded with. But Giles pulled it back with a triumphant smile.
“Leave me alone,” she said and trudged on. The boys were mostly harmless, only there to torment her with cruel words, always staying out of her reach so she couldn’t give them a good thrashing.
