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The cabin seemed to shift, as if it knew something was in the offing; the rooms began to fill with the scent of the meat, making the place itself softer, as if melting. The snow around them began to fall more heavily, drumming like insistent fingers against the windows, the walls. Beth felt her heart rate accelerate; it was as if the day itself was preparing for what came next. She was aware the others felt it, too; John’s arms broke into goose-bumps, even as the cabin’s temperature rose; Mary began to twirl her hair into knots absent-mindedly, as if another’s hand was leading her. The logs popped and then fizzed; once reassuring, they now sounded like low cat-calls.
The door opened.
He walked in without a word; for a second, as they all watched him, he seemed like a stranger. Or not quite that, Beth thought, but something else; it was as if he had lost his name and simply became The Elder. His eyes were strong, burning things, more powerful than the flames that burned in the fireplace. He nodded to each of them and then crouched in front of the hearth. He kept looked directly into it, even as Mary and John approached him and wrapped themselves around his back.
Beth stood frozen for a long moment, watching her brother by the flames. He turned left and spoke to Mary; right to John. Finally, he rose and turned to face her. He did not immediately move towards Beth; she did not step any closer. Mary seemed to move closer to the fire — John too — and then, without knowing how, they were holding each other. She listened as he whispered the terrible details into her ear, and she followed each one, stroking his arm as he spoke, until it was over. It was only when she drew her hand back from his arm that she noted the flecks of blood on her palms.
While they ate, he revealed. He spoke of it in the same fashion he always did; low, sparse; all facts and little elaboration. Once he was old enough, John had teased him about it; it had always brought laughter to the family table. Now, as they listened, his voice seemed right, almost devastatingly so. Beth’s hands burnt furiously with the specks of blood dotted on her skin but knew she would not wash them off, not yet, as if to do so would be some sort of betrayal. As he finished, he cleared his throat and broke more bread, the blood staying on his fingertips and leaving the loaf untouched. Mary cleared away the plates, and John looked over his brother as if there was more to it. Instead there was just the clutter of the dishes and a single knife dropped to the wooden boards.
John and Mary sat by the fire as Beth ran a bath for him. Mary laid the cards down against the table with a thick series of slaps, John providing an almost ceaseless commentary. When the bath was full, she called to him and left him to undress, leaving a single candle for him to move by. After a while, when she heard the slow swirls of water settle back to nothing, she stepped back inside the room, seeing his broad shoulders flex as she did. Beth took the flannel and wrung it, before beginning to soak the shoulders, his back; she thought he felt his mouth open slightly to speak but then it closed, so there was only the sound of the rippling water. She dipped the rag into the bucket and took a moment to wash her hands, one and then the other. She handed it to him and left him, dimly aware all the water pooled around them was now tinged red.
Beth walked to the small alcove and closed her eyes; for a second she was on her own, the last person on earth; her stomach rolled and tensed, her head drummed. She wondered if this was revenge leaving her, her soul, or being replaced by something else, something worse and permanent. When she opened her eyes, the cabin re-aligned in her mind; her brother and sister played, while the other breathed by the candlelight. She held a beam to steady herself and then walked to the window.
Outside the snow turned into a full-on blizzard; there were a few bloodied footprints still leading to the door, but they were getting buried under the increasing flurry of snow. Beth drew closer to the glass; soon, she told herself, it would be morning and a new day. She looked out again and saw the last of the red traces were gone; the snow had hidden all that went before. Soon, she thought, whispering strongly enough to fog the window, our lives will begin again. Beth said it over and over, repeating as a prayer, as the snow kept falling until, at last, his hand dropped onto her shoulder and drew her away from the storm outside.
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About Chris Castle
