Under the Mistletoe

Heather dug her fingers into her sides until the pressure was uncomfortable. She preferred it to the cold. Her footsteps were disproportionately loud in the winter evening, leaves rustling and stones shifting on a well-maintained forest path. The other sounds were gentle and distant- wind in the treetops, the occasional owl’s plaintive voice.

She hummed to herself, trying to break the monotony. She was tired, but there was no place to rest until she reached her grandfather’s house. It wasn’t such a terrible walk, except for the chill in the air and how badly she wished she was already abed. She had walked this path twice every week, before the lord and lady had told her to take a bed in their home. 

The path ahead was cast in shadows.

She shivered, already dreading how dark that section would be. The trees overhead were blocking the moonlight. But she kept walking, towards hot mead and a bed she’d share with her cousin in a house packed to the brim for the winter holidays.

“I’ll miss the turning of the year,” Heather sighed. She could see the phantom of her breath ahead of her, words turned to crystal and caught in the night air. “I might as well have waited til the morning…”

She just hadn’t thought of it. She had initially been resigned to working in the kitchens all through the festivities. But the guest of honor was a week late, and so her grand lady had told the head cook to let anyone who could be spared go home to their families. Heather hadn’t waited for anyone to change their minds about that. She had laced her doeskin boots and bolted for the next town over, where her family had been for hundreds of years and would remain for hundreds of years more.

She passed into the darkest section of the trail. Just as she’d feared, she could see nothing but the faint glow ahead. She focused on that, keeping her footing carefully and hoping that this stretch of path was flat and kind.

Warmth. A hot, sudden puff of moist air.

Her heart stopped.

Something breathed on the back of her neck.

Heather heard her own scream and wheeled around to see- nothing. She could see nothing.

‘Is it midnight? Midnight hour on the turn of the year, that’s a liminal space if I ever heard of one. This is some trickster spirit, emboldened by the night.’

Heart pounding, she spun in unsteady circles. “Go away,” she said, as fiercely as she could manage. “I’m less than 2 hours from home and I won’t be distracted by fairy tricks. Find someone else.”

There was no answer.

“Is that all, then?”

Her own sternness was comforting, in an odd way. She felt bolstered by the sound of braveness in her own voice, and it did make her feel brave. 

“Very well,” Heather said. She inclined her head, to whoever or whatever was out playing tricks. “Have a good evening, and a wonderful new year. I’m off, do not follow.” And then she did as she said. The vaguely visible moonlight ahead seemed to ebb and wane, as if she wasn’t truly getting closer to it. It was… oddly white. She frowned at it.

Her boot caught on something surprisingly soft. Her knee hit the ground. She cried out, shocked as her hands splayed out to catch her fall. Heather stayed like that for a moment, letting her mind catch up. She’d stumbled over uneven ground, perhaps tripped over a rock. She stood. Her legs were shaking. She wiped her hands on the front of her apron- and frowned. She lifted her hands.

“Still dark,” Heather said to herself, wry. “Can’t see.” 

She was still fairly certain that there was blood on her hands. 

Maybe it was the numbing cold, but her hands didn’t hurt. She felt around her palms, trying to find any cut or scrape. Nothing.

There was a strange, heavy feeling in the air. It was foreboding.

“Must be my knee, then,” she said. Her voice was a little bit high. She checked- she didn’t find anything there, either, but the front of her dress was wet. Not wet like water. It was thick, viscous, heavy.

The night air was painfully, fearfully silent.

She took a step back. Her heel bumped into something- it must have been the thing she had tripped over.

Her heart was jumping.

Slowly, she bent. She ran her hands over what she had stumbled on. It was…

It felt like a man’s chest, sleeping on the forest floor at witching hour. There was a metal pin, with a very familiar symbol etched into it. She rubbed her thumb over it, trying to imagine the lines as she’d see them, were there light. 

She frowned.

Royal heraldry. But this wasn’t the missing prince. Because as she ran her fingers over the body, she felt rough cotton that no fine lord or lady would wear. Then a solid, heavy metal button. Then cold, dead flesh, and a gaping wet wound-

She screamed and fell backward. Reason fled, and so did she. But it wasn’t long before she stumbled over something else. Heather gasped as she fell, already anticipating pain or blood.

Something screamed behind her, high, angry, and very close.

She was already up and running again. Her face hurt. It took a moment to realize that was the feeling of low hanging vines whipping across her face. Her mind went totally empty. She was a wild thing, a vessel for the ice-cold terror in the night air.

The next time that Heather fell, she stayed down. She couldn’t move except for shaking.

Gradually, she realized that she could hear again. There were normal sounds again- wind, birds, rustling. Her own breathing was rough and loud. She worked to quiet it. 

“Hello?”

The hair on the back of her neck stood up. That wasn’t her voice.

“Hello? Please, someone is there, aren’t you?”

The voice was male and unfamiliar.

Her heart thudded.

“Please,” he said.

She swallowed. 

‘If this is the monster that killed that man… And it’s looking for me… Speaking is the worst thing that I can do.’

On the other hand, it could be someone else who was just lost in the woods. 

“I’m here.” Her voice shook. “Are you alright?”

“No,” he answered. “I need your help.”

She shook her head. It wasn’t a refusal, it was mindless fear. “How could I help?” Heather asked. She didn’t want to help. She wanted to escape. “Let’s leave.”

“I need help,” he repeated. His voice seemed further away now. “This way.”

Heather stood. Her legs shook. She took a step towards the voice.

There was a cough. And then another one of those screams rent the air. She was already running when another cough cut the air. She faintly heard the man say, “Please,” as she tore through the underbrush. 

The monster chased her. She could hear wood breaking behind her. And- above her?

Something heavy hit the ground in front of her. 

The moonlight was faint. She could barely see anything. But something unfolded from the ground. It went up and up and up, an arm’s length above her head at least. And then it looked at her. She saw the instant that it opened its eyes, because they were white. They glowed. 

She didn’t breathe.

The thing bent down and put its face very near to hers. It smelled like herbs and iron.

‘The iron is blood,’ Heather thought. ‘I’m smelling blood.’ Her hand made its way to the collar of her dress, where she should have had a religious symbol on a necklace. She had not worn it today. 

It probably wouldn’t have helped. This thing was clearly more powerful than any prayer she had to offer. 

“Get back,” she whispered. 

The thing breathed on her- and yes, this had been the source of that wet heat on the back of her neck earlier. There was a high-pitched wheezing sound as it exhaled on her- and then a low growl. 

The white eyes disappeared. She flinched backward and flung her hands in front of her. Something grabbed her left arm. It was on fire, heat that ripped down to her bone. No- it was teeth digging down to her bones. 

She hit at the air above her arm. It connected with something hard, covered in fur. She punched again. It let go. She pulled her left arm protectively in against her body and pulled back to hit the monster once more. 

Empty air. 

Hot blood was dripping down her fingers. She could hear it hit the leaves.

Her world shifted. She felt so light.

“This way,” the man said again.

Heather licked her lips. Her head spun. 

“Please, I need you to hurry. The hour is nearly over.”

She followed.

The voice was not constant. It came and it went. It didn’t answer any question she posed. It was genteel and calm, not nearly as frantic as someone who needed help might usually sound. It led her back past where she had been before. She could see broken branches, muddy footprints. She saw two bodies that she had missed in her wild run. They were both men, wearing royal livery. They both had holes in their chests, where something had torn out and eaten their hearts.

Heather was not as bothered by this as she probably should have been.

“Why can I see?” She hadn’t planned to ask the question aloud, but out it came. She tilted her head up. She still couldn’t see the moon. It was dark in the forest.

“This way,” the man said.

She came into a clearing. It was filled with a soft light, and it was distinctly warmer than the forest a step backward.

Her head cleared. “Magic,” Heather said, angry and afraid. She shuddered. Her left hand hung numb and heavy by her side. She couldn’t move it at all anymore.

“Help me,” the man repeated. It had an odd finality about it.

“I don’t know how,” Heather said. She was crying now. Not sobbing, but her eyes were wet and stinging. She walked into the center of clearing and startled.

What she had taken for a rock was… well, it was made of rock, but it was something like an altar. She crawled on top of it, careful not to tear the vines of mistletoe that covered the stone altar.

There was a man there. He was clearly older than her, perhaps in his mid thirties. He had stress lines on the outer corners of his eyes and a rather pointy nose and chin, but he was, overall, handsome. He lay perfectly still, with one arm by his side and the other up as a pillow for his head. 

Heather looked around the clearing again, feeling unnerved.

This man, at least, did not have a visible hole in his chest. He looked like he was sleeping.

‘It’s like a fairy story… He’s supposed to be a princess, sleeping under a curse.’

It did look like he was under a magic spell. His breathing was deep and even. His lips were stained red. 

“Am I supposed to kiss him?” Heather asked the sky, uncertain. She swiveled her head, looking for the man who had been begging for her help. That… Had it been him? She looked down at the sleeping man.

He had the same heraldry pin as the dead men, holding closed a blue cloak. But his clothes were cut from a finer cloth- those trousers were finely spun wool, warm and dyed black with something very expensive. 

She had a sudden realization that she really did not like.

Cautiously, she pulled aside the warm blue cloak covering the enchanted man’s chest. The fabric underneath was a rich, warm purple wool.

‘And this is why they never arrived for feasting and celebration.’

....Now that she knew this was a prince, Heather felt he ought to be a little more handsome.

“This is wrong,” Heather said. She let out a laugh, disbelieving and quiet. “This isn’t a fairy tale. Am I- Am I supposed to kiss you to wake you up?” She laughed again. “I- This isn’t going to work. I’m sure you’re not my true love. And I’m not a witch or a princess. I wash dishes.”

She held up her hands, as if the man trapped under a magic spell would see her calluses and ugly, broken nails. Her hands were bright red with cold, but they were usually red from being scrubbed raw in hot water. 

The monster howled somewhere she could not see it, outside the clearing. It was mournful. She knew, somehow, that it could not enter.

Heather looked around, hoping another option would appear.

Nothing obvious.

She tried shaking the prince. He did not react. She tried to wake him by talking to him, and got nearly up to yelling before she gave up. She sat on her heels, gave him a cautious look, and slapped him across the face.

Nothing. 

It was satisfying, though.

“Fine, I’ll try it,” Heather said, resentful. “And then you better help me get out of here.” She looked down at his side, where he had a sword. It was out of the hilt, so she could see that it was bright-shining and had dried blood on it. “Forehead. No, cheek.” She winced as she bent down, wishing there was another way to break this curse. Her lips touched his cheek. It was warm and soft, but the texture was marred by facial hair that he had not been cutting.

Her head spun. The world moved around her.

“Oh,” she said, mildly surprised. She was actually moving. She was laying down now, looking up at the night sky. She could see the white light from the moon now. Had it moved?

The man groaned. He sat up. He stayed like that for a moment. And then he looked down at her. Their eyes locked. She couldn’t look away. “It’s not much of a fairy tale, no,” he agreed. 

It was definitely the voice that she had been following.

“I’m sorry about this. I’ll wait.” 

Wait? Wait for what?

She moved her lips, but no sound came out. The prince moved out of her vision. All she could focus on was the low-hanging vines of mistletoe and holly. 

She woke up, crouched on all fours. It was light now, but there was something even brighter ahead. Heather moved toward it, gangly and awkward.

Then she stopped abruptly. She was looking into the clearing. She could see the stone altar, with two bodies on top of it.

It wasn’t light out. She was just seeing in the dark.

Her stomach ached, with hunger that she had never felt before. She whined, bending forward. She saw her hands, long and twisted, skeletal white things with protruding claws.

The prince noticed the sound and looked up. “Thank you,” the prince said, unerringly finding her in the darkness. She knew why. Her eyes were glowing white.

He pushed himself up to one arm and looked at the body she had left. 

Heather stared. That was her on the altar, underneath mistletoe and holly. Her body, sleeping and still. Her arm was still bloody, but she could see that the wound had closed.

She had a horrible inkling about the nature of this curse.

The prince closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll- I’ll send someone here who deserves it. When you’re free, come to find me.” He reached up and pulled down one of the red berries. Slowly, gently, he put it in the sleeping body’s mouth. Unconsciously, her own lips parted and the berry disappeared. It did leave a stain on her lips.

The prince shivered, but he pulled off his blue cloak and put it on her like a blanket. “Dishwasher or not, you came to help me. You’ll have a place in my court.”

Heather opened her mouth to scream. What came out was a roar. It broke off into a whimper.

She was so painfully hungry.

The prince reached up and broke off a white berry. He held it like a talisman. 

She could see that he was shaking. His sword was already back in the sheath. 

He was warm, and living. Heather licked her lips. 

She could not enter the clearing. She paced around the edge, watching him. 

“Thank you,” it said. It couldn’t see her now. It was edging toward the path that led to little wooden buildings and a stone church. Then it changed directions. The other path, to the grand castle. Heather followed. Her hands itched. Her mouth watered.

“Goodbye.” It began to run.

She chased. She was wild with hunger, thinking of biting into sweet living flesh and letting the juices run down her teeth. She reared up behind him- and could not touch him. 

It held the berry out to her. No, it was warding her off. “Goodbye.” The prince’s voice shook, and she understood.

Denied that meal, she stalked back to the clearing. There was warm meat there, laid out for the taking. But she could not reach it. Morose, she lifted her face and cried.

Somewhere deep within her, a memory surfaced. She knew this area. She knew that she was an hour’s walk from houses, houses full of families sleeping piled into beds because- because- she could not remember why there were so many people, but she knew that there were. 

She licked her lips. She set off down the path.