One Would Live

If Grim Cruethful had to listen to any more bickering, he just might lose his mind. Better that than his soul.

“I heard the Runcorn can look like anything it wants,” little Lottie Quail cried defiantly. She was small for 6. Small, but loud.

Grim’s group of children was deep in the woods, somewhere past The Sign — which was long past the imaginary line that adults drew for children, separating the village from the Danger. The object of Lottie’s reply, Max Scathen, had been teasing her since their stealthy dawn exit. She had never seen the Runcorn; if she ever saw the Runcorn, she’d probably wet herself; that would be the only reason it wouldn’t eat her. Her piss-soaked dress and her piss-stinking nethers.

The group was five now. Five children all under the age of ten, being led by Grim, the eldest, away from a village that was no longer safe.

“How much farther?” Lottie demanded.

“Does Pissy miss her Missy?” Max sneered.

“Quieten down!” Grim commanded. “Both of you. These woods aren’t safe?”

“We know,” Lottie whispered.

A heaviness took Grim. His steps faltered.

“The Runcorn likes littlies,” Max taunted. “Littlest, juiciest first.” His eyes leered; his tongue flicked over his lips.

“It’s dangerous in the village,” Grim explained. “But not where I’m taking you.”

“We’ll be safe,” Max stated confidently.

“Yes,” Grim confirmed, without hesitation.

“Safe?” Lottie beckoned, peering up into Grim’s evasive eyes.

“Everyone will be safe,” Grim replied resolutely.

“Cassie isn’t safe,” Lottie mentioned.

Max’s assurance wobbled with his lips.

They were six when they set out this morning. Grim knew a cave, he told them. High in the hills. Where the Runcorn couldn’t fit. Only half a day’s hike.

Then Cassie got lost. Then they all got lost trying to find her.

Then they found her.

Bits of her.

By the time Grim had rounded them all up it was nearly nightfall. Too late to turn back. And the hills too far to reach before dark.

“How do you know the Runcorn likes littlies?” Lottie asked Max.

“From the stories,” he condescended. “Every 13 years it comes to feed.”

“What if it doesn’t?” Lottie asked. “Feed?”

“If it doesn’t eat the children it’ll eat the grown-ups,” Grim reported. “All the grown-ups.”

“Is that why they didn’t come after us?” Lottie asked, quivering.

Grim remained silent.

He led the children into a clearing. Not its cave. But it would have to do.

It would be quick. The five of them, remaining — the Offering. One would live. That was the deal. One to keep the legend alive.

“We’re here,” Grim instructed. “Gather round, children. You too Lottie.”

The girl was wandering again. He didn’t have the heart to point out that it was Lottie who got separated first, earlier. That Cassie might still be—

It didn’t matter anymore. It would be over so, so soon.

“Lottie!” Grim chided. “Come here, Lottie!”

“Why do you keep calling me Lottie?” the girl-thing asked, turning. “That’s not my name…”