Rachel Hawkins - Grim

He found the path, cutting through the trees in the direction the witch had pointed, and followed it, his heart pounding in his chest. Thick, tangled trees pressed in on him from every side, clawed branches shutting out what little light there was. The forest was eerily silent; no birds sang, no small creatures scurried through the brush. And yet, Percival thought he felt eyes upon him the farther he ventured into the foreboding woods.

At last, he saw a glimmer of water through the trees, and began to run, clutching the basket tightly as he did. As he drew closer, he caught a flash of color by the water’s edge, the shimmer of a bright dress, and his heart leaped with excitement. She was here! She was here, and he would finally tell her what he felt, and she would tell him she felt the same. And then...

The trees fell away. Percival stumbled from the woods, into the open.

And stopped.

There were two figures down by the water’s edge, standing very close. They hadn’t seen him yet, and Percival ducked behind a tree, peering out at the pair by the lake. One of the figures was Maya; he could see the tumble of black hair down her back, the bright blue dress she wore today. The other...

Percival’s gut clenched painfully. The other was a boy from the village. Isaac, the miller’s son. He’d seen him many times when his brothers sent him to buy wheat for the shop, but the two boys never spoke much beyond “good morning.” He was a big lad, two years older than Percival, with dark hair, strapping muscles from a life of working the mill and a square, honest face.

That face hovered very close to Maya’s now. As Percival watched, frozen behind a tree, Isaac leaned in, one hand rising to her cheek, and kissed her.

An icy shaft plunged into Percival’s heart. The basket dropped from his limp fingers, rolling into the grass, but he didn’t notice. All he could see was Isaac and the girl he loved, their figures silhouetted against the bright gleam of the lake, pressed together in a passionate kiss.

His throat closed up, and his eyes watered, becoming blurry and dim. With a strangled cry, Percival turned and fled the forest, barely seeing the path at his feet, and didn’t stop until he reached his house. Flinging himself into bed, he pulled the covers over himself and sobbed into his pillow, feeling the icy dagger in his heart slice it into a million pieces.

He didn’t go into the shop the next morning, but lay curled under his blanket all afternoon, feeling like nothing he did mattered now. The pain in his chest wouldn’t go away, nor did the stubborn tears that leaked from his eyes every time he thought of Maya. Maya, the girl he loved. Who would never love him back. Who had lied to him, strung him along, all this time. She was probably laughing at him right now, or maybe she and Isaac were lying together somewhere, talking about the poor gullible fat boy who dared to love a beautiful girl.

He could never go back to the shop with her around, that was certain.

That evening, there was a pounding at his door. Percival was too heartsick to get up to answer it, and put a pillow over his head to muffle the noise. A moment later there was a crash, and Peter stomped into the room, followed closely by Pedro.

“Percival!” Peter’s shout made Percival’s ears ring, and he buried his head farther into the pillow. Abruptly it was snatched away, and he winced, blinking up at his older brother’s worried face.

“You never came to the shop this morning,” Peter said, tossing the pillow on the floor. “What happened, lad? Are you sick?”

“Go away,” Percival muttered, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. “Leave me alone. Let me die, I want to die.”

His brothers exchanged a glance. Then Pedro said, in a voice of deadly calm, “The girl. The witch’s spawn. She did this, didn’t she?” When Percival didn’t answer, his voice grew even colder, brooking no argument. “Tell us what happened. Now.”

Sniffling, Percival did. He told them about the witch, and going to see Maya at the lake, and her inevitable betrayal with Isaac, the miller’s son. “You were right,” Percival said, sniffling at Pedro, who listened to all of this in grim silence. “Girls are evil. She was just playing with me all this time. I’ll never be able to go back to work with her around, knowing she’s just laughing at me inside.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Pedro said, looking at Peter. The other sibling’s face was red; he looked ready to explode with rage. “We’ll take care of this. Maya Thornton will never set foot in the shop again. Just say the word, little brother, and we’ll make it so.”

Percival sniffled, wiping his eyes. He thought of Maya, her smile, the kind way she spoke to him. All a lie. She didn’t care for him at all, and he couldn’t bear the thought of seeing her every day, knowing what he did. Anger burned. He wanted her to pay. He wanted to hurt her like she so casually hurt him.

“I never want to see Maya Thornton again,” he murmured.

Pedro nodded. Without another word, he and Peter walked out of the room, closing the door behind them, and left Percival to grieve his lost love in peace.

Maya Thornton never came back to the shop. Percival did, eventually returning to work a few days later, much subdued and still heartsick over his loss. Peter finally came to his home one morning, telling him that Maya Thornton had been banned from the store, and that he’d better get his lazy ass into work the next morning or he would drag it back himself. Knowing his brother did not make idle threats, Percival obeyed.

After the first couple mornings, his heart jumped every time the shop bell tinkled, thinking perhaps that it was Maya. When it wasn’t, he found himself both relieved and disappointed. Gradually, however, the relief faded, and yearning slid in to take its place. He missed Maya, he realized. Perhaps he had been hasty in his anger, his assumption that she was playing with his feelings. He wanted to see her again.

When he mentioned this to Pedro, about maybe letting Maya into the shop again, his brother gave a short bark of a laugh and looked at him like he was crazy.

“What? Now you want her back? After what she did to you? Are you a glutton for punishment, boy?” He glowered at Percival under bristling eyebrows. “Didn’t you say she was using you?”

“I...uh...might’ve spoken rashly about that,” Percival admitted, feeling his face heat. Shame and guilt settled over him, but he forced the words out. “I...I overreacted. I want to talk to her, at least. Let her explain her side of the story. And...I want to apologize for jumping to conclusions.”

“Well, you can’t,” Pedro said ruthlessly. “Maya Thornton and her witch grandmother finally left town a couple days ago, and good riddance. They’re gone, Percival. So you might as well forget about the girl and get back to work. It’s for the best.”

She’s gone? Percival slumped to the floor, feeling his heart squeeze tight . I’ll never see her again, he thought numbly. She’s gone, and I’ll never get to tell her how I really felt. She probably thinks that I hate her now. Oh, Maya, I’m so sorry.

Grief and shame plagued him the rest of the day. When they finally closed the shop late that night, Percival trudged home, his steps heavy and his heart squeezed in a vise. Maya was gone. The love of his life was gone, and he’d never see her again, never see her smile or hear her laugh. And the worst part of all was knowing he’d brought it on himself.

When he reached his house, his heart skipped a beat for a different reason. The front door was smashed in, hanging off its hinges and splintered beyond repair. Inside, his home had been trashed, things knocked over, torn apart and shredded. Long, deep slashes scarred the walls of his room, looking like the claws of some huge beast.