The Child Thief

The fog continued to lift and he could now see all manner of spears and swords hanging from the walls. He noticed a huge fireplace, easily big enough for three grown men to stand in. Several cooking pots—kid- size cooking pots—hung from greasy black chains. Then he saw the bodies. He could just make out their limp, lifeless forms hanging on the far side of the chamber. How many were there? Four? Five maybe? They looked to be children.

Oh good God, Nick’s mind screamed at him. Just what kind of place is this?

Low howls issued from the shadows all around him. Something grunted, like a pig, then snorted, then snickered. Giggles broke out. They sounded like children, strange and wicked. Nick knew he would lose it if they didn’t stop.

A clump of shadows crept into the light and all the air left Nick’s lungs.

They were human, but barely, their bodies gangly and spidery. Childlike in their proportions, but a bit off, as though they’d been stretched. Large, round spots and long streaks of body paint ran along their legs and arms. Their muscles gleamed in the dim light, lean and wiry. Some wore hides, matted and mangy, festooned with bones, tusks and twigs, their ankles and wrists layered in bracelets of leather and twine. Their faces were hidden beneath devilish masks of hide and hair, feathers and antlers.

They closed in on him, dancing about with quick epileptic movements. They surrounded the cage and peered in with wild, crazy golden eyes, eyes just like Peter’s. Nick now understood that Peter had indeed played him. The pointy-eared boy had tricked him so that these things could…could what? Nick glanced at the long knives, at their hungry eyes.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT?” Nick shouted, his voice quivering.

They answered by rolling their eyes around, like victims of delirium, by grinning wide, toothy grins and clacking their teeth together, clacking and clacking and clacking; the sound was deafening in the silence of the room.

No, no, no, Nick thought. No more, please.

Nick withdrew within himself then, just like in the mist. He had no desire to watch his own death, but if he had to, he wanted to be in the very back row with his hands over his eyes.

They untied his cage and dragged him out, strong, cruel fingers pinching into his flesh. Someone put a necklace made of bone and teeth, fingers and ears—human fingers and ears—around his neck. They pulled him over to the pillar and began to dance around him in circles, wrapping him in twine, all the while giggling and flicking their tongues at him, rolling their eyes and clacking their teeth. He wanted them to go ahead and kill him, anything to stop that awful clacking.

There came a clang from somewhere far off. The demon spawn, the monster children, or whatever they were, stopped in their tracks. They fell silent.

The mist was all but gone now and morning light filtered in from several angular windows. The extent of the circular chamber gradually materialized out of the gloom. The walls were a mix of rough-hewn stone and natural cave formation. Nick could clearly see a red door surrounded by giant roots, roots as thick as barrels. Nick couldn’t imagine what size tree could have roots that big. He tried to see the top but it disappeared into the roof of the chamber.

The demon spawn were all staring at the red door. One of them spoke, his voice hushed. “The Devil Beast comes.”

“Comes to break bones and chew marrow,” said another.

Several answered in anxious whispers: “We shall all eat soon.”

They spread out, forming a wide circle, and began to smack their closed fists into their open palms.

Fear sharpened Nick’s senses and he became acutely aware that the air smelled of stale sweat, boiled meat, wet leaves, and beetles. He studied the red door. Could there really be something coming to cook and eat him? He didn’t want to believe it. Yet he found his eyes straying to the knives and hatchets, the dark stains saturating the dirt, the child-size pots hanging in the fireplace. He couldn’t get the thought of the hanging bodies out of his head. I don’t want to die, he thought and realized he was crying.

Bells jangled behind the red door, louder and louder. Then it stopped. There came the clack of a bolt being thrown and the door swung slowly inward.

A monster stood in the doorway, a head taller than the other creatures, draped in hides and wearing a mask of bone and fur. A pair of goat horns twisted out from either side of its head and a tangle of coarse hair was captured in a thick braid that ran down the length of its back. And all of it, skin, mask, fur, horns, was covered in cracking red paint. It carried a short club with one long jagged hook protruding from its end.

It locked its eyes on Nick, raised the club, and let loose a loud snort.

“Oh no!” Nick cried. “No! No! No!” He jerked wildly at his bindings, tugging and pulling until he freed his arms. He yanked down the twine around his waist and legs, stumbled to the ground as he tore his feet free. Nick rolled to his feet, glanced back, saw the Devil Beast coming for him, and ran. He tried to break out of the ring of creatures, to barrel right through them, but they grabbed him and shoved him back.

The Devil Beast caught Nick across his face with an open palm. Pain exploded in Nick’s head and he went sprawling to the stones. He crumpled into a ball and lay there clutching his head. It’s over, Nick thought. I’m dead.

The Devil came for him, driving a hard kick into Nick’s upper thigh. Nick screamed, saw a foot coming for his face, and managed to move. The kick caught his shoulder and sent him tumbling.

“STOP IT!” Nick screamed.

The Devil tromped after him, raising the club with its wicked hook above his head. Nick sprung out of the way. The club hit the stones, getting knocked loose from the Devil Beast’s grasp and bouncing across the floor to the middle of the ring. Nick jumped up, limping away, trying to keep some distance between himself and his tormentor.

The Devil leaped forward, catching Nick by the arm, spun him around, and backhanded him across the face.

Searing pain and white-hot light sent Nick reeling, fighting to keep his feet. And still the Devil came.

Nick tasted blood, touched his lip, and was shocked by the amount of blood on his hand. “WHAT DO YOU WANT?” Nick screamed, as though he didn’t know, as though he expected anything other than being brutally beaten to death.

The Devil just continued to track him around and around, giving no answers, a predator intent on its prey.

“WHAT?” Nick screamed. “WHAT?” Nick spotted the hooked club lying in the center of the ring. His eyes shot back and forth between the hook and the Devil.

The Devil stopped and stared at him.

Nick dove for it, snatching the hook up off the stones. The weight of it surprised him and he almost dropped it. He held it in both hands and pointed the wicked hook at the Devil. “C’MON!” Nick cried, blood and spit flying from his lips. “C’MON YOU MOTHERFUCKER!”

The Devil just stood there.

“C’MON!” Nick screamed, the club shaking as his arms quivered.

The creatures around him began to chant, “Blood, blood, blood,” on and on until Nick thought he would go mad.

“Enough!” He let out a howl and rushed the Devil, bringing the hook around in a wide overhand swing, intent on sinking it deep into the Devil’s skull.

At the last possible second, the Devil caught Nick’s arm at the wrist and wrung the club away. The weapon bounced off the stones with a loud clank and the chamber fell silent.

“Good,” the Devil said and pushed his mask back.

Nick found himself looking not at a beast, but a boy.

The boy smiled at Nick. “You did good.” He clasped Nick’s hand in his own and raised it up. “NEW BLOOD FOR DEVILTREE!” he shouted, then threw his head back and howled.

The creatures joined in, howling and beating the floor; the entire chamber rung with their fervor. They slid off their masks and now Nick could plainly see that beneath the wild hair and body paint, they were just a bunch of stupid-ass kids.