Sleep, when it finally claimed Madeline, was not a comfort; it was a fragile, jagged thing. She and Charlene were huddled together beneath a thin, moth-eaten quilt, the meager warmth of the dying hearth offering no real defense against the creeping, bone-deep damp of the cottage. Every time Madeline drifted off, the phantom weight of Woodsman pinning her to the cellar floor snapped her awake, her heart raced and her lungs starved for air.
Then, the world shattered for real.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
The violence of the blows against the thin wooden door sent a physical shockwave through the tiny, single-room cottage. Madeline jolted upright, a sharp gasp tearing from her throat as a fresh wave of agony radiated from her bruised back and raw, blistered feet. Beside her, Charlene shot up in bed, her eyes wide, terrified mirrors reflecting the dying orange embers of the fire.
"Are you expecting someone?" Madeline whispered. Her heart hammered a frantic, deafening rhythm against her breastbone. In the dead silence between the blows, it sounded so loud she feared whoever was outside could hear it beating.
Charlene shook her head frantically, her face draining of all color in the gloom.
CRACK! The wood of the door groaned a sickening protest. Dust and dry thatch drifted down from the low rafters, settling over them like snow.
"He found me," Madeline panicked, her voice a reedy, breathless wheeze. The memory of Woodsman's hot breath and the coppery, metallic taste of his blood instantly flooded her mouth. She forced herself to swing her battered legs over the edge of the cot, every bruised muscle in her body screaming in protest. "Charlene, if he's here—if his men are here—"
"Quiet," Charlene hissed, her survival instincts overriding her fear. She grabbed Madeline by the shoulders and hauled her off the bed, dragging her toward the back corner of the room. "In here. Right now."
She shoved Madeline toward a narrow, rickety wooden wardrobe tucked into the shadows. It smelled suffocatingly of damp cedar, old lavender, and decay. It was barely large enough to hold a few winter coats, let alone a grown woman, but Madeline didn't hesitate. She folded herself inside, her bruised knees tucked agonizingly tight beneath her chin, her bleeding feet cramped against the wooden base.
"Don't make a sound," Charlene whispered, her face pale and ghostly as she leaned in. "Don't even breathe, Maddy."
Charlene shut the doors, plunging Madeline into pitch blackness. The latch clicked—a tiny, terrifying sound of finality.
Through a thin, vertical crack in the warped wood of the door, Madeline had a sliver of a view of the room. She watched, her body trembling so violently her teeth chattered, as Charlene took a deep, steadying breath, smoothed her nightgown, and slowly approached the entryway.
Before Charlene's trembling fingers could even graze the iron latch, the door exploded inward.
The rusted hinges gave way with a deafening screech of tearing metal, and the heavy wood slammed violently against the interior wall, cracking the plaster. The freezing night fog rushed into the room like a living thing, carrying with it two distinct scents: heavy, expensive cologne and the sharp, unmistakable tang of fresh blood.
"Where is she?"
The voice was a low, venomous rumble that vibrated in the floorboards.
Mr. Woodsman stepped through the threshold. The polished, untouchable veneer of the wealthy gentleman was entirely gone. His pristine white collar was stained a dark, rusty red. A thick, makeshift bandage was wrapped tightly around the side of his head, covering the ear Madeline had mangled, the white linen already blooming with fresh blood. He looked less like a creditor and more like a wounded, rabid beast.
Behind him, completely eclipsing the moonlight, stood the two hulking men who had stripped Madeline's home bare just hours ago.
Charlene shrank back, raising her hands defensively. "W-who are you talking about? I'm the only one here!"
Woodsman's eyes, as cold and dead as a shark's, swept the tiny room. He didn't waste breath on an argument. He simply stepped forward, kicked Charlene's small wooden dining chair out of his way with a violent crash that sent it splintering against the hearth, and lunged.
His massive, ringed hand clamped around Charlene's throat. With terrifying ease, he lifted her onto her toes, driving her backward until he pinned her against the rough, soot-stained stone of the chimney.
"Are you going to play dumb with me, girl?" Woodsman snarled, his face inches from hers.
Inside the suffocating darkness of the wardrobe, Madeline clamped both hands brutally over her own mouth to stifle the scream tearing up her throat. Hot tears streamed down her face. She watched helplessly as Charlene's legs kicked weakly at the air, her fingernails clawing desperately at Woodsman's iron grip.
Woodsman didn't even look at the girl he was strangling. He turned his head slightly toward the door. "Tear this miserable shack apart. Find that filthy peasant."
The two massive thugs moved like starving dogs. They overturned the cot, kicked through the meager pantry, and smashed the few clay plates Charlene owned, letting the shards rain across the floor.
One of the men, a giant with a scarred jaw, stomped heavily toward the back of the room. Toward the shadows. Toward the cedar wardrobe.
Madeline squeezed her eyes shut. He's going to find me. He's right here. Please, God, no.
The heavy, thudding footfalls stopped mere inches from the thin wood separating them. Madeline could hear the wet, heavy breathing of the thug. The wardrobe rattled violently as the man bumped his massive shoulder against it, peering into the dark corner. Madeline held her breath until her lungs burned with an excruciating fire, praying to a God she wasn't entirely sure was listening anymore.
"Nothing," the thug grunted finally, kicking a pile of folded blankets on the floor. "There's no sign of her here, boss. This Place is too small to hide a rat."
Woodsman let out a disgusted, wet scoff. He opened his hand.
Charlene crumpled to the floor like a dropped rag doll. She landed hard on her hands and knees, gasping hungrily for air, her hands flying to her rapidly bruising neck as violent, hacking coughs wracked her body.
"Go back out," Woodsman barked at his men, wincing as he reached up to adjust his bloodied collar. "Comb the alleys. Check the railway station. Check the barns. She's on foot; she can't be far. And a girl like that doesn't have the luxury of many friends."
The two men nodded dumbly, stepping carelessly over Charlene's heaving form as they marched back out into the freezing fog.
Woodsman lingered. The silence in the ruined cottage was heavy, punctuated only by Charlene's desperate wheezing. He crouched down slowly, the expensive leather of his boots creaking loudly in the quiet, until he was eye-level with the weeping girl on the floor.
"How long do you honestly think you can hide that stray before I find her?" he asked. His voice had returned to that terrifying, conversational, silken purr.
"I... I don't know... what you are talking about," Charlene wheezed, her voice raspy, broken, and impossibly brave.
Woodsman laughed. It was a sharp, humorless sound that sent a fresh, paralyzing chill down Madeline's spine.
"I see. Such touching loyalty among the gutter-rats," he whispered, standing back up and towering over the small room. "But when you do see her, give her a message for me."
He walked toward the ruined doorway, stepping out into the swirling fog, but paused just before the shadows could swallow him completely. He didn't look back as he delivered his final, lethal blow.
"Tell her to forget the ten silver coins. The debt is void."
In the wardrobe, Madeline's heart leaped with a confused, frantic spark of hope.
Void?
But The hope was instantly crushed to dust by his next words.
"Because what she took from me tonight... I won't let it slide. I don't want her money anymore. I want her." Woodsman turned his head just enough to reveal a cruel, jagged smile illuminated by the moonlight. "Tell her she has until the sun sets tomorrow to come to my estate and surrender herself to me. If my patience runs out... Maria will be the one to face the consequences."
With that, he vanished into the dark, leaving the door wide open to the wind.
Inside the cramped, cedar-scented coffin, Madeline felt the floor completely drop out from beneath her.
Maria. Her grandmother.