The Deal

Melanie ran as hard as she could into the woods. She would have run farther had a tree root not tripped her, sending her flying face first into the dirt. As she laid on the sun-dappled ground, spitting out evergreen needles and moss, a voice greeted her. It was a strange voice, like the ones Melanie’s grandmother had told her not to listen to the forest at dusk.

“What are you running from?” the voice asked.

Melanie knew she ought not to reply, but instead to run back the way she came. But the fear of what lingered for her at home was far worse than whatever creatures or magical beings might lurk in the forest. So she disobeyed Grandmother’s warnings and did what no teenager should ever do: speak to the fae.

“Bad–bad–” she stammered, her words getting stuck in her throat. “Bad things.”

The voice, an unidentifiable mix between male and female, replied, “Well clearly. No girl should be running this deep into the woods on the cusp of night without just cause. You are as brave as you are stupid. What pray tell is worse than what lives in these trees?”

Melanie could not bring herself to say the words out loud. Remembering the sight of the bloody scene was enough to make her nearly vomit. So, not wanting her dinner to come up, she kept her mouth shut.

“Do you want me to fix it?” the voice asked.

A wave of coldness rushed through Melanie’s body and her eyes widened in the last moments of sunlight through the trees. She thought of her grandmother brandishing a wooden spoon and scolding her and her brothers for leaving a dish of cream and oats out for the fairies in hopes of receiving a gift. “Never make deals with the fae!” the old woman shouted. “Not for anything!”

But instead of desiring candies or maybe some coins, Melanie wanted something truly impossible. Something that was perhaps worth a deal with a fae from the forest. She swallowed down her stomach acid and breathed in the hope of what the fairy offered her. She did take one piece of her grandmother’s advice however.

“What will it cost?” she asked. She knew the fae were uninterested in money. Which was fortunate as she had none. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t barter down the price, just like Grandmother did at the market.

“Your name,” the fairy said without a moment of hesitation.

Melanie saw this coming, of course. It’s always what they wanted most. But that she was not willing to part with. Not to fix the mess she ran from back home. “The color of my eyes,” she said instead. “They’re blue. Like the sea after a storm.”

A long-suffering sigh emitted from wherever the fairy was hiding in the trees. “I already have that color in my collection,” it said. “But if it’s a deal you’re looking for, what about your middle name?”

“My handwriting,” Melanie countered. “So that I may never write again.”

“Silly girl!” the fairy scolded. “You never write anything now!”

It was true. Melanie had no one to send letters to, nor did she fancy writing poetry like her Papa did. It was an empty offer and the fairy knew it. “Fine,” she said, picking a small twig out of one of her braids. “Take my brother’s name. Timothy James.”

The fairy sucked in a breath in utter delight, as if a feast had just been laid before it. Melanie had given up her brother’s first and middle names before the deal had even been struck. “Bold,” it said. “We have an agreement then. When you return home, everything will be as it was before–”

“You don’t have to say it,” Melanie cut the fairy off. “Just make sure everything is fixed.”

“As you wish,” it said, its voice growing fainter as if it was floating away from her.

The sun had set and Melanie hastily made her way out of the forest, squinting her eyes to see through the dark brush. But eventually, and despite tripping on a few more roots, she made it to the field that bordered the forest. Out in the open, it was much easier to see. The lights of the village danced in the distance and she was relieved that all would be as it ought to be when she returned home.

A curl of smoke spiraled up from the chimney and the lamps and candles were flickering cheerfully within her house. There was no shouting or crowd of neighbors outside. She opened the door to smell the lingering remnants of dinner, roasted venison and turnips. Everything was quiet. But there was something uncanny about how normal everything was in the home. Perhaps it was the effects of fae magic dissipating from the scene. Melanie shook off the rising dread in her belly.

“Mama!” she called from the entryway.

“In here, darling,” her mother responded from the kitchen.

Her mother’s voice ought to have soothed her. Less than an hour ago she’d seen her mother dead in a pool of blood on the wooden floor. The relief of hearing her speak again should have been enough. But something wasn’t right. Melanie’s ears started ringing. The uncanny feeling built like stones being piled upon her chest.

“Mama, are you okay?” Melanie asked, her feet dragging as she approached the kitchen, golden light streaming out from the woodstove.

“Of course,” her mother said with a laugh. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Is Tim here?” Melanie asked, her mouth going dry. Even though it was her brother who’d murdered her mother, Melanie still felt a twinge of guilt for giving him up so easily to the fae. Was eternal servitude in the fae court a worthy punishment for stabbing one’s own birthgiver?

“Who?” her mother asked as Melanie finally came into the kitchen.

Melanie looked her mother up and down. Her Mama was still wearing the same gray patterned dress she’d worn when Tim tore her through her with the kitchen knife. Her hair was pulled back into a loose bun, the way she always styled it. She still had a smudge of flour on her left cheek from making biscuits.

“My brother, Timothy James,” Melanie said.

“Don’t reckon I know anyone by that name,” her mother said, frowning. “Are you feeling okay, honey?” She went to Melanie and placed a hand to her daughter’s forehead.

“Fine, fine,” Melanie said. “I’m fine. Where’s Papa and Andrew then?” Tim was always the problem child and seemed to be disturbed in some way. Always acting violently toward innocent animals. Truthfully, Melanie could live without him. If the fae had whisked him and all memories of him away, so be it.

She very much wanted to see her father and older brother though. She wanted to make sure everyone else in the family was okay. Her Papa with his hearty laugh, always writing lines of poetry on scraps of paper. And her brother, Andy, who learned how to hunt so that the family would never go hungry, even if the crops failed.

“Melanie,” her mother said, offering her daughter a seat in one of the kitchen chairs. “Your Papa and Andrew have been dead for two years. Remember? They drowned in the river.”

Reality hit Melanie like a stampeding horse. Her Papa and two brothers had been out finishing on the river when their boat capsized. For all his terribleness, it was Timothy who pulled the other two out of the river and saved their lives. It was the one act of kindness the wretched boy had ever displayed. It was the one moment the family seemed to have hope that he may adjust into a normal man someday.

“It’s just you and me, buttercup,” her mom said, kissing Melanie’s forehead. “Come on, it’s time to wash up for bed. I don’t know where you ran off to after dinner, but you smell like the trees.”

As Melanie followed her mother up the stairs, her body numb and mind hazy, she wondered if it was worth it, trading her mother’s life for both of her brothers and her Papa. Though her grandmother had been long dead, she heard her familiar voice echoing in her memories once again.

“Never make deals with the fae! Not for anything!”