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Winifred nestled her petite frame by the fireplace. The smoldering embers cast a faint orange glow across the shelter, giving the small area an eerie appearance. Across from her, nestled atop some hay, lay her younger siblings. Their eyes darted about, watching for any sign that they might be discovered. It was nearly midnight now. Well past their bedtime, of course, but it was the best time for storytelling. The dawning of the witching hour held a weight…an energy that was so tangible Winifred felt she could clasp hold of it with her hands. That is why she chose this time of night to tell her stories. If she could but harness that energy…oh it would be grand. Tonight especially would be a wondrously foreboding tale, with the atmosphere aided by the howling winds blowing about the crude cottage-like structure.
“Listen well, sisters,” the eldest of the three began in a whisper. “Tonight my tale is about family. Once, many years ago, there were two siblings- one a colt, the other a filly. The two were born during a time of great famine. With little to go around, brother and sister were made to leave their home. Left to the whims of a distant forest, the two attempted to find their way home once more. Far and wide they journeyed, growing more desperate with each passing morn. It was on the dawning of the third day that their luck seemingly changed. Still alone, save for one another, and starving, the pair trespassed into the depths of the forest. There, they happened upon a piece of cake sitting by the side of the narrow trail. So ravenous were they that they thought nothing of its presence there. They gave no thought as to why it must be placed as it was. The duo merely pounced.”
“They polished off the meager meal quickly. Their stomachs, however, longed for more. And more was provided. It was the sister who spotted the second piece of cake further down the trail. Without conscience or concern, they devoured that tasty morsel as well. Still, they hungered. Still, more cake appeared. On it went until the siblings happened upon a dwelling. One quite similar to our own here. The pair noted, to their great delight, the entire framework was made of all those delicious things foals enjoy- cake and icing, cookies and candies. Again, without any thought to the consequences, they took this as a good omen and immediately set about eating the structure. Fortunately- or not- their feast did not go unnoticed. A kindly grandmother emerged from the abode, asking the foals why they had done such a thing; although, she was not angry. Instead, she seemed saddened by their hunger and offered to prepare them a meal.”
“The siblings were hesitant at first. Yet, with reassurances she held no animosity, the two agreed to enter inside for the promised feast. And a feast it was. The floor was laden with heads of lettuce, beans and carrots, cobs of corn, and a plethora of desserts. The elderly mare implored the foals to eat their fill. There was more than enough to share. One hour passed. Two hours. Then three. The foals could not bring themselves to stop. Not only was the food savory and delicious, but they knew not from whence their next meal would come. It was best to eat themselves sick at the moment rather than to hope for such another opportunity. What they did not realize at the start was, with the chiming of every new hour, their girth grew. By the time the eleventh hour chimed, the two were so broad neither could stand from their spots. The brother rolled from side to side while the sister chose to remain stationary. Their minds were in a stupor from gorging themselves.”
A gust of wind crashed against the wooden shutters of the shelter. Winifred paused, allowing the winds to die down once again before continuing. “If they had been a little more aware, then they might have noticed not all was as it seemed. The kindly mare had been busy with work while her guests ate. She scrubbed her cooking wares, stoked the fires and, most importantly of all, set about filling a large cauldron with water and placing it over the fire to boil. Only when she began to clear away the emptied furnishings did either of the foals take notice. Questions stirred within their heads. Do you live here alone, grandmother? Why is that cauldron so large, grandmother? Your fireplace is quite enormous. Do you roast many vegetables in it, grandmother? To each, the mare provided a vague answer, neither giving detail or committing to one truth. With each, the brother and sister grew more uneasy.”
“Eventually, it was the brother who observed the true nature of the mare. From his vantage point on the floor, he happened to glimpse an object resting just behind a wrack of linens. It was small and tawny colored…with a discolored tip. A hoof! A foal’s hoof! In that instant, he realized the danger they had placed themselves in. Alas…it was too little, too late. The once kindly grandmother chose to deal with the colt first, since he had so appreciatively positioned himself closer to the fire. Rolling him into the pot was far easier than she anticipated, even despite his kicking and flailing. Now, I know you wonder- what of the sister? Surely, she will hear him and come to his aid?” Winifred gave a harsh, low laugh. “Well…she was fast asleep! I jest not! The idiotic filly went right to sleep and never stirred once. Not even to the commotion her brother caused. Unfortunately for them, her deep slumber sealed their fate. Never again would the world hear of them. Their disappearances were attributed by some to wild beasts and others to roving bands of delinquents; meanwhile, the old mare lived unmolested in her home, never wanting for a meal.”
“And that, dear sisters,” Winifred smiled wryly at her sisters as the clock chimed midnight, “Is the tale of how the Sandersons first came to thrive from the lives of foals. It is in our blood, our birthright. Generations of witches harnessing the essence of foalhood. One day, that shall be us…one day…” She blinked dreamily, visualizing the enormity of that day. Then she gave a faint sigh. “Alas, that day is not this day. For now, we must away to bed before Mother happens upon us.” With that, Winifred settled further into her bed of straw and linen, using the claw of her wing to tuck a long, silken quilt under her chin. “Sleep well, sisters.”
FIN
WC: 1,114
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