Page 3 of Whisper of Nightmares

Euphemia lingers in the past too long and realizes her mistake too late.

Soon, her father appears. She screams at the memory, at this version of herself that was too awestruck by the beast to notice him. This version’s hand outstretches as if she thinks she will be impervious to the flames.

Hindsight cannot change the past.

Her father screams her name.

The horse startles, flames flaring.

Euphemia’s hand is engulfed.

Awareness surges back into the kitchen and Euphemia jerks away from the cask, chest cracked in two, tears brimming her eyes. She cannot keep living like this. This constant reminder of her greatest failure forever circling her like a vulture.

Her mother chooses this unfortunate moment to lean her head in the doorway.

“How is everything coming in here—” her apathetic voice hitches with alarm at the sight of her daughter. “Euphemia?”

Euphemia straightens as fast as lightning. Frantic, she tucks her brunette locks behind her ears. “Nothing. Everything is fine.”

But her mother is already storming into the kitchen, heavy skirts swishing around her ankles. Euphemia barely has time to wipe her eyes dry before Andriana grabs her shoulders and spins her daughter around to face her.

“What is it? What’s going on in here?” It’s not gentle concern edging the corners of her voice. It’s something far more severe.

Euphemia manages a weak smile. “It’s nothing. I only—” She searches for an excuse, one that won’t elevate her mother’s ire more than she already has. “I thought I saw a rat is all.”

The moment the excuse leaves Euphemia’s lips, she regrets it.

“Rats?” Andriana pushes past Euphemia with renewed vigor and peers into the opened cask.

Why did she have to say rats? Anything else would’ve been fine. A spider crawling across the table. A bird that flew in through the window and is not too frightened and confused to leave the rafters. Spoiled hops. Rotten barley. Anything but rats and the reminder of what happened to their last brew.

“There is no rat, mother,” Euphemia sighs. “I only thought I saw one. Look⁠—”

Grabbing her mother’s shoulder, she twists her around and points to a shadow on the ground. It looks nothing like a rat. Just a thick line of darkness cast by a beam outside.

Andriana inspects it skeptically, before finally rolling her eyes. “Lord have mercy, Euphemia. You frightened me half to death.”

“Sorry, Mother.”

Andriana snatches a rag from the table and turns away. “Ah, yes. Always the beacon of penance.” She makes her way for the doorway, pausing once she’s under the splintered wood frame. Her tone becomes as harsh as winter as she says over her shoulder, “We can’t afford another meager yield like last time.”

The gravity of that statement hangs between them.

Euphemia fights the quiver in her own voice. “I know.”

Euphemia casts her head down, shame raking over her like rusted blades. Last market day, when she had gone to check the ales, she found the cloth covers torn open. A colony of drowned rats lay floating inside.

It wasn’t her fault. She had secured the casks as she always does.

Not that it mattered to her mother. A spoiled brew was a spoiled brew.

They barely had a firkin’s worth to sell that day. And the coin it cost them had come out of Euphemia’s meals for the next week.

“It won’t happen again,” she reassures her mother, stomach growling.

“Best not. Now no more dallying. Cybele will have the cart ready soon. Don’t make her wait on you.”

“I won’t, Mother. Promise.”