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Whatever the cause, a villager of Elk was always chosen to end each curse—some as simple as a case of painful boils, others as devastating as a harvest destroyed by locust. It was said to be a random selection, but everyone knew better. The mayor of Elk used the curses to rid his town of those he did not deem worthy, because in the end, no villager could break a curse without a consequence.
Like my sister.
I brought my ax down, splitting the wood so hard, the blade cracked the log beneath.
“I do not use the well,” I said. “I have my own.”
“It cannot be helped, Gesela,” Elsie said.
“But it is not fair,” I said, looking at her.
Her eyes darted to the right. I froze and turned to see that the villagers of Elk had gathered behind me like a row of pale ghosts, save Sheriff Roland, who was at their head. He wore a fine uniform, blue like the spring sky, and his hair was golden like the sun, curling like wild vines.
The women of Elk called him handsome. They liked his dimpled smile and that he had teeth.
“Gesela,” he said as he approached. “The well’s gone dry.”
“I do not use the well,” I repeated.
His expression was passive as he responded, “It cannot be helped.”
My throat was parched. I was well aware of how Elsie and Roland had positioned themselves around me, Elsie to my back, Roland angled in front. There was no escape. Even if I had wanted, the only refuge was the forest behind me, and to race beneath its eaves was to embrace death with open arms.
I should want to die, I thought. It was not as if I had anything left, and yet I did not wish to give the forest the satisfaction of my bones.
I gathered my apron into my hands to dry my sweaty palms as Roland stepped aside, holding my gaze. Elsie’s hand pressed into the small of my back. I hated the touch and I moved to escape it. Once I had passed Roland, he and Elsie fell into step behind me, herding me toward the villagers, who were as still as a fence row.
I knew them all, and their secrets, but I had never told them because they also knew mine.
No one spoke, but as I drew near, the people of Elk moved—some ahead, some beside, some behind, caging me.
Roland and Elsie remained close. My heart felt as though it were beating in my entire body. I thought of the other curses that had been broken. They were all so different. One villager had wandered through the Enchanted Forest and picked a flower from the garden of a witch. She cursed him to become a bear. In despair, he returned to Elk and was shot with an arrow through the eye. It was only after he died that we learned who he was. The next morning, a swarm of sparrows attacked the hunter who had killed the bear and pecked out his eyes.
There was also a tree that had once grown golden apples, but over time, it ceased to produce the coveted fruit. One day, a young man wandered through the village and said a mouse gnawed at its roots. He claimed if we killed the mouse, the fruit would thrive, so our previous mayor killed the mouse, and the fruit returned. The mayor picked an apple, bit into it, and was consumed with such hunger, he gorged himself to death.
No one else touched the fruit of the tree or the mayor who died beneath its boughs.
There were no happy endings, that much I knew. Whatever I faced after this would surely lead to my death.
The villagers spilled into the center of town like phantoms. They kept me within their ghostly circle, surrounding the well, which was open to the sky and only a cold, stone circle that went deep into the ground. I approached and looked down, the bottom dry as a bone.
Roland stood beside me, too close, too warm.
“Who will you sacrifice when everyone you hate is dead?” I asked, looking at him.
“I do not hate you,” Roland said, and his eyes dipped, glittering shamelessly as he stared at my breasts. “Quite the opposite.”
Revulsion twisted my gut.
I had known Roland my whole life just as I knew everyone in Elk. He was the son of a wealthy merchant. That money had bought him status among the villagers and placed him at the mayor’s side, which gave him power over every woman he ever laid eyes on and ensured he never had to face a curse.
My own misfortune had never deterred Roland. He had often offered tohelp my caseif only I’d fuck him.
“You are disgusting.”
“Oh, Gesela, do not pretend you despise my attention.”
“I do,” I said. “I am telling you.”
