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When I looked back at the toad, it had moved farther up the wall, perched on another rock, waiting.
“Are you trying to escape me?” I asked.
Its answer was to turn, its webbed feet squelching against the rocky surface, and jump to another ledge. Once it was secured, it turned to look at me and offered another high-pitched shriek. I cringed at the sound as it surrounded me, my muscles tightening.
I suddenly wondered if this toad was trying to help me out of the well instead.
I approached and placed my foot on one of the rocks, gripping two others over my head. My heart raced as I searched for foot and hand holds, gripping frantically at slimy stones. The reach hurt my sides and stole my breath, but I managed to lift myself. As I did, the toad moved on, finding another ridge. I followed carefully, fingers freezing, legs shaking as threads of pain skittered down my spine.
The higher I climbed, the harder I clung to the stones for fear I would fall again. The weather had worsened since I’d been in the well, and sleet stung my face.
The toad reached the top before me, turning to stare with its large, yellow eyes before hopping out of sight. I was not far behind. Gripping the edge of the well with numb fingers, I managed to peer over and found the center of town deserted, likely because the storm had already arrived.
I was relieved, fearing that if Roland caught me climbing out of the well, he would only push me in again.
I let my stomach rest on the stone lip before sliding to the icy ground. There I lay, still and quiet, body racked with pain. Absently, I wondered what parts of me were broken. At the very least, I was badly bruised.
The toad waited patiently nearby, and as I stared up at the pale, gray sky, I wondered if anyone was watching me from the warmth of their home. Would they inform Roland? Had he assumed I was dead?
A now-familiar croak drew my attention, and I let my head fall in its direction, watching as the toad hopped onto the ledge of the well.
“No!”
I scrambled onto my knees and stumbled to my feet, bolting toward the toad, managing to grab its leg as it was about to jump back into the dark hole we had just left.
I threw it, and it soared over my head and landed on its back in the muddy square behind me. As if it felt no pain, it righted itself and started toward the well.
“I am trying to save you, you bastard,” I said through my teeth, reaching for it again. Its body was slippery, which did not make it easy to hold as it wriggled in my grasp. “I’ll keep you in a cage if I have to!”
I’d rather that than kill it.
The toad gave a keen cry just as my foot hit a patch of frozen ground. I fell onto my back again. I hardly had time to register the pain because the toad was free and already leaping frantically to the well.
A sharp twist of frustration spurred me on, and I shifted onto my knees, crawling to reach it, but it was one hop ahead of me. I tried to get to my feet, but the ground was too slick, and I crashed to my knees.
I gritted my teeth, scowling as I moved over the ground, my palm slamming down on a sharp rock. I did not even care that it hurt. My fingers curled around it. It was heavier than I thought it would be, bigger too, and just as the toad returned to the well, I reached for it, yanked it to the ground, and brought the rock down on its head.
A heavy silence followed, pressing into my ears, filling my body with a strange sense of shock as I stared at the lifeless toad, its legs still twitching. I did not remove the rock because I did not want to face what I had done.
It wouldn’t stop.Why wouldn’t it stop?
But I knew the answer.
It was cursed. We were all cursed.
I vomited and the rancid smell continued to turn my stomach, even as I pulled off my apron and wrapped the toad and the rock in the fabric. I rose to my feet and stumbled home. The goose I had slaughtered earlier was long gone, likely pulled from its place by wolves.
I could not find it in me to care.
I grabbed my ax, still lodged in the log where I’d left it, and walked to the edge of the Enchanted Forest where I chopped into the hard ground, scraping mounds of dirt aside until I had formed a deep enough chasm to fit the toad inside. Once I covered its body in the hard dirt, I sat there on my knees, letting the sleet strike my body like small, sharp needles. It reminded me that I could feel.
After a while, I rose, and despite the cold, I made my way to the rain barrel outside my house, breaking the sheet of ice that had formed over the top, and used the pan I kept inside to douse myself in water, washing my face and arms.
I brought the ax inside, leaving it on my bedside table before tending to the fire. I stripped off my sodden clothes and pulled on my nightgown before crawling into bed.
My head throbbed and my body ached as I curled into myself, shivering until I grew warm beneath my blankets.
I wondered if I would die in my sleep.
