Child Hide and Lie Still

Originally sent to newsletter subscribers in February, 2024. Modified in January, 2025. Sign up for the free newsletter now to receive exclusive stories months in advance.

“You knew I was coming for you, little one, when the kettle jumped into the fire. Hides flapped on their hooks, and the hound crept off, groaning, to the deepest part of the woods on that eternal night.”

Talmos had heard this story many times before, but on this night, it seemed ever more threatening. He curled up tighter beneath the furskin blanket and listened as his grandmother’s voice took on an eerie, threatening tone.

“In the hackles of the dry brush a thin laughter started up, wispy like a cough. Your mother tossed dirt over the cooking pit and called you to eat. But I spoke to you in the cold trees. I whispered ever so sweetly, beckoning you to me. ‘New one, I have come for you, child hide and lie still.’”

Nithea drew back from the fire in the hut she would be occupying for the night. Talmos, from his bed, could only watch as the shadows drew long on her face and the dying embers cast an ethereal glow across her mouth. She smiled, the corners of her lips turning up to reveal her pointed teeth, glowing in the low light. Her eyes were sunken, hollow holes, two small point of light reflecting the flames. 

“The lilac scented the room as bright red cones flitted from the sumac to the air. Copper burned in the raw wood. You saw me drag toward you. ‘Oh, touch me,’ I murmured, and licked the soles of your feet. You dug your hands into my pale, melting fur.”

Talmos could hardly see her outline. Still further she went as the silence hung between them and she disappeared into the darkness.

In an instant, she rushed toward him. He yelped in surprise and cowered away until her hands gripped his wrists, her face directly beside his ear.

“I stole you off,” she hissed. “A huge thing in my bristling armor. Steam rolled from my wintry arms, each leaf shivered from its branch until it stood, naked, spread like the cleaned spines of a fish. You burned into my frozen heart and still I held you close.”

Talmos was shaking now. She was so close, and her breath smelled of rotten meat. For a fleeting moment, he remembered his stew tasting fresh and new. The thought was snatched away by the sound of her hoarse, grating voice retreating from his ear. “You twisted in my cold arms, grasped at my bristling fur as I whispered, ‘Child hide and lie still.’”

Steeling his nerves, Talmos turned to face her, but she was already returning to the shroud of darkness just beyond the light of the dying embers. Even the wind outside, which had been howling only moments before, fell silent. Cold seeped through the fur and into his bones.

When Nithea spoke again, it was hardly a whisper. Talmos strained to make out her words.

“Then your warm hands hummed over and shoveled themselves full of the ice and the snow.” Her voice dropped even further. “I would darken and spill all night running, until at last morning broke the cold earth and I carried you home, a deep red river soaking in the rising sun.”

The fire flared to life, and Nithea was back in her usual seat on the log nearest the fire pit. She smiled across at him as he slowly lowered the blanket from his face, just as she had so many times before. The dogs barked and growled beyond the walls of the hut. “Mother? Is she returned?”

“I think not, dear,” Nithea said. “I think it’s time we ought head to bed.”

“I’m afraid,” Talmos admitted. “If I can’t wait up for mother, can we let the fire burn itself out? Just so it’s not too dark in here?”

“Afraid? You’ve heard that story over a dozen times before. Why should this time scare you so?” Noticing the fear plain on his face, she softened her voice. “We really should put out the fire, though. The light will keep us both awake. It’s best to sleep it off.” She leaned close to him and kissed him on the cheek, her lips cold against his skin.

Talmos relented and withdrew into the comfort of his thin bed made of straw and fur. As his grandmother extinguished the fire and crawled into the bed on the far end of their hut, cold seeped into the room, unusual for the time of year. The weather must have been changing early, meaning a long, harsh winter was coming.

Weariness fell upon Talmos, stamping his fears as sleep threatened to overtake him. In his last waking moments, a thought occurred to him. “Grandmother?” he murmured through his shivers.

“Yes, dear?” Nithea said from her own bed, her voice hoarse and rough like a wailingbird’s call.

“Why did you change the end?”

“Whatever do you mean, little one?”

“The end of the story,” Talmos said, barely hanging onto consciousness. “The river has never been red before. I always thought the child freed the creature with his warmth. Did the creature win this time? Did the kid die?”

A thin laugh escaped from Nithea. “It is only a story,” she said. “Child rest and lie still.”

The night was still as the cold crept further into the hut, further chilling the small space. Hides flapped on their hooks beyond the shuttered door. The hunting hounds groaned in their sleep. Sparks scattered high into the air as a kettle dropped from its place into the central fire.

Nithea rose from her bed and drug herself across the hut as steam filled the room.

And all the while, Talmos slept on, wrapping his hands into the bristling fur, desperate to escape the howling wind biting at his arms. He pushed further into the fur, even as it melted around him. The skeletal arms grasped him tighter, the movements erratic and desperate, craving and hungry. The child shivered again, clinging to the last moments of sleep.

A leaf brushed against Talmos’ head before shrinking away. He awoke slowly, as if still trapped in the final, fleeting memories of his dream. The intense cold of the wind brought tears to his eyes. They fell, mixing with the melted fur. Lazily, the boy leaned in and wrapped his arms tight around the ever-thinning body. “I love you, grandmother. No matter what, I love you.”

At last, the child’s arms reached the creature’s icy heart. His embrace thawed the cold and overwhelmed the insatiable hunger. The fur melted at once, leaving behind a clear, running river of crystal clear water. The creature lay the boy on the ground and wrapped him in a coat of fur. As the boy began to fade from consciousness once again, it leaned down and whispered in his ear.

“Thank you, child, for freeing me from my frozen prison. Your mother and grandmother will return on the morrow. Love them, hold them close, and cherish their love. I must be gone now. None will come for you again. Now, child, rest and lie still.”

End.