Emma had never felt fear before. At least, not to the degree at which she was experiencing it. It sat in the pit of her stomach and smoldered – a bit of coal burning its way through her body. She had become acutely aware of every trembling muscle, every freezing drop of rain, every emotion that engulfed her, waves crashing through her mind just as the river flooded their home.

She stood her ground, not deterred by the monstrous roar that had broken the air. Uncle Matthew was not standing down, either. Luis was looking at her with panic – the kind of look her father had produced moments before being murdered. Her hands were shuddering from the cold rain and the weight of the revolver. She didn’t even know whether she could fire it with any degree of accuracy. What would happen if she missed? Would the monster come back and devour them all? At this point, she didn’t care whether it killed Uncle Matthew, but she didn’t want Luis to die, nor her brother, nor her.

“You’re not going to pull that trigger,” Uncle Matthew said. It was as much a command as it was a personal reassurance. She had uttered similar statements, imbuing them with power even when she knew her own resilience was not as tough as she hoped.

Luis looked her in the eye, his own face wide with shock. Blood was still pooling out from his wound, slipping through the gaps in his fingers, twirling in the air as it joined the muddy water beneath him.

Don’t move, he mouthed while he stayed as quiet and still as he could.

The words deepened in meaning when she felt warm breath on her neck, followed by haggard breathing. Still, she kept her arms outstretched, her finger around the trigger of the revolver, which was slicked with rain and cold to touch, the barrel aimed at her uncle’s chest.

It began to sniff in her right ear, and terror paralyzed her; she could practically feel its cold, slimy flesh as it hovered inches – perhaps even closer – from her own. Its fetid breath poisoned the air around her.

To her surprise, Emma realized her brother, who had been beside her a few moments before, was gone. Urgent panic filled her heart, and her grip on the revolver faltered. Uncle Matthew was staring at her through the rain, his gun still aimed at Luis, as rain drops welled on the tip of his nose and fell to the ground. His eyes were beady and determined, but she could see terror flashing in them. He was going to run any second he could. Would he sacrifice her so that he could escape? Probably, she thought to herself. Uncle Matthew was the same man who had murdered her father, his own brother, because of a stupid squabble over Grandpa.

Darker thoughts entered her small mind as she realized her brother had truly disappeared, that he had not just left her field of vision. Was John gone? Swallowed by the darkness? Killed by the creature, never to return? Had he abandoned them, in search of their mother or in a desperate attempt to escape their situation?

Her father’s face filled Emma’s mind, as he had been – a kind smile, a rough scratchy beard, deep, wise eyes. On nights when she would have nightmares he would tell her stories, or whisper words of comfort so she could fall back into the ether for a few more hours. He had even taught her how to fight, though she had been told strictly not to tell her mother.

What would he tell me now? she thought. What would he say to me in this moment?

He would tell her to be brave.

He would tell her to be strong.

Her mother would tell her the same thing.

Her grip on the revolver tightened, and she began to pull back the trigger, her eyes focusing on her Uncle and his dumb, rotund face.

The creature’s attention was diverted; its head snapped to the right, where her brother had originally been standing. It began to sniff again. The sound constricted her heart, flooding her lungs with liquid panic. Emma watched with horror as it sped toward the trees, its spindly legs plunging into the mud and ripping free, spraying droplets in every direction. Her fear turned to despair as, further ahead, she saw a shadow dashing away deeper into the woods, away from the threat, running with the long-legged, long-stride sprint of her older brother.

When she refocused on her Uncle and Luis, she noticed the former had fled and the latter was pushing himself to his feet while looking in the direction the creature had run. He was still holding his bloody shoulder, and a pained look had overcome his face.

She stood, paralyzed by uncertainty and drowning in sadness. Luis approached her and took the revolver from her hands. Then he embraced her and lifted her into his arms, holding her closer, whispering in her ears the way her Dad sometimes would when she was upset about something.

Shhhhhhhhh.

It’s gonna be okay.

Don’t you worry, little one. It’s going to be okay.

He told her to close her eyes as they entered the warm, dry cabin, and she did so without thinking twice. Her nose was overcome with a horrible, pungent smell, but then it was gone, replaced by the odor of old wood and must. She buried her face in his neck, and Emma burst into tears. Luis held her close.

It’s okay, little one.

You’re safe now.

It’s okay.

He’ll come back to us.

She continued to sob, hot tears of pain and sorrow spilling down her cheeks and onto the wooden floor. Luis began to sing to her in Spanish.

Oh María, no llores, no llores.

Oh María, no llores, no llores.

El ejército del faraón se ahogó.

Oh Maria, no llores.

He rocked her side to side, holding her close. The rain pounded into the rooftops, trying to force its way into the home, but the roof kept her safe and Luis’s soft voice filled her head. Anguish still bloomed in her heart, and she still feared for John, but she felt her eyes growing heavy.

Pues el viejo señor Satanás se enojó.

Extrañaba esa alma que él creía tener.

El ejército del faraón se ahogó.

Oh María, no llores.

Her eyes grew heavier still, and Emma felt her mind falling deep into the pit of slumber she both longed for and wanted to avoid. Before she could register what was happening, she had been put into a bed with thick covers. Warmth surrounded her, and Emma turned on her side.

The pillow was soft and cool, and though her cheeks were still stained with the tears of before, she found her heartbeat slowing, her fear leaving her body. All she could hear was the sound of her own breath and Luis’s crooning voice.

Hermanos y hermanas, no llores.

Serán buenos tiempos poco a poco.

El ejército del faraón se ahogó.

Oh Maria, no llores.

Then Emma was asleep, and she left the fears of the world behind as she swam toward comfort and rest.

Next Chapter: Mary