Near the Bone by Christina Henry (the mitten read aloud txt) 📕

If Mattie ran away then the creature would chase her. She was safer, much safer, going back to the cabin. Going back to William.

The creature slurped at the stream and every moment it stayed Mattie’s tension ratcheted tighter. When would it go? How could she escape if it just sat there, directly in her path? She didn’t think she’d be able to sneak away quietly in the state she was in, not even if she took a very long way around the animal.

Even if she chose the cabin she was in danger. Just crossing the stream would attract the creature’s attention.

Keep still like a little mouse. You know how to do it. You do it all the time, when you don’t want William to notice you.

Yes, it was a skill she’d perfected—shrinking inside her body, her thoughts receding so they weren’t visible, so that she was nothing but a body and everything about her that mattered was hidden away.

She did it when William was looking for an excuse to punish her, or when he did punish her, or when she lay in bed with him grunting on top of her, doing her duty as his wife. She took part of herself away and kept it safe where he couldn’t see.

If she did that now then maybe the creature wouldn’t notice her, wouldn’t sense the spark of something living.

The animal growled, snorted out several short breaths, pawed at the ground.

Mattie didn’t know if it was wise or not but she had to look. She had to know if it had spotted her and was preparing to charge. She risked a glance in its direction. She still couldn’t make any sense of it other than size, but it seemed to be settling down on the bank.

Is it going to sleep there? Mattie thought in alarm. No, it can’t. I have to get home.

(no, you have to get away)

It didn’t matter what she wanted or didn’t want. If the animal went to sleep, she’d be trapped until it woke and left the area.

Her stomach made a long keening sound, as loud as a gunshot in the still night.

The creature paused. Mattie heard it sniff the air as she hunched over, her face in her knees, trying to make her body as small as possible, trying to make herself invisible.

After a moment she heard it grunt and resume its pawing and shifting.

Oh, please go. Please, God, if you’re listening, please make it go.

But God never listened to Mattie’s prayers. No matter how often she begged God to make William stop, He never listened. He never helped. He never struck William down the way He ought to do.

Mattie stayed hunched over her legs, trembling, as the animal’s breath settled into the deep, even rhythm of sleep. There was nothing for it now. She would have to go back to the cabin. The plan to follow the stream was impossible with the creature in the way.

Even if it woke up in an hour or two the plan wouldn’t work. If Mattie wanted to leave William, she needed time, all the time she could manage. She needed a head start, especially now that she was barely able to walk.

It’s a sign, a sign that you’re not supposed to leave William.

What else could it be? Why else would every obstacle appear in her way just as she considered (for the first time in years, so many years she couldn’t count them) getting away? God hated her. He must. She must be as bad, as sinful as William always said, or else this wouldn’t happen. Mattie squeezed her eyes tight so the tears wouldn’t come, but this only made her swollen left eye hurt more, and the tears came anyway.

She stayed there a very long time, weeping, listening to the sound of the monster sleeping a short distance away from her, close enough for it to wake up and kill her if it wanted.

Mattie slept, though she hadn’t meant to.

She woke with a start, her breath a sudden exhaled whoosh, her right eye flying open in panic. How could she have slept with danger so near? It was well past bedtime, and William would be furious.

She checked the place where the creature slept. The sliver of moon was hidden by a bank of clouds, and the stars were, too. The sky was an unyielding field of black.

Mattie squinted in the direction of the creature and listened hard. She didn’t hear it breathing or shifting in its sleep. She couldn’t make out its deep shadow against the other shadows.

It was gone. It had gone while she slept.

Mattie uncurled her stiff limbs, stretching her legs out in front of her and her arms overhead. Everything hurt, and the renewed blood flow after sitting for so long made all her aches worse, made her bruises throb with fresh energy. Her left eye, when she touched it, seemed just as swollen as it had been hours before. The thin layer of snow hadn’t seeped through her clothes, which were wool and sturdy, but the cold had, and her bones felt brittle.

Mattie didn’t know if she’d be able to stand but she had to try. She couldn’t stay on the stream bank forever, waiting for William or the creature to come and scoop her up.

After a great deal of pushing and struggling and wobbling she managed to get on her feet, though she swayed as all the blood rushed out of her head. She was so hungry she thought she could eat anything—even the pine needles looked appetizing. Mattie took a few deep breaths until she felt steadier. While the hunger-weakness didn’t go away, she did feel less dizzy than she had earlier, and she attributed that to rest.

Just how long did I sleep? she thought, slightly panicky. If it was long enough to feel that much better then it was probably far too long.

Mattie took a tentative step forward, testing her balance. It was