Then, Sally’s property started to disappear. Her food, her clothes, research texts, little odds and ends. Then, Sally’s father died, and her roommate used the news of his suicide against her, ransoming Sally’s reputation.

It got worse from there.

Sally stayed quiet, but you know what they say about people like that. And this wouldn’t be so bad if Sally was ordinary, but she wasn’t, no sir. She had a bit of witch in her blood, which is to say that she had a little too much. Sally had just enough power to talk to things the wise leave well alone.

So she did.

One day, Sally decided she had enough and went down into the dark, carrying the hairs from her roommate’s brush. True enough, there was something there waiting.

She fed it those long black strands, one a time, saying nothing throughout. Only smiled when the thing politely asked for more.

The next day, she came back with nail clippings.

This went on for a time.

One night, the thing, taught to hunger for one specific taste, asked Sally, “Where’d you get all that fine food?”

“Upstairs,” she said.

“Upstairs in the light?”

“Yeah,” Sally replied, licking her dry lips. “I could show you where.”

“Huh,” the thing said. “I’d like that. But I don’t like it much when someone watches me eat. It’s one thing when it’s little nibbles like this, it’s another when you’re talking about a feast.”

(Do such creatures really talk with so much eloquence? Who knows. They do in this story, though.)

“That’s fine,” Sally said, rising to her feet. “You can keep the lights off.”

Thus decided, the two left the basement. Sally followed the thing up the spiral stairwell, her footsteps quiet, its footfall silent. She followed it into her room and sat down on her bed, quiet as a mouse as the thing began its work. Sally stayed true to her word. She kept it pitch-dark. Not even the glow of the distant town to light their way. Thankfully, her imagination was enough.

When the sound of chewing stopped, when the air was the stink of piss and flayed meat, when there was nothing left to do but leave, Sally got up and walked away.

The thing followed behind.

The next morning, she came back to find her room transformed into a slaughterhouse, the air thick with button-black flies. There was an apology scrawled in her roommate’s blood. Sally had to hide her smile.

“Aren’t you glad you didn’t turn on the lights?”

No, she thought. It would have been fun to watch.

a leash of foxes, their stories like barter

“Tell us a story, Papa.”

“Which one would you like, my loves?”

“Tell us the story of Mr. Fox!”