The little girl froze at the door, staring at her mother. The mother glared at her husband and said, voice shaking, ”I am the reason for what? Rick, I know you well, and I know you are planning something… so I beg you, my dear… tell me what you are planning. Who is at the door?"

He shook his head, lips tight to hold back his urge to cry. ”Mary told me today that I am sterile," he said, then covered his face with his palm, and nodded to his daughter. ”Open it."

The girl reached for the latch. The mother cried, ”Rory, do not open the door!"

But the girl’s hand outran the warning and opened it—and a great man with ember-red eyes and a white cloak slid his fingers through the air before Rory’s face, as if slicing the void. ”After your leave," he said.

A red light flared before her face—her hair danced—then another burst like a blade crashed at her face with a thunderclap; beautiful Rory flew, her body split from the head down to between her legs, and her parts fell scattered across the table before her parents and Liam. The mother screamed like a madwoman, shaking her daughter’s two halves on the table.

Liam’s breath cut short when he saw her bleeding cheek and the splayed fingers on the wood—like an offering to a demon. His jaw trembled and his tongue tied; he could not scream or breathe. He stared at the hooded man in the door and his blazing eyes. He stepped back until his back struck something. He turned and found another tall man—white cloak, red beams in his hood. A smile pulled at his mouth. He set a hand on Liam’s head and turned him toward the window, as if ordering him to watch what was happening inside the cottage. The man’s hand was enormous—white and pale, as if bloodless.

"Stay where you are… and do not move."

The man took Liam’s right hand and scratched a ring around his wrist with his nail, then set that sharp nail to the boy’s neck and passed it slowly. ”Do not move… or you will hurt a lot."

Liam wet his trousers. He did not dare look away, as ordered. The man let go of him and went with his grim companion into the cottage, while Rory’s mother sobbed.

The mother hurled herself at her husband and knocked him down. She fell beside him, flailing at him with her fists and screaming, ”Damn you, damn you, damn you!"

A shadow fell over her from behind. She turned and found her daughter’s killer. She stared at his face, cheeks trembling. He was truly huge, like something from a nightmare. He reached toward her, and she scrambled back, crying and pleading, ”Please, sir, stop… please."

The man slid his fingers through the air like a knife. ”I will not spare her belly… will I?"

Stretched on the floor, Mr. Rick covered his face with his arm. ”Just… do it."

His wife turned to him. ”No, please, my love… tell him to stop. Rick, I swear I didn’t—"

The man sliced the air, and the mother, her belly, and the wall behind her split cleanly in two. Liam’s eyes widened as blood pooled around Rick. A thought flashed: I will surely be killed soon. He cast his eyes to the plains. I must run! The neighbors’ lights were far; however fast his feet, he would not reach any house for help. He panted. What will he do to me when he comes back? I will surely be killed. He tried to run, but his legs would not move. I won’t be able to do it.

He scanned the yard under the moonlight and found only the abandoned carriage to hide behind. He ran to it and crouched by the wheels. His legs shook and he dropped to his knees, vomiting. From beneath the carriage he saw two pairs of legs come out of the cottage, and his breath quickened—as if all the air of the plains was not enough. The feet stopped. Panic pierced his heart. Why did they stop… they didn’t notice me, did they? He clamped his hand over his nose and mouth so his frightened breathing would not betray him. He looked again under the carriage—no legs.

The carriage above him shuddered, then was hurled into the air and crashed far away, rolling and tumbling like a light box until it slammed into a great tree. The crash boomed. He lifted his face. One of the men in white stood against the red moon, dusting his hands, staring at him from the hood with blazing eyes like an angry devil.

"Didn’t I tell you not to move from your place?"

Liam ran for the plains—for his uncle’s house—bare feet hammering stones, grass, thorns. He panted. Mud sprayed from his feet. The world shook with every step. He panted. Heat burned his wrist and neck. He looked at his wrist—red and blistered—and the pain kept growing.

He crashed to his knees, crying; he could no longer bear it. He panted and looked at the man behind him. ”Sir, this hurts… sir, ahh… please, aaah."

The pain doubled until it was a knife of fire driven into his neck and wrist. He fell, face to the dirt, screaming. He lifted his eyes to the man. The man brought his middle finger to his thumb so they touched. ”What a pity… I wanted to bring you with us."

"Si—"

The man snapped his fingers and pain exploded in Liam’s neck. The world spun. The yellow lights of the far houses mixed with the red of the moon… and a lot of red liquid. He fell on his face, rolling like a ball until he stopped at the man’s feet. Everything slowed: his eyes moving with effort, a white owl flapping in the sky, a red drop sliding over his eyeball, and the man’s steps approaching the small body lying on the dirt… everything.

He tried to lift his hand to wipe the red spot from his eye, but it did not move. He tried to stand, but his legs did not answer. He wanted to open his mouth to scream, but it did not open. He felt himself choking and found his gaze fixed on the man who was carrying in his arms the body of a small boy without a head. He looked at the boy’s filthy clothes.

"How familiar these clothes look."

He kept staring at the boy’s clothes while the red world in his eyes faded… and faded… until everything turned into a page of light.