Where the Woods End

by Charlotte Salter

  Saying those words felt like expelling poison from her body. The grabber’s eyes flickered, almost as though it was panicking. Kestrel’s mind raced on, all the voices condensing into a single stream of thought.

  She knew she was getting close to the truth; it was there, in her head, just out of reach. Kestrel searched through her memories, desperately trying to stick everything else together. What had Granmos said about her own grabber? Had she told Kestrel anything useful?

  The grabber looked at her sharply, as though she was about to do something it wouldn’t like.

  Kestrel took herself back to the cottage, standing by the window with her grandma behind her, hands on Kestrel’s shoulders, murmuring in her ear.

  I call him Horrow, Granmos said.

  “Horrow,” Kestrel said aloud. Excitement rose slowly through her body like a fever. “She gave it a name. And she told me to choose a name for the faces in the door, to help me stop being afraid of them. And then she tried to make me name the thing I was most scared of. It’s all about names. She wanted me to work it out by myself, but I wasn’t listening.”

  The grabber lunged. It shoved her into a tree again without warning. Kestrel hit back furiously, and this time she caught it in the arm, leaving a deep red line in its skin.

  “That was for my stealing my notebook,” she said. She lashed out again, and this time she caught its fingers. “That’s for taking everything else.”

  The grabber snatched the spoon from her hand and dropped it to the ground.

  She was trapped. They both knew that the grabber was stronger. It twirled a lock of her hair around its fingers and sucked it into its mouth, pulling her in until her ear was right by its head. It drew its lips back, so she could see every single one of its razor-sharp teeth.

  Kestrel put the final piece together in her head, and for a moment her brain was filled with a universe of noises and the bright, sharp fragments of a million words. In the huge, terrible chaos, one of them settled quietly behind her eyes, making her shiver.

  “I know how to stop you,” Kestrel said. She could tell from its expression that she had everything she needed to destroy it. All it took was that one word.

  It hung between them like a knife on a thread. Kestrel gathered her courage one more time.

  “Your name,” she said, her heart thrumming like a beetle trapped in a box. “Is Granmos.”

  DON’T BE AFRAID

  For one heart-stopping moment the grabber’s breath rattled against her cheek. Kestrel turned her face so she could meet its eyes, and they stared at each other, the grabber with barely disguised shock, as though she had driven a spoon through its ribs.

  She was so close to its face she could see the veins in its eyes, and through its tiny black pupils, a pinprick of yellow light. Then it parted its jaws and a damp hunk of her hair fell out.

  “That’s right,” said Kestrel, exhaling. If she moved too quickly the fragile air would shatter, and the grabber might change its mind. “I’m just going to back away, slowly. . . .”

  She slid from its grasp. It let her go, but its eyes followed her, as though it was waiting for her to try and escape. She had no doubt that it could have her between its jaws in a second if it chose.

  Kestrel edged around it until she was standing in the middle of the clearing. The grabber slowly turned so it was still facing her. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest, but it wasn’t just fear anymore; there was something like excitement, too.

  “Good,” she said softly.

  “Kestrel!” a voice yelled.

  Kestrel looked up sharply. Finn was clinging to a branch above her, pressed flat against the bark like a frightened cat. Between the village and the mushroom-speckled grove he’d managed to procure several tatty feathers and decorative streaks of dirt.

  Pippit was attached to Finn’s head, hissing and spitting at the grabber like a demonic hat.

  “Finn?” Kestrel was shocked. “What are you doing?”

  The grabber’s neck bones creaked as it looked up at Finn.

  “I’m saving you,” said Finn through gritted teeth. His fingers were dug into the branch as though he was forcing himself not to run away. “Get up here now.”

  The grabber was looking at Finn with interest, but it wasn’t moving. Kestrel noticed that it inflated and deflated like a balloon every time she took a breath. Strands of her hair were still caught around its teeth, and they fluttered with the airflow from its nostrils.

  “I’ve got it under control,” she said after a moment, sounding more confident than she felt.

  “It’ll eat you!” Finn said hysterically.

  “It won’t,” said Kestrel, looking at the grabber. She had an idea, but she wasn’t entirely sure it was going to work. “It won’t eat me. Will you, Granmos?”

  The grabber’s face didn’t change, but she could tell that it was listening.

  She took a step forward. Her grabber blinked and stepped back, so the distance between them remained the same. Kestrel slowly walked around its side. The grabber stepped away from her, but it turned its body so it was still facing her. They slowly circled each other as though they were practicing a dance.

  “Come down, Finn,” Kestrel said.

  There was a long, hesitant pause. Then she heard a thump as Finn slid to the ground. He was still clinging to the tree trunk, ready to disappear into the branches like a squirrel. “I’ve worked it out,” she said as they continued their slow, tense dance. She started to move a little faster, and the grabber matched her. Pippit bared his teeth, his fur standing on end.

  “Worked what out?” Finn said, wobbling.

  “I think they feed on your fear,” Kestrel said. “So to stop them from eating you, you’ve got to take away their food source.”

  “Kes, get away from it now,” said Finn. “Get up the tree before it’s too late.”

  “That’s what they want,” Kestrel said. “They want you to run away. That’s why they make themselves look terrifying, and spend so long chasing you. But if you turn around and look at it—if you make it yours by naming it—”

  “What are you saying?” Finn asked, his voice wavering. “Are you saying I can stop my grabber coming for me?”

  “I don’t think you can,” she said. Granmos’s eyes flickered in confirmation. “You can’t kill it, because another two will be born. If you get scared, it’ll take you anyway. It’s just there.”

  Maybe you were never really safe. Maybe your grabber was always waiting for an opportunity to snap you up.

  “What . . . for good?” Finn asked, looking sick.

  Kestrel stopped moving and drew herself up tall. She had to try something.

  “Give me my notebook, Granmos,” she said, holding her hand out. Her fingers were shaking, but she couldn’t change her mind now.

  Granmos stared at her.

  Kestrel felt a tiny flicker of doubt. Her grabber moved toward her, teeth snapping together.

  “Granmos!” she shouted. To her relief it fell still, its face sagging. Kestrel tried to recover from her surprise. “Just give it to me,” she said firmly.

  Granmos just stared at her, curling its top lip. Kestrel had seen that expression a million times before on the black dog. She knew what it was waiting for.

  No way, she thought, but after a few seconds the grabber still hadn’t moved, and she knew she didn’t have a choice.

  “Please,” she said.

  Granmos slowly curled its lips back. Its jaw widened until its mouth was almost the size of its face, its eyes pushed to somewhere near the back of its head, its skin wrinkling into great piles. Kestrel could see all the way down its throat. The back of its head was thin enough to let some daylight through, and its insides were made of gray jelly.

  Granmos made a low grunting sound like marbles rattling in a glass jar.

  Kestrel
reached down its throat, shuddering. It was warm. Her wrist brushed the grabber’s tongue and its mouth quivered, its vicious teeth straining to snap shut; but its jaws held open, and Kestrel made herself keep going until her elbow was resting against its teeth. Her hand touched the gray jelly. She closed her eyes, feeling disgusted, and pushed her hand farther down. Finally, her hand met the notebook.

  She curled her fingers around it and pulled. The notebook, gray and phlegmy, came up from the grabber’s stomach.

  Granmos’s mouth snapped shut. Kestrel looked it in the eye.

  “Thank you,” she said, and Granmos rearranged its teeth into a yellow grin.

  “That didn’t just happen,” said Finn as Pippit sniffed the pages.

  She pressed the notebook into Finn’s hands. He opened it and stared at the familiar black writing, now smeared and covered in goo.

  “What now?” he said, his voice trembling.

  Kestrel felt her heartbeat quicken. She had an idea.

  The grabber had stalked her for days. It had learned as much about her fears as it could. So why shouldn’t it have learned anything else? Why wouldn’t it know what she wanted, too?

  “Can you help me escape?” she asked it.

  Granmos closed its fist, and its lips twitched into something like a cunning smile.

  Kestrel breathed out slowly. If there was a way out, nothing would stop Kestrel getting there if there was a grabber by her side.

  “We can . . . leave?” Finn said. Kestrel thought he looked a bit green.

  “I think so,” she said, filled with a mixture of excitement and dread. “Finn, we’re finally getting out!”

  Granmos moved as quickly and as silently as a bird. It suddenly swung its arm, its mouth wide open, and smacked a huge, pale hand into Finn’s chest. He went flying and hit the ground so hard the trees shivered.

  Kestrel turned to face her grabber, teeth bared in fury. Finn wailed until Pippit nipped him on the hand.

  “Don’t you dare hurt my friends,” Kestrel snapped at Granmos. “I mean it.”

  The grabber snarled at Finn. He jumped to his feet and backed against a tree.

  “Why don’t you like him?” Kestrel said angrily. “He’s coming with us, okay?”

  The grabber started toward Finn again. He shrieked and scrambled up the tree.

  “Stop!” shouted Kestrel, and it halted. Its expression was frosty.

  “It won’t let me come,” said Finn. He looked horribly relieved.

  “But—”

  “It’s fine,” said Finn, climbing to his feet. “We can live here. You, me, and Pip. Even . . . that can stay, if it has to,” he added, looking at Granmos with disgust. “We don’t ever have to go near the village. We can live in the trees. We’ll be so happy we won’t want to go outside anyway. I mean, are there even trees outside the forest?”

  “Don’t say that,” Kestrel said desperately. “We’ll all go with Granmos. The three of us. Won’t we, Pip?”

  “Kes?” Pippit said, looking distressed. “Kes? Stay here?”

  Kestrel felt like a black hole had opened inside her. She stared at him, and he started to wash himself agitatedly.

  “Pip?” she said, although she already knew his answer.

  She knew that Pippit belonged in the forest. He probably came from generations of weasels who had lived here all their lives. And Finn had never wanted to leave. All the times they’d been looking for the way out, he’d been treating it like a game.

  “It’s fine,” she said quickly, turning away so they wouldn’t see her face.

  “You’re not going by yourself, are you?” said Finn in disbelief.

  Kestrel looked at the tops of the trees. By tilting her head back, she could stop the water that had started coming out of her eyes. The cool air scraped across her cheeks. She could hear the sea in her ears again, the faraway, mythical wash of water.

  “Yeah,” she said when she’d summoned up the courage. “I’m going.”

  “So that’s it,” Finn said coolly, his face closing up. “Even though there might be nothing there, and you might die.”

  They looked at each other. Something had changed in the last few moments. There was an awkwardness between them, a strange, sharp newness. They both seemed much older than before. Or maybe, Kestrel thought, the feeling had been growing there for a while and she’d only just seen it.

  “Take my notebook,” she said. “Tell the villagers what you know. They’ll listen to you. Make them understand about their grabbers.”

  Finn rubbed his dirt-streaked face.

  “They won’t want me back,” he said.

  “You have to stop stealing cake,” Kestrel said. “But they’ll take you in. Mardy always liked you, deep down. Start by burning my mother’s house. Nobody else will be brave enough to go near it, and they’ll trust you after that.”

  “Really?” he said.

  “They might even put you in charge,” she said. “They need someone who’s braver than them.”

  Finn and Kestrel stared at each other. Then Finn jerked forward, pulling Kestrel into a hug.

  “I’m sorry my mother hurt you,” she said quietly, hugging him back. “And I shouldn’t have been mad about Hannah. I guess I was a bit . . . you know . . .” She swallowed the word “jealous,” but they both knew it was there.

  “I shouldn’t have let the others tell lies about you,” Finn mumbled. “And I should’ve worked out your grabber was coming and been there when your dad—er.” He gulped the last word down, too.

  Pippit buried his face in Kestrel’s ear.

  “Something would’ve eaten me by now, if not for you,” Kestrel said to Pippit.

  “Nah,” said Pippit. “Kes crunch, Pip munch.” He nipped her ear. “No go?”

  “I can’t stay,” she said, feeling wretched. “If I don’t do it now, I might not be brave enough again.”

  “Pffft,” Pippit said, nuzzling her ear with his warm nose. A lump rose in Kestrel’s throat.

  “Look after Finn for me. He’ll look after you, too.”

  “Bye, Kes,” Pippit mumbled. “Find good snacks.”

  “Love you, Pip,” she whispered as Finn pulled away. “You too, I guess,” she added lightly. Finn laughed and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

  “Maybe you’ll leave as well, one day,” she said.

  Finn nodded uncertainly.

  They heard the distant sound of shouting. It was coming from behind them, curling through the forest, a dozen voices mixed with the snapping of branches. Kestrel could hear Ike’s voice floating above the others.

  “I’ll talk to them,” Finn said unexpectedly. He tightened his hands around the notebook, looking suddenly determined. “You won’t have to worry.”

  “Thanks, Finn,” Kestrel whispered.

  He turned away quickly, with Pippit still attached to his shoulder, and hesitated. For a bright, aching second Kestrel wondered if he was going to say something else. Pippit looked at her over his shoulder. But then Finn grabbed a branch and swung himself into the tree. The last thing Kestrel saw was Finn’s feather-stuck hair and Pippit’s face crumpling. Then the trees closed around them, and they were gone.

  Kestrel suddenly felt very, very alone.

  Granmos put its hand on Kestrel’s back. She turned around, blinking tears away.

  “Take that coat off,” she demanded, trying to hide the wobble in her voice. “My grandma made a coat like that. It should stay here, where she is.”

  Kestrel wished her grandma were here right now, so she could wrap her arms around her and tell her that she understood why she put Kestrel through all that training. That it had saved her life. That it really had made her stronger. And that, despite everything, she missed her.

  Granmos smiled wonkily and oozed its way out of the coat, drawing its arms in and letting i
t slide down its back and onto the ground. Kestrel caught her breath. Its body was a great jumble of rubbish from the forest, wonky stick-ribs twined with choking ivy, crabby red apples growing in a necklace around its neck. There were birds’ eggs in its stomach and ferns in its chest and thin, translucent mushrooms growing on its organs. A row of seashells undulated behind its ribs.

  Kestrel knew what they were right away, because they were exactly like the ones in her grandma’s notebook, but bigger. She heard the sea roar in her ears and shuddered. So it was real.

  Granmos’s body was as deep as the forest, its eyes as far away as the stars. Kestrel wondered, with dizzying uncertainty, if it was even possible to escape the forest without your grabber. The idea of a secret path, snaking through the trees and toward freedom, suddenly seemed childish. Maybe the forest would only release you if you defeated it in other, more difficult ways.

  “All right,” Kestrel breathed, feeling tiny and insignificant. “I guess this is it.”

  Granmos, old and stately, with a skirt made of bones and teeth, held out its tiny, elegant hand. It—she—was perfectly still but for the slight wheeze of her breath and the green beetle in the center of her chest, which slowly opened and closed its wing cases like a beautiful brooch. Granmos still wore an approximation of her grandma’s face, old and wise with crooked teeth. Kestrel could almost smell the pipe smoke. Her eyes were fixed on the forest, but they quickly flicked sideways to Kestrel. She was waiting.

  The last pieces of regret fluttered in Kestrel’s chest like so many bits of paper. She was full of holes, and she didn’t think she’d ever be able to fill them in.

  But maybe that didn’t have to stop her.

  She took one last look at the empty forest, the trees still swaying where Finn had swung through them, and turned back to her grabber.

  She hesitantly took Granmos’s hand. The grabber’s fingers closed gently over her own. Kestrel knew she was standing with the most dangerous creature alive. She knew that one day, if she wasn’t strong, it would find its appetite again. And she knew that if she took one more step, her life was going to change forever.