Scary Stories for Young Foxes

by Christian McKay Heidicker

  His mom sighed and trotted to the mouth of their stone den. Uly followed her gaze up the Great Boulder, into the night. His jaw began to tremble. He knew what his mom was going to say, and he wanted to bite her whiskers to keep her from saying it.

  “We’ll have to take you to the Rain Pool,” his mom said. “A quick dip should do the trick.”

  Uly went so numb he hardly felt the itching anymore. The Rain Pool was beyond the crack.

  Ava scoffed. “How’s he supposed to swim with only three—”

  “Ava,” her mother said. “Bite your tongue this instant.”

  Ava grudgingly shut her muzzle.

  “The rest of you are coming with us,” their mother said, “and you’re going to keep Uly safe, because you didn’t do your job as sisters. No fox can clean all the hard-to-reach places by themselves. I’m very disappointed in you.”

  The sisters hung their heads. Some because they were ashamed. Others to hide their smiles.

  Their mom sniffed outside. “It’s a good night for a journey. The winds will obscure our scent, and any hawks will be swept off their strike.”

  She usually avoided taking them out late, when the hawks could spot them under the bright of the moon. Uly was about to tell her he didn’t need to go, that he’d learn to live with the scratching. But then a new itch burned to life on his eyelid. And he knew it would drive him to madness, if he didn’t scratch himself to pieces first.

  “Keep close to my tail now,” his mom said.

  As Uly pushed up to his paws, Ava pressed her cold snout into his ear. “Watch out for the crack, Ewwly.”

  He snapped at her, but she leapt away, and he barely caught his balance.

  “What are you gonna do?” he asked her.

  Ava only smiled and joined their sisters at the mouth of the cave. And Uly found himself wishing he could scratch her away like he would an itch.

  FOUR

  THE STARS PIERCED BRIGHT and sharp that night. The air was alive with wind.

  The kits’ mother moved swiftly up the curve of the boulder, and the six sisters followed close. Only Uly trailed behind, stopping every few tails to scratch an itch and search the night sky for winged silhouettes.

  They arrived at the crack. The boulder glowed bone white on either side, falling into a darkness that whistled eerie notes into Uly’s heart.

  Their mother lifted a forepaw and took roll.

  “Here!”

  “Here!”

  “Here!”

  “Here!”

  “Here!”

  “Here!”

  “Uly?”

  “Here,” he whispered.

  If Mr. Scratch did live in the darkness, Uly didn’t want him to know he was there.

  Their mother hopped over the crack like it was nothing more than a trickle of water.

  “Ava?” she said. “You’re alpha. Show your siblings how it’s done.”

  Ava sat down. “I want to make sure Uly gets across safe first, Mom.”

  Uly’s ears folded.

  “That’s very considerate of you,” their mom said. “Ali?”

  Ali gave a little scoot backward and then bounded, easily clearing the crack.

  Uly glanced at Ava. She smiled.

  “Anna?” their mother said.

  With a skittering start, Anna made a mighty leap and landed safely on the other side.

  Uly was more afraid of Ava than he was of any hawk. The hawks never came into his den and teased him about his sickly paw. They never stole food out of his muzzle.

  “Aya.”

  Aya held her breath, ran, and leapt. Safe.

  What was Ava going to do? Wait until Uly tried to jump and then clamp on to his tail so he went tumbling into the crack and she never had to clean him again?

  “Ada and Agatha.”

  The two kits wiggled their hips and then bounded across.

  Or did Ava know Mr. Scratch was going to lunge out of the darkness and seize his throat with ashen teeth?

  “Okay, Uly,” his mom said. “Your turn.”

  All of the siblings were across the crack except him and Ava. The runt and the alpha.

  He stared into the darkness that fell away between him and his mother. His foreleg collapsed, and he fell to his belly.

  “Uly,” his mother said with a touch of scorn. “You’re much too big for me to come and carry you. Come along now.”

  “Come on, Uly!” Agatha cried. “You can do it!”

  “Yeah, jump, jump!”

  “Do it before the hawks swoop down and rip out our innards!”

  “Stop being such a mewler!”

  Uly gave Ava a wary look. She smirked and took a step back. She didn’t need to grab his tail for him to slip and fall into the crack. Uly could accomplish that all by himself.

  “Eyes on me, Uly,” his mother said.

  Uly pushed up onto his three paws and scratched at his chest. He gave his mom a determined look, then, before he could second-guess himself, bounded three times. A whisker before the crack, he closed his eyes, pushed off his forepaw, and leapt with his two hind legs. His heart lifted as the darkness passed beneath him. There was a breathless moment of wind.

  Uly’s forepaw touched down on the other side.

  But his hind paws fell away into nothing.

  The edge of the boulder struck his stomach, forcing an oof from his muzzle. His forepaw started to slip as the weight of his hind legs dragged him backward. Uly whimpered and clawed as he went slipping into the crack …

  Where he plopped onto a vein of mud.

  He was in a stone tunnel. Darkness howled around him, broken only by a vein of stars. At the far end of the tunnel was a hole that looked onto the lashing fir trees. Uly heard a faint trickle of water and a low wind that sounded just like breathing—

  Teeth clamped onto his scruff and hauled him upward. His mom plopped him, breathless, beside his sisters.

  “You did it, Uly!” Agatha called.

  “Psh. Kind of,” Ali said.

  The five sisters licked his fur, snickering but happy to see him safe and sound. Trembling, Uly peered back into the crack. From this side, he could see it was no more than a tail deep. He’d never had anything to be afraid of.

  “Ha ha ha ha ha!” On the other side of the crack, Ava laughed so hard she could barely breathe. “Uly, you should have seen yourself!”

  Her laughter rippled to the other sisters.

  “Hey, guys!” Ava called to them. “Watch this. Who am I?”

  “Ava…,” their mother said, snarling with warning.

  Ava curled her left forepaw to her chest. Her right forepaw trembled as she put on a scared face and made a pathetic hop over the crack. Even though she landed safely on the other side, she fell to her belly and pushed herself backward until her hind legs dangled over the ledge, desperately clawing with her right forepaw.

  “Ha ha!” laughed Ada.

  “Hee hee hee!” said Ali.

  “That’s exactly what he looked like!” said Aya.

  “Come on, Uly!” Anna said, nipping his throat. “You can laugh. It’s funny!”

  “Ava, watch out!” their mother screamed.

  A red-and-yellow king snake struck from the crack, sinking its fangs into Ava’s leg. Her yelp echoed across the boulder. Her mother seized her by the scruff and shook until the snake’s coiling body came loose. It slithered back into the crack—right where Uly would have stepped if he’d had an extra paw to step with.

  Ava’s body slumped onto the rock, paws twitching, while their mother whimpered and licked her face. Uly could only watch in shock as the venom spread in veins through Ava’s eyes—as her breath grew faster, faster, faster …

  And then slowed. And was gone.

  FIVE

  THE DAYS PASSED in pinks and golds outside the den.

  Now that the sisters were only five, their spell over Uly seemed to have broken. They didn’t have Ava’s sharp tongue or dark ideas to torment him anymore.

 
Still, life didn’t grow easier for Uly. His skin still itched. His tummy still ached. Ever since Ava had died, the kits’ mother had been too grief-stricken to hunt. She spent the days and nights lying with her face toward the stone while Uly’s sisters scavenged for themselves. But they managed to catch only beetles and grasshoppers, leaving him nothing but barbed legs and antennae.

  Uly wondered: If Ava had survived, would things have been better for him … or worse?

  * * *

  One night, after his sisters were asleep, Uly crept to the back of the den and curled up beside his mom. He cleaned the tears from her eyes, only stopping to scratch an itch.

  He needed her to cheer up. He couldn’t hunt by himself. The world felt as big and impossible as it had the day of the dragonfly hunt. His foreleg still trembled when he thought about climbing the boulder or jumping over anything wider than a whisker.

  “Mom?”

  She didn’t stir.

  “Mom, I’m hungry.”

  He listened to her breath, soft and ragged from sobbing. Would she have grieved like this if the snake had bitten him instead of Ava? He scratched another itch.

  The light outside was growing hazy. A couple months from now, after the leaves had fallen, his sisters would celebrate their Golden-Eyed Day. They would become vixens and leave the den to sniff out a suitable mate. Shortly before that, boy foxes were meant to have their own Golden-Eyed Day, setting out to mark their own territories.

  With only three paws, Uly knew that would never happen for him. But he didn’t mind. Once his sisters were gone, he planned to remain in the den with his mom forever.

  He cleaned his mom’s face, hoping to wake her. He licked her muzzle, her tear-streaked whiskers, her ears … and he noticed one was missing a tip.

  “Mom? How’d you hurt your ear?”

  “Your father did that,” she whispered without opening her eyes. “It was an accident.”

  Uly wondered what life would be like if his dad was still alive. Would they have enough food? Would Uly’s left foreleg have grown like the others? Would Ava have been nicer to him? Would she still be alive?

  “Mom? How did Dad die?”

  His mom finally opened her eyes. Something passed behind them. Like storm clouds.

  “He fought another fox on a high cliff,” she said. “There was a rockslide, and he was buried.”

  She sighed. “I miss him sometimes. In the twilight. He treated me like a beautiful vixen even though I was old in my years.”

  Uly giggled. “You’re not old”—he quirked his head, noticing the gray tufts of hair in his mom’s fur—“are you?”

  When she didn’t respond, he thought about what he would do if he were ever in a fight. Probably hop away at the first snarl.

  “Why didn’t Dad just run away?” he asked.

  “I’ll never know.” She snorted. “Dogs. Promise me you’ll never become one.”

  Uly smiled back. “I promise.”

  For the first time since Ava had died, his mom gave a small smile. But it faded just as quickly when she saw Uly’s ribs poking through his fur.

  “You’ve grown so thin,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  Uly stared at the ground. “Yeah.”

  “I’ll catch us some food in the morning,” she said, laying her head back down.

  Uly’s stomach gurgled happily. “And I can stay here with you? Forever?”

  “Yes, darling,” she said. “Forever.”

  He lay between her paws, and she curled around him, her tail protecting his tail, her muzzle his muzzle, and they fell asleep.

  SIX

  “ULY!”

  Uly woke to the sound of his mom’s panicked voice.

  “Uly, wake up!” she whispered. “We have to hide you!”

  He opened his eyes and found her dragging leaves over his body.

  “What? Why?”

  “Because we’re playing a game, my darling!” she said, trying to keep her voice calm. “You’re going to play dead, and your sisters are going to try and find you.” She pawed leaves over his tail. “Don’t move a muscle until I tell you it’s safe. Now hush, the game is starting.”

  Uly didn’t like the sound of his mom’s voice or the look on her face. “Mom, I don’t want to play a game. I want food.”

  “Hush now. Do as I say.”

  Uly whimpered as she pawed leaves over his head. He tried to lie quietly, but his heart wouldn’t stop pounding. He watched, wide-eyed, through the cracks in the leaves.

  Outside, dawn bloomed rosy and strange. A westerly wind blew along the boulder, and it carried a new scent. Beneath the pine was something like … lilac.

  Uly’s sisters lined up near the den’s entrance. He’d never seen them sit so still.

  “Keep quiet about your brother now,” his mom whispered to the sisters.

  “Why?” asked Aya.

  “Yeah,” said Ali, “who cares about Ewwly?”

  “Not me,” said Ada.

  “Not any—”

  A shadow darkened the entrance, and the sisters fell silent.

  Uly blinked. It was a fox. At first, all he could make out was a silhouette—two sharp shoulder blades angling toward sharp ears. But then he squinted through the leaves and saw bright amber eyes, a muzzle streaked black, and two white fangs like moons in their waning.

  His mother bowed. “I thought you were dead.”

  And Uly knew that this fox was his father.

  The fox tilted up his nose. “How pleasantly surprised you must be.”

  “Yes,” his mother said, her jaw trembling. “I am.”

  The fox examined the den with the lights of his eyes. “Are you going to invite me in?”

  “Yes,” she said, glancing toward Uly beneath the leaves. “Please. Come in.”

  The fox padded inside, wafting his lilac scent. Uly thought he’d be excited to see his father alive and in their den. But instead he was conscious of every bit of his own fur that might be showing through the leaves. He wasn’t sure why.

  The fox walked up and down the line of sisters, sniffing. “This is your litter?”

  “Yes, this is all of them,” their mother said, breathless. “Five.”

  “Where is the clever one? Ava, was it?”

  “Killed,” his mother said. She swallowed deeply. “Bitten by a king snake. How did you know—”

  The fox huffed, interrupting her. He sniffed toward the pile of leaves where Uly was hidden. “Where is the cripple?”

  Uly’s mom was shocked into silence a moment. “He’s … also dead,” she said, her breath shallow. “Starved in the night.”

  “Ah.” The fox’s whiskers curled into a smile. “Good.” He padded the den’s perimeter. “Shame about Ava. She was an obedient kit. She followed my instructions for what to do with a crippled runt. You steal its food until it starves.”

  Uly remembered the song his sisters had sung.

  Mr. Scratch is made of ash.

  Mr. Scratch has teeth that gnash.

  Gobbles all the litters’ runts.

  Tiny kits are what he hunts.

  Dear Mother won’t make any fuss

  When there’s more food for the rest of us.

  And Uly realized that his father was Mr. Scratch.

  “You … spoke to Ava?” his mom asked.

  Mr. Scratch smiled. “When you left me to die beneath those rocks, my anger kept me alive. Over time, I managed to dig myself out and track your scent across the long miles.” His amber eyes fixed Uly’s mom to the spot. “And I finally found you.”

  Uly’s mom tried to smile. But her lips were shaking.

  Mr. Scratch marched up and down the line of sisters, sniffing at their fur, their ears. “I have been visiting the base of this boulder at night. Watching. Checking to ensure you have remained loyal to me.”

  He found a bit of mud on Agatha’s paw and sneered until she licked it away. He continued to the entrance and looked out across the rock. “Ava saw me in the alders one night.
And I have been whispering life’s secrets to her ever since. She was to inform me when she and her siblings celebrated their Golden-Eyed Day, so I could collect what is rightfully mine.” His eyes flashed to Uly’s mom. “And bring you home with me.”

  Uly bit his tongue to keep from whimpering. His mom couldn’t leave. She was supposed to stay there with him forever. She’d promised.

  Mr. Scratch smiled at the sisters. He turned to exit the den but then peered back over his shoulder. “Once these kits have grown, you will return to the Lilac Kingdom.”

  Uly’s mom hung her head. “I’ll return.”

  Uly started to tremble, rattling the leaves. When his sisters left the den in autumn, would his mom really leave him to fend for himself? She’d promised he could stay with her forever. She—

  “Hic!”

  A silence cut through the den.

  “Hic!”

  Uly folded his forepaw over his muzzle to stop his hiccups, but it only made them worse.

  “Hic! Hic! Hic! Hic!”

  Mr. Scratch sniffed. “Does it live?” he asked, slow and dangerous.

  “No,” Uly’s mom said. “That was me. I…”

  Mr. Scratch padded to the back of the den and pawed the leaves from Uly. He scowled at Uly’s wilted foreleg. Uly couldn’t stop hiccupping.

  “This,” Mr. Scratch said to Uly’s mom, “cannot be here.”

  She started to shake. “Wynn. He’s only two moons old. One of his legs didn’t grow right. He can’t leave. He won’t survive.”

  “Who said anything about leaving?” Mr. Scratch said. “I want you to break its neck.”

  Uly’s mom looked horror-struck. “Wynn. Please.”

  Uly couldn’t do anything but tremble and hiccup.

  Mr. Scratch sighed. “A vixen who births something this pathetic must be the one to take care of it.” He nodded toward Uly. “Do it now.”

  Uly’s sisters started to whimper. Uly cowered in the leaves. His mom didn’t move.

  “Very well,” Mr. Scratch said.

  He lunged across the den. There was a flash of white, a sharp snap, and then the tip of Agatha’s ear was dangling. Blood trickled down her cheek.