Scary Stories for Young Foxes

by Christian McKay Heidicker

  Mr. Scratch cast a shadow over the five sisters. “I will give you a choice,” he said to their mother. “You can keep the five girls or that crippled boy. Choose quickly or I’ll kill them all.”

  Uly’s mom looked from Uly to his sisters. “No. No, you can’t make me—”

  Mr. Scratch took Agatha’s throat in his mouth and twisted. She whimpered and trembled, blood dripping from her ear.

  Uly met his mom’s eyes. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

  “Mom?” he said.

  “I…,” she said. “I choose…”

  Before she could say it, Uly ran from the den. He hopped up the slick rock of the Great Boulder, claws skidding, whimpering every time his forepaw struck the hard stone. Every few steps, he stumbled, bruising his muzzle. But then he’d sense an ashen shadow behind him, and his fear would pick him up again.

  Uly reached the crack and hesitated. But then he heard ragged breath on the wind. He leapt. Again, his stomach struck the far edge. Again, his forepaw clawed desperately as his hind legs dragged him down.

  He struck the mud and found himself back in the howling tunnel. Red and yellow scales coiled wetly through the rock. Without his mother there to drag him out, Uly couldn’t reach the crack of sky above. At the end of the tunnel, he saw the opening onto the fir trees. He heard the rush of water, the swish of needles.

  He ran until the rock came to an abrupt end. Muddy water spilled around his forepaw and over a ledge, trickling down a hundred tails into a shallow pool below. He stared at the drop as the darkness howled behind him. He could sense Mr. Scratch’s muzzle snarling through the crack, snipping toward his ears.

  Uly didn’t so much jump as slip off the ledge. He fell and fell and fell until his body smacked the water, and everything went dark. He flipped and rolled and spun in circles as he scrabbled for the surface. His forepaw caught on something solid, and he dragged himself, dripping, onto shore, where he flopped, gasping, onto his side.

  Once his breath came easy again, he pushed himself upright. His eyes climbed the cliff. He expected to find Mr. Scratch perched atop the Great Boulder. But there was no one there.

  Uly blinked the mud from his eyelashes. The ragged breath, the ashen shadow—it had all been his imagination. His own fear had chased him into the crack and off the cliff. And now he’d never get back to his den again.

  He was about to howl for his mom, but his throat tightened. If Mr. Scratch heard him, he might leap down and end Uly’s life.

  Uly gazed into the alders—the faces in the shadows. And deciding the trees were less terrifying than his father, he hopped into the forest.

  He would wait until the winds cleaned the lilac scent from the boulder and his mom called down that it was safe to come out again. She’d find a way to guide him back up the cliff. Even if she had to leap down and carry him by the scruff.

  Uly didn’t go far into the forest. Only a few foxtails, where his mom could still catch his scent. He found a mossy spot and plopped, wet and exhausted, onto his stomach.

  No one was there to nuzzle him upright again.

  “THIS STORY IS DUMB,” the fourth kit said, pushing up on his trembling paws. “No dad would ever try and kill his son. And even if he tried, the mom would stop him.” His voice was shaking. “This story is unrealistic and—and dumb and—and—and—and—and dumb.”

  With that, he padded back toward the den to snuggle his mom … just to make sure.

  Five little foxes.

  The sky above the Antler Wood was the color of rotting pumpkins now. A chill crept into the little one’s paws.

  “Wait,” the fifth kit said. “What happened to Uly?”

  “Patience,” the storyteller told him, eyes flashing in the shadows of the cavern.

  “Why were his sisters so mean to him?” the beta asked.

  “They lived in a land where food was scarce,” the storyteller said. “Who knows? If the Antler Wood ran dry and the berries vanished, and even the measliest of morsels was swept up by the owls, you might try and starve your siblings too.”

  The five kits gave one another doubtful looks. Their bellies were full with muskrat and earthworm.

  “You promised this story would be scary,” the third kit said.

  “Shh!” said the beta. “You’re going to make it worse!”

  “I cannot make it better or worse,” the storyteller said. “Only tell you what happened.”

  The third kit wrinkled her muzzle. “Fine.”

  The storyteller sighed, and the breeze blew cold. “There are creatures who live in the wood but do not belong there. They’re as tall as trees but skinny as sticks. And their hairless skin is as pale as bone.”

  A figure bloomed in the little one’s mind.

  “They’re cold and lonely, these creatures,” the storyteller said. “Some might steal a fox’s skin for warmth. Others might do something much, much worse…”

  A branch snapped in the wood. The little one tried not to look.

  HOUSE OF TRIX

  ONE

  “DO I GET to be red like you now that I’m grown up?”

  Mia followed her mom’s tail through the Vole Fields while trying to examine her own dusty-brown paws. She thought her fur might be changing color, but her paws wouldn’t hold still long enough for her to tell.

  “Red fur will come with time,” her mom said.

  “Oh.” Mia blinked. “What about my eyes? Is the blue gone yet?”

  Her mom stopped walking just long enough to give Mia’s nose a lick. “Not yet, dear heart. Now come along.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  Her mom slipped through the wind-woven vines, and Mia followed, nosing through the tangle until the leaves came to an abrupt end and the world opened like a gasp. The sky beamed upon an emerald meadow. A soft wind blew pale stripes across the grass, sweeping as far as Mia’s eyes could see.

  “Whoa,” she said, then caught an itch behind her ear. “Do I have to have babies?”

  “That’s not for many months yet,” her mom said. She slipped into the meadow’s high grasses, leading them down a shadowy passage. “And only then if you want them.”

  “Where do I get them even?” Mia asked.

  Her mom was distracted, sniffing for danger.

  “Bizy said babies grow on a blackberry bush in winter,” Mia continued. “And you have to pick them verrry carefully or else they’ll pop and get milk all in your mouth.”

  “Bizy said that, did she?”

  “Yeah. But I could tell she was faking.” Mia sneezed when a blade of grass poked her in the nostril. “Was she faking?”

  “Yes,” her mom said. “If you want kits, then … well, they will come to you.”

  Mia imagined a small bundle sailing in from the horizon on a fluffy dandelion seed. She imagined the bundle landing before her paws and unfolding into a squirming pink litter.

  “Do I ever have to eat grasshoppers again?” she asked.

  The questions persisted as Mia and her mom crossed the meadow, keeping hidden in the thicker patches. Every so often, her mother stopped and lifted a paw, sniffing back the way they’d come. Mia lifted a paw and sniffed too.

  “What are we looking for?” she whispered.

  “Hush,” her mom said, ears alert.

  Mia waited patiently until her mom set down her paw and continued on.

  It felt strange, traveling away from the Eavey Wood—away from the kindly sights and scents, the soil and leaves that crunched familiar underpaw. It was strange knowing that she would not be returning to the den that night to curl up in a fuzzy pile with her brothers and sister.

  The thought pinched something in Mia, and she gazed back through the grasses—past the hills and the valleys toward home.

  “Eyes ahead, Mia, my love,” her mom said. “Foxes don’t look back to their kithood den once they’re grown. They have to show the other kits—the ones who didn’t pass the test—what it means to be brave.” Her mom’s voice caught, like it had hooked on a thorn.


  “Okay, Mama,” Mia said.

  She nibbled an itch from her tail, where Miss Vix’s teeth had plucked the hairs, and then bounded after her mom’s sweet apple scent.

  TWO

  AS DUSK DUSTED the horizon, Mia and her mother arrived at the mouth of a forest. The trees bristled and smelled of sap. Their needles clawed the sky.

  Her mom bounded into the wood, dissolving in shadow, but Mia’s bottom plopped onto a mossy hump. Her paws refused to budge.

  Fox eyes weren’t meant for forests. Every kit knew that.

  We keep to the edges of things, Miss Vix had told Mia and her siblings. Between field and forest. Between meadow and wood. There you’ll find places for hiding, the rodents and insects are as plentiful as stars, and the sky is thrown so wide you’ll smell a hawk or a hunter approaching from miles away.

  “Mia?” her mom’s voice said from the shadows.

  Mia whimpered, then bit her tongue, remembering she was grown-up now.

  Her mom bounded out of the trees and tried to nuzzle Mia’s chin, but Mia couldn’t stop staring into the forest.

  “Darling,” her mom said in a calm voice, “once we make it to the other side of these trees, we can hunt and rest.”

  Even though she wasn’t supposed to, Mia looked back the way they’d come. She’d feel a lot better if she could just tease Roa one last time. Tackle Marley. Chew on Alfie’s ears.

  “Why can’t we just go back to the Eavey Wood?” she asked.

  “Because,” her mom snapped, “I said so.”

  Mia’s ears flattened, and her mom’s eyes filled with guilt. “I’m sorry, Mia. This isn’t your fault.” She sniffed at the trees. “This forest is shallow.” Snff snff. “I can smell a peach grove on the other side.” Snfffff. “Ooh, and it has a centipede infestation!”

  Mia’s belly gurgled. Centipedes were her favorite food, especially when found in an overripe peach.

  “Come now,” her mom said, bounding back into the trees. “You’re too big for carrying.”

  “But, but, but…” Mia’s paws kneaded the dirt.

  What if the yellow stench was in there? Her mom had told her it was all a test, but she couldn’t quite make herself believe it. What if the yellow was watching from the shadows with its gooey eyes and dripping saliva, waiting to bite her tail again?

  There came a sigh, and then her mom trotted back into the light of dusk. “Okay, Mia. You win. We’ll go around. The long way.”

  “Really?” Mia’s bottom came unstuck from the ground, and she followed her mom east along the edge of the forest. “For real?”

  “Yes, yes. You’ve talked me into it. I’ve lost enough kits today.”

  Mia’s heart squeezed. “What do you mean ‘lost’? We know where they are. They’re with Miss Vix. In the Eavey Wood.”

  “Of course,” her mom said, not meeting Mia’s eyes. “I’ll go back for them once—well, once we find our new den.” She trotted a little faster.

  “Will I get to see them again?” Mia asked, leaping to catch up.

  Her mom didn’t answer any more questions for a while.

  * * *

  As the sky went softly to sleep, Mia and her mom traced the shadows that wobbled along the edge of the pines. Soon, they came to an odd sight that stopped her mom in her tracks.

  The thing looked like a river, but it had no water or stones, and it wasn’t running. It lay flat and black along the forest’s edge, as straight as a frightened tail.

  “What’s that?” Mia asked, sniffing.

  “A road,” her mom said, eyes wide with fear. “We must leave this place. Now.”

  Mia looked back into the forest, the only other place to go. “But Mama—”

  “End of argument.”

  Mia clamped her muzzle shut, catching a whimper. Her mom crept into the trees, and Mia followed as night fell and the shadows closed around them.

  * * *

  The path through the forest was twisted and bumpy and barely lit by starlight. Mia tripped over sticks and stepped into holes and was poked in the eyes by leaves. She had to squint to see her mom’s tail. She desperately wanted to latch her muzzle on to it, but she fought the urge. She wasn’t a kit anymore.

  Just when Mia thought the trees would never end, they arrived in a clearing. Mia blinked. Branches swayed against a starry sky. The ground was littered with silver roots.

  “Did we make it?” she asked, her heart hopping with relief. “Is this the other side?”

  “No, honey,” her mom said, sniffing. “I’m afraid we still have a ways to go.” She bounded over one silver root and slid under another. She sniffed the air, took another step, and—crack! She leapt into the air with a scream. A silver root had bitten her paw.

  “Snake!” Mia shouted. She bounded and snapped the thing up in her mouth. But its skin was as solid as stone and woke the nerves in her teeth. Her mom jumped and jerked and spun, trying to escape. Mia shook the silver thing’s body with her muzzle. But its jaws clung tight.

  Her mom slumped onto her side, paw still trapped.

  “Mia,” she said, her voice shaking. “Mia, it isn’t a snake.”

  The silver thing hung cold and heavy in Mia’s mouth. She let it drop with a clink. She sniffed at the circles of its body, its toothless jaws, her mom’s paw all smashed up inside.

  “Mama, what is it?”

  Her mom shifted her paw, sucking through her teeth. “I don’t know.”

  Mia scratched at it. “Is it … dead?”

  “I don’t think it was ever alive.”

  “Then…” Mia swallowed. “Then how we gonna kill it?”

  Her mom didn’t answer. She nibbled at her trapped paw, trying to pull it free. But the silver jaws held fast, and she let out a whimper.

  Mia’s ears lay flat. She’d never heard her mom make that sound before.

  “Here, Mia,” her mom said. “Stick your nose in the narrow part of its mouth. Maybe we can force it open by—”

  A branch snapped in the darkness. A light flashed across the leaves. Mia and her mom crouched low as a creature, bigger than anything Mia had seen before, stepped between the trees.

  “Watt treeks awake bee Trigses, hmm?”

  The voice was high and twisted, and squirmed into Mia’s ears.

  Mia’s mom limped beneath a nearby bush, dragging the silver root with her. Mia slipped in after her, then sniffed toward the creature. It smelled of … nothing.

  “Mama?” she whispered. “What is it?”

  “Quiet,” her mom said, breathless.

  Heavy steps crunched through the underbrush. The creature stopped twenty tails away. Its light slid across the leaves until it landed on the bush that held her and her mom.

  “Ah!” the voice screeched. “Icko fogses! Butter ’n awesomes. Ice ’n rose.”

  The light shined so bright Mia feared she’d never see darkness again.

  THREE

  THE AIR PULSED with Mia’s heartbeat as the creature clomped toward her and her mom. It was as tall as a sapling and seemed to be having trouble getting through the dense forest.

  “Fickle stigs!” it screeched. “Knacksy branshes!”

  “Mama,” Mia whispered.

  “Quiet.”

  “Can it fit in here?”

  “Hush, Mia!”

  She led her to another nearby bush, dragging the silver root, just before the creature broke through the branches and swept its light around the clearing.

  “Weird jewel glow,” it whined. “Coal mouth, coal mou-outh!”

  “Mia, you must run,” her mom whispered. “Go. Now. Hide among the trees.”

  “Mom, no, I—”

  “Once everything’s quiet, you must continue to the far side of the forest and find a den. Sniff for sandy loam, a sipping creek, and an entrance with good cover. Just like we had in the Eavey Wood. Do you understand?”

  Mia’s paws were too numb to move. It was her fault they’d come this way. She’d refused to enter the trees when
her mom first asked, forcing them to travel where the silver roots bit down and never let go.

  “Through the forest? Alone? I … I can’t. Mama, you have to come with me.”

  Her mom shifted a paw, making the silver root clink. “I can’t come with you, Mia.”

  “But—but you said you’d be there. Every step of the way. You—you lied to me.”

  “I’m sorry, Mia. I never meant to lie.” Her mom’s golden eyes searched Mia’s blue swirl ones in the flashes of approaching light. “But you have to go. You’re the only kit left.”

  “What do you mean ‘the only’?” Mia asked.

  The creature tromped closer, burbling. It was ten tails away now.

  “Mia,” her mother said in a calmer voice now. “Listen to me carefully. Sometimes there are fires in the fields. Many animals will inhale the smoke. Many will die.”

  The words made Mia tremble. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Hush and listen. From the ashes, the wood and the grasses will grow back lusher, greener than before. They’ll be populated with more things to eat. So while some animals may have died, later generations will live better for it. Do you understand?”

  Mia couldn’t keep her jaw from shaking. “Mama…”

  Her mom licked her cheek. “Tell me you understand.”

  The thing crunched closer. “Whiffs at a smell toy sigh ear?”

  “I … I understand,” Mia said.

  “Good.” Tears streamed down her mom’s cheeks. “Now run! Run as fast as your paws can carry you!”

  Mia bounded out of the bush. But then she felt a tug on her heartstrings. She nuzzled under a large leaf and peeked out from under it. If she left, then the creature who smelled of nothing would get her mom. Mia couldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t leave someone in her family behind again.

  The thing stomped into the clearing. “Warty knot! Trigs’s ear!”

  By the glow of the floating light, Mia finally saw the thing. It had no fur on its face or paws. Loose skins flapped around its body, and—her heart jerked—the thing walked on two legs. Mia knew what it was now. Human.