Young Writers Society

Chop!

Joseph’s axe came down upon the lowly stump, cutting the piece of wood cleanly in two. Both pieces fell to the forest floor, making a thud against the dirt and grass. The leafy branches of the trees rustled softly. Wiping his brow, Joseph bent down and picked up the freshly cut wood, and threw it in a pile behind him.

The sounds of the forest stopped. The birds ceased to sing, and winds died down, sending the place into a hush. Dead silence. Joseph tensed, a crawling sensation spreading over his body.

“Wouldn’t you rather be enjoying riches than toiling with this wretched wood?” The voice was dark and velvety, and seemed to echo from all around.

Joseph snapped his head upward, ready for anything. Beyond the stump stood a man in a black suit, his hands folded behind his back. “Well?” he pressed.

“What do you mean?” said Joseph warily, keeping a tight grip on his axe. “I have no riches.”

“Ah, but I can give you them,” said the man, producing a roll of paper from his back pocket. “And all I desire in return is what stands behind your mill.”

Joseph’s thoughts raced. The old apple-tree? It’s hardly gives fruit anymore. This man must be a fool.

Suddenly, the man in black stood only inches away from the miller, holding out a pen. He smoothed the paper over the splintered tree stump, a wild smile playing about his lips.

“Just sign here, my good man,” he said, pushing the pen into Joseph’s hand. Joseph held the pen just above the signature line, his palm slightly sweaty. If this man was telling the truth, his life of poverty would be over.

Hurriedly, Joseph scrawled his name across the line before he had a chance to change his mind. The man’s gloved hands rolled the piece of paper, and he placed back in his rear pocket.

“Nice doing business with you,” he smiled. “Now run along home and enjoy your new life. I'll be back in three years time to collect my prize." He then turned and walked away, disappearing into the thick trees.

Joseph did as he was told, and trudged back to his old mill, carrying his axe against his sunburned shoulder. Soon his old farmhouse was in sight. His wife was running toward him, her arms flailing above her head.

As he neared the door he caught his wife in her maddened sprint, shaking her.

“What is the matter with you, woman?” he demanded, his eyes fierce.

“Gold,” she gasped, “And jewelry. Every box and chest in the house is brimming with them.”

Joseph left his wife at the door, and ran into the house. He first entered the kitchen, and gasped. Gold coins were spilling from cupboard shelves, hitting the floor with a wondrous ring. Even the breadboxes were overflowing with rare crystals, making the place glow with their reflections of light.

He met his wife outside again in seconds, his eyes brimming with tears.

“It’s true,” he stammered, holding his wife for support. “We are rich beyond our deepest hopes.”

“Who would do such a thing for us?” she asked, embracing him.

“A generous soul,” he said, smiling, as he walked with his wife across the field to the mill. “And all he asked for in return was our withering apple-tree.”

They rounded the mill, and the large apple-tree came into view. Joseph halted, inhaling sharply.

His daughter Amelia stood underneath the tree branches, sweeping the ground with a broom.

#

A mixture of chalk and dust filled the air. Amelia knelt in the dirt, tracing a circle.

“Three years to the day,” muttered Joseph. His wife sobbed loudly on his shoulder. Amelia finished the chalk circle, and she knelt down inside it, bending towards the ground. Joseph’s face grew hot. A lamb to the slaughter.

Amelia began sobbing too, into her hands. Besides the wind, the only sounds that filled the air were heavy heaves and moans of grief. Joseph’s knuckles grew white as he grasped tighter to his wife’s fragile body.

The wind died down. A shadow blanketed the field behind the mill as the sun sank. The same crawling sensation that he felt so long ago was on him again. He immediately felt the sides of his pockets and was relieved to feel the smooth, hard surface of his dagger.

From behind the apple-tree, a man emerged. He was dressed top to bottom in an elegant black suit. He adjusted his tie as he stepped forward, breaking into a wild smile yet again.

“It’s time to collect my end of the deal,” he said darkly. The velvet quality of his voice sent a shiver down Joseph’s spine, yet his countenance remained unchanged. Fear would not be shown to this monster.

The black suited man strode up to the chalk circle. He threw his head back and laughed.

“Silly girl, a bit of chalk won’t keep you from me,” he said, his cackles still echoing around them. Joseph’s hairs stood on end, and his whole body stiffened.

Amelia slowly looked up at the menacing figure, with tears staining her hands as well as her face.

The man took a step back.

“Her hands,” he said, frowning, “The tears have made them clean. I cannot approach her.”

Joseph felt every muscle in his body loosen. A cry of victory rang in his mind, and without thinking he stepped forward.

“Then leave, you wretched monster,” he said fiercely, “And let my daughter be.”

The menacing figure chuckled once again.

“Did you think I would break our deal that easily?”

“But you said you can’t approach her.”

“I can’t. That is, until you cut off her hands.”

The color slowly drained from Joseph’s face. He stepped back again, stammering.

“I—cut off her...?” but he couldn’t finish. Amelia gasped, and his wife’s wails only intensified. The man put his hands behind his back again, and cocked his head.

“Yes, you will cut off her hands. Preferably, now,” he said, pointing to the axe a few yards away.

Joseph’s eyes became unfocused, and his head spun. He squeezed his wife’s shoulder as hard as to the point of silencing her cries of anguish.

Then, slowly, he walked forward.

“Joseph, no!” she screamed, falling to her knees. But Joseph couldn’t hear her. It was as if he was looking through a small opening, and all that he could see or hear was his daughter, Amelia.

He came to the axe lying in the grass. As he picked it up, for a fleeting instant he thought it wasn’t his. It never felt as heavy as this.

“Come, my daughter.”

Tears now ceased, Amelia crawled until she was at her father’s feet. She laid both her hands on a piece of wood, and looked up at him.

"Dear father, do with me what you will,” she said, and then lowered her face to the ground.

A little unsteady, Joseph lifted the axe high above his head. It glinted momentarily in the fading twilight as he readied himself for the blow.

It never came.

The axe fell at his feet, and Amelia looked up in shock. Joseph had his dagger pointed against his chest, tears welling in his eyes.

“You are free, my daughter.”

He forced the dagger into his heart, and fell to his knees. Looking up at the dark suited man, he used his last breath to state, “Our contract is cancelled.”

And then he fell to the ground, dead. The man threw his head back again, this time to yell.

His velvety voice turned as high and terrifying as that of a banshee’s, and he exploded into a cascade of particles that flew over the mill, Joseph’s dead body, and the old apple tree.