The Beast Within

The Changeling: Chapter Six

Should I kill the changeling? 

Should I force it to take me to its friends, hunt them down, and fight, even to the death—

How else would I find the real Moira and bring her home?

I rose just before dawn and went to the hutch to visit the hares, hoping their cute faces would ease my mind enough to formulate a plan, but when I arrived my spirit fell into horror.

Two hares had been inside the hutch, but now, all that was left was carnage. Something had torn the poor animals to pieces. There were bits of fur thrown about, and a few bones that had been picked clean. I checked the netting and found it intact. Whatever had gotten to them was small. This was confirmed when I saw two holes, one outside of the hutch and the other within. It might have been a badger or a fox. It was possible, for it occasionally happened with our stock at home.

But these holes were cruder than the kind dug with sharp claws.

The changeling must have spent all night digging with Moira's tiny fingers. 

How had it managed to sneak from its crib, and how had it created such a violent scene with a toddler's nails and teeth? I would have to inspect Moira's hands for evidence of dirt and blood.

A grim thought came to my mind: Maybe this wasn't the changeling. Maybe this was me.

I tidied up as best I could, and removed the remains from the hut before covering the holes. I was patting dirt over the outside tunnel when Sampson appeared.

I explained what I found, but not what I suspected was the cause.

"A fox," he guessed.

"Probably," I lied. "There's ways to fix that, but it'll take more work. I'm sorry, I should have thought about that when we were building."

"It's the woods, it happens. We'll catch new hares."

"Maybe we could set a few traps near the hutch."

To catch the changeling that wears your daughter's face, I added in my mind. 

"Good idea, Josiah."

Angela had breakfast ready for us. Moira was sitting on the counter, staring at the floor. Before I ate I went to the child and, disguising my intent as a morning greeting, I took her hands in mine and examined her nails. I checked her hair, her ears, her teeth. 

Not a drop of blood or speck of dirt.  

Sampson and I spent the day digging a trench around the hutch. We filled it with rocks to barricade against digging intruders and placed traps around the perimeter. We managed to catch three hares and placed them inside. At dinner I loudly boasted about our work, making sure Moira heard about the new arrivals in the hutch.

When the tavern fell quiet I crept from my room and waited outside under the kitchen window, close enough to hear any noise in the hutch, but hidden from sight by the tavern wall. I was silent and patient in my watch, but after several uneventful hours my eyelids grew heavy. Unable to fight it, I fell into a shallow nap.

Scuffling opened my eyes.

Whimpering brought my senses to alert.

Muttering raised my body to its feet.

I peeked around the corner of the wall. In the moonlight I could make out the silhouettes of the hares, which were huddled together and softly squealing. Piglike grunting rose from near the hutch, and then the noise of rocks clicking together. I approached with caution, hoping the night would shroud me.