The scream was the first Berthe had heard in a long time. It echoed shrilly down the road, startling her to the point of dropping the clean sheet she had been hanging out to try into the dirt. She lunged to grab it, and managed to latch her fingers into one corner, unfortunately not enough of a hold to keep it from being soiled. But she hardly noticed.

Immediately her eyes flew behind her to the road in search of Giselle, her heart picking up in her chest. Giselle sat in the dust of the road, barefooted, with Hilarion. The children had both paused in play and were staring wide eyed down the road, eerily still. Berthe, dragging the now forgotten sheet behind her, hurried to roadside.

Under the gray-clouded sky, the entire village had come to a stand still. Nothing but the wind shifted. Everyone stared in the same direction, frozen in the midst of whatever they had been doing. A sickening anticipation grew around them like a bubble. All waited for it to burst.

Another blood curdling scream preceded the woman who came stumbling from the woods. Her dark hair was a wild mass around her face; she wore nothing but a grimy nightgown, torn raggedly at the hem and the midsection, revealing the woman’s pale stomach. Her white skin stood out starkly in the gray of the day. Thin pink scratches lined her face and arms. Her knees were two black eyes of mud and plant roots.

She dropped to her knees in the street, her hands raised to the sky in white, gnarled claws. Tears had traced tracks through the dirt that marked her face. Her streaming red eyes were swollen behind blue veined eyelids. Her cries caused Berthe’s blood to run cold.

“They took her!” She shrieked, her voice cracking with hysteria, “They took her! The Wilis took Zulme!”

There was a moment of shocked silence where not even the air dared move before this last statement broke the spell that held the village in its icy grasp. Some standing near the woman ran to her as she collapsed into the dirt, wailing. Others could do nothing but cry out in horror. Berthe’s lip quivered.

A sudden gust of wind picked up and wrenched the sheet out of her hand, sending it billowing over the vegetable patch and whisking towards the darkening hills. She hardly blinked, her hands dropping to her sides. The woman’s wails struck a chord inside her that sent panic racing from her scalp through her chest.

Racing to Giselle and Hilarion’s side, she scooped Giselle up into her arms.

“Hilarion, run home, now! Go to your mama!” She cried, unable to hide the alarm in her voice.

The boy tore his gaze from the screaming woman and stared with large blue eyes up at Berthe before picking up his tiny feet and racing home. She watched after him for a moment, then turned and rushed into the house. She had barely set Giselle down on her feet before she began running about wildly closing and latching shutters.

Giselle began to cry, large frightened tears. Berthe paused in her wild flurry and leaned against the windowsill. Her chest pumped as she breathed heavily, reminding her sickly of a fish when pulled from the water.. Giselle let out a pathetic series of sobs from where she stood by the door. Berthe ran and pulled her into her arms.

“Hush baby, hush! We have to be very quiet now.” She whispered, stroking Giselle’s long dark hair, “We have to be quiet.”

They both fell deathly silent then, as the first drops of rain began to pound against the roof.

* * *

“Mama? What are the Wilis?”

Berthe shuddered. She sat before the fire with Giselle curled in a small ball on her lap. Giselle’s flushed round face now stared up into Berthe’s, a concerned frown creasing her tiny brow.

Berthe sighed heavily as she made to sit up. She looked deep into Giselle’s eyes before speaking.

“The tale of the Wilis is a very old one,” She said quietly, “It has been told for a very long time, even before I was a little girl.”

Giselle’s eyes widened as though this was a most astounding fact. Berthe couldn’t resist a small smile. She leaned back and looked into the fire, letting Giselle rest her head against her shoulder.

“The Wilis are unhappy spirits; what remains of girls who were denied love during life.”

“Have you ever seen one Mama?”

Berthe stiffened. Despite the fire, she felt a cold creep across her flesh. She hesitated before answering.

“Yes… Once.” She said, barely over a whisper. Giselle lifted her head, curiosity livid in her large brown eyes.

“What was it like?” She asked, staring up at Berthe in horrified awe. Berthe seemed unable to pull her eyes away from the blue of the flames in the hearth. A silence hung between them for a moment. Berthe struggled inside for the words to describe them. The hollow echo of a remembered scream faintly sang in the back of her head. Instinctively, her arms tightened around Giselle’s tiny frame, making her struggle uncomfortably. There were no words.

“It was… cold.”