When he woke up, his cheek felt cool, pressed against the hard floor. Minseok’s head was still hazy, black dots spinning before his eyes as consciousness fought a valiant battle against sleep. The images were still blurred at the edges, as if he still couldn’t separate what he’d seen in a dream and what he saw through his eyes, but they soon took shape.

Long, greyish smudges appeared before his eyes, and Minseok realised that they towered over him, rising up from the floors like trees from soil. There were a lot of them; they encompassed almost his entire vision. Bars of steel, Minseok realised, like a cage –like prison. Beyond the bars was darkness, thick black undeterred by light.

Minseok realised he was lying on the floor and pushed himself up, swaying slightly. His palms were still sweaty and his clothes were wrinkled, his hair falling over his eyes like soft feathers. There was a strange taste in his mouth, a cloying sweetness that bespoke of bittersweet memories that were too far to reach. Something was missing…

Minseok jolted when he realised that his missing thing was Jongin.

He scrabbled forwards, grappling for the bars, desperately clawing at it with a child’s fingers that were too soft and stubby to deal much damage. His throat ached and his chest even more so, his heart accelerating, pumping adrenaline into his veins. He remembered his sweet-faced little brother who was always a little naughty, hands buried in soil and eyes gleaming like moonlight on water, and his chest hurt even more. He couldn’t have abandoned Jongin, he just couldn’t.

Then he heard a whimper, and clawed at the metal bars once more.

“Jongin?” he whispered frantically, but softly. He was still too afraid to raise his voice, too afraid to rouse the old woman.

“Hyung?”

The reply was feeble and the voice was soft, even higher than the trill of Minseok’s own voice. The note that hung in the air trembled, and Minseok scrabbled at the bars even harder, shoving his arm through the slot, so that he could reach out.

“Jongin, its me. I’m here, don’t cry, Jonginnie,” he cooed as soft weeping quivered through the still air. Little Jongin was crying, letting his eyes turn red and his soaking his shirt wet. Minseok didn’t know what swearing was (mother forbade him from even asking) but he wondered if that was what adults would have done, had they been stuck in his place.

“I’ll get us out,” Minseok whispered resolutely, unable to take Jongin’s fearful sobbing. “I’ll get us home, Jonginnie. I promise.”

“I’m scared, Hyung,” Jongin whispered, and Minseok heard the sound of rustling fabric. Jongin was shuffling forwards, towards the bars and Minseok’s outstretched hand. “I’m scared of the witch.”

For a moment, whatever consolation Minseok had been stringing in his head wavered, fading with the fear and realisation that consumed his entire being. How could he have not noticed? How could he have forgotten the village’s old tales, told around campfires, whispered during nightfall, when the shadows began their dominance?

The old witch who dwelled in the forest, in a cottage that no one had been able to find. They said that the witch loved hunting for meat, for flesh to tear between her teeth and bone to between her lips, but the meat she loved most, they said, were that off a chubby child’s.

Shivers racked its way down Minseok’s spine, so hard that he could feel his teeth chattering against his cheek, sending soft tremors up the bar where his face was pressed. The stagnant air felt colder than the coldest winter night, and the lack of ventilation was suffocating. Minseok tried not to gag when he realised that there was something else beneath the stale muskiness: the scent of rot and clean-picked bone.

He tried to breathe. He was scared but he couldn’t let it show. He had to be a strong big brother for Jongin. He had to make sure that he kept his promise to his father because the old town chief told him once that when a man gave his word, he had to keep it.

“I’m here,” he finally said, his voice coming off strong with resolution, hoping that Jongin could find solace in his confidence. “You don’t have to be scared. The witch won’t get to you unless she could get past me.”

Minseok sighed in relief when Jongin’s sobs grew softer, fading in the darkness. Now he had another promise to keep above the one he made to his father. It was okay, because Minseok didn’t mind making promises to Jongin; he always knew they made Jongin happy.

Jongin hiccupped, breath hitching as if there was something he wanted to say, but the tenacious of air of calmness between them faded when the door creaked, slamming against the wall.

Minseok’s head snapped towards its direction, ears pricking, listening. Jongin had grown quieter, shrinking back against the bars of the cage.

The square of light that cut through the darkness was dim, but enough to for him see by. Most of it though, was obscured by the witch’s broad frame.  She was still wearing that green and black dress, though they reminded Minseok of mould now, the foulest kind. Her hair floated in scraggly waves down her shoulders, over her generous bosom, where they disappeared behind two trays balanced on her knobbly hands.

“Awake already children?” she half-sang, half cackled. She had the voice of a broken recorder, like chalks drawn against a blackboard –so rough and shrill that Minseok could only think of shattering glass and falling light bulbs.

She lumbered into the room, boots clacking against the cold, wooden floors. It was an unsteady rhythm; her right foot pressed harder onto the floor than her left. The trays jangled, and it was then Minseok caught a faint whiff of food.

His back straightened instinctively, his eyes following the blurred blocks of black balanced on the witch’s hand. He couldn’t see them clearly but he was sure that the things on the tray were food.

The witch went to his door first. Minseok watched, heart hammering and body coiled like a spring, as the witch set the second tray down on the floor, withdrew a set of keys from her belt, and unlocked his door.

For a moment, Minseok wanted to scream –to yell for the villagers, for his father should he still be out in the forest, caught up in a recent hunt, for his stepmother and her trusty poker that she used to lunge at thieves with when she found them skulking in their home. But the witch didn’t touch him; she didn’t even take a step in. She merely set the tray she had in her hand on the floor, sliding them slowly towards where he sat, crouched like a cornered mouse.

“Eat up, little deary. My, my look how thin you are. Most little boys like you are fat and healthy, with flesh in their bones and fat under their skin. Your mother has done a poor job feeding you.” She shook her head ruefully, as if she were a concerned grandmother.

Minseok wanted to say something, something biting in his stepmother’s defence, but he was too scared and the food looked so good, he couldn’t afford to ignore it anymore.

The meal that the witch had laid out for him looked delicious; nothing like the stale, half-cooked food he expected her to serve her prisoners. There were bread and buns–piles and piles of them –fruits and berries, brilliantly coloured from ripeness, a bowl of rice and a small piece of fish, a bowl of mushroom soup with a spoon stuck into the creamy goodness, and a tall glass of water. The other tray bore the same offering.

Minseok’s eyes darted back up when he heard the creak of metal against metal. The witch smiled at him evilly as she closed the door, the dark outlines of her yellowing teeth even thicker than the shadows. Then, she turned towards Jongin.

Minseok’s brain was on high alert, fearing for his little brother (would she pull him out and make a feast out of his flesh before she decided on Minseok for desert?) but the witch merely spoke to him a soft voice and slid the second tray at him, admonishing him for his even slighter frame. Minseok’s eyes immediately travelled towards the key dangling from the lock. He needed to get it to save them both.

Then, the witch retreated and swung the door closed again, turning the key. Minseok watched as she carefully hooked it onto her belt and quietly crawled forwards. He slipped his arm between the bars and reached out for the key as the witch shuffled away. His fingers brushed against the cold brass hoop before curling around empty air. Minseok was about to cry in despair when something clinked against the key, hooking itself around the ring and raising it up until it hovered behind the witch. Jongin’s hand trembled with the effort of keeping the spoon angled carefully upwards, afraid that the ring would slide back and the witch would catch wind of their attempted escape.

Minseok watched with bated breath as Jongin slowly drew the spoon through the bars, towards his other waiting hand. He managed to back away into the darkness just as the witch whirled around, leering at them before pulling the door closed. Darkness fell over them like a blanket along with the receding thumps of the witch’s footsteps. Minseok let his face stretch into a grin.

“Good boy,” he exclaimed, ing his face onto the bars as he watched Jongin slowly detach himself from the shadows, holding the ring of keys between trembling hands. “Clever Jonginnie.”

He saw the outline of Jongin’s shaky smile before those small fingers found the right key. Jongin waddled forwards, fingers curled around the brass key tightly, fearfully, as he slowly raised his body on his toes and tried to slip the key into the lock.

Jongin grunted and whined before turning to Minseok and saying, “I can’t reach it, Hyung!”

“Here,” Minseok said softly, reaching out a hand. “I’ll do it. Give me the key and I’ll get us out.”

Jongin nodded. There was a thump as he dropped onto the floor, his knees grazing the wooden floorboards as he clutched one of the bars and slipped the key out between them, sliding them towards Minseok.

Minseok caught it easily, beaming at his little brother. “Good job, Jonginnie. Just wait a while and we’ll be out.”

He got on his tiptoes, his tongue poking out of his mouth as he struggled to find the lock in the darkness. He was still taller than Jongin though, his limbs longer, so the effort strained his body less.

He soon found the hole and chewed his lip, biting off the excited whoop that threatened to bubble out of his lips. The key fitted perfectly; Minseok slid it in and turned.

The door opened with a soft groan, cutting a small space that Minseok could slip between. Once out, he turned the lock again –the key now felt warm against his hand, like the touch of a friend –and set about releasing Jongin.

The minute the door opened, Jongin fell into his arms, burying his face into Minseok’s stomach as he began sobbing again, voice as gentle as the patters of a summer shower. Minseok cooed at him, him on the head with his free hand.

“It’s okay, Jongin. We’re out now. We can leave.”

He felt Jongin’s chin press against his stomach as he nodded, and gently, he pried his little brother away from him, setting him on his feet as he swung the door closed again. He threw the key into the cage and took Jongin by the hand, holding it firmly, fearing that it would slip between his fingers and he would lose him forever.

“Now let’s get out of here.”

Minseok pushed the door open, the wood steady beneath his hands, held his breath, and waited. Quietly, he pressed his ear against the small crack between the door and its frame, listening to sounds and symphonies of the old witch’s gingerbread house. He heard the sound of creaking shutters, the lash of wind against wood and metal, and also something a little more distant, subtle in comparison to the shrieks and moans of an old house.

He heard the sound of a bubbling pot, water jumping, ricocheting against the steel rim. Beneath the pops and splashes was the sound of crackling logs, shifting and charring in a hot fire. The witch was in the kitchen. Minseok wasn’t really sure if he wanted to know what she was planning to cook.

Gently, he took Jongin by the hand again and pushed the door further until he had a gap that both of them could slip through. Jongin’s tiny hands pulled the door closed behind him as he slipped out of the room, and Minseok beamed at him, patting him on head and mouthing soft reassurances at him.

The kitchen was to their left; on their right was a curving hall. Minseok and Jongin turned to the hall, trying to block out the squawks grating into their ears as the witch sung a song of her composition. Minseok’s hands were sweaty as he led Jongin down the wooden floors, ears ringing from the witch’s high-pitched garbling. But he was also worried that she would stop, that a stray note would trail off into silence when she realised that her prisoners were escaping.

He sighed in relief when they were at the end of the hall and poked his head out…

Before smashing a hand over Jongin’s mouth and pulling him back, plastering himself completely against the wall.

Jongin struggled weakly against his hold, whining softly, but Minseok only shook his head, harshly and violently until little Jongin got the message and quietened.

The wolves were still sleeping on the witch’s burgundy carpet.

He grabbed Jongin’s shoulders, turning him away from the living room, away from the wolves that could pounce and kill him with just a bite on the neck. The witch had a staircase rising up to the chambers above, but there was also another door across from it, less sinister than the one that led to the chamber where the brothers had been kept. Minseok dragged Jongin in and pulled the bolt across to its home.

“What did you see?” Jongin asked. He was doing his very best to be quiet –to not be afraid.

“Wolves,” Minseok panted, his face drained of all colour. “Lots and lots of wolves.”

“I thought you couldn’t keep wolves as pets.”

“She is a witch,” Minseok replied as a manner of explanation. Jongin seemed to take it without question and nodded solemnly. Minseok’s heart wrenched for him. The little boy was so afraid that he was trembling from head to toe.

“How do we get out?” Jongin asked softly. “Are we ever going to be able to leave?”

“I’ll get us out!” Minseok said fiercely, eyes already wandering around the small room. It was a storeroom, piled high with jars and boxes and canes and old brooms. But there was light! Minseok clung onto this realisation like a starved man to food. If there was light and no light bulb, there was bound to be a window.

He spotted it not long after, hidden behind a pile of boxes, glowing dully in the haze of dusk. It was high, but the boxes were close enough that they could function as makeshift steps.

Minseok climbed first, testing to make sure that the box wouldn’t cave under his weight, before nodding and reaching for his little brother. Jongin let him lift him up to the box above him and them scrambled to pull himself up, crawling closer to the window.

“Pull the latch and lift it up!” Minseok whispered urgently.

Jongin managed with the latch, but the panes were stubborn. He grunted with effort, knees digging hollows into the soft cardboard, but the window only moved an inch.

“Once more,” Minseok egged. “With all you’ve got!”

Jongin tried again, and this time the pane slid upwards, giving away to the force. Minseok helped Jongin clamber out of the window, holding him by the waist once he was out and dropping him gently on the ground below. Minseok’s fall was less graceful; shock jarred up his knees as he met the ground feet-first, and he felt his legs give way, too weak to hold him up.

Jongin caught him before he could fall.

“Don’t faint, Hyung!” he cried softly.

Minseok steadied himself shakily, and then offered a bright smile to the little tyke. “I’m not gonna. See?” He caught Jongin’s hand and forced his legs to move, to run. “Now quick, before she knows we’ve gone!”

Minseok had always thought that nightfall lurked the greatest evils.

It was the time when shadows crept from below the trees, and no matter how far he ran and how fast, they always found a way to catch up with him, engulfing him whole, coating his pale arms with the haziness of diminishing light. Trees grew more sinister, tall looming shadows that hid too many secrets beneath its boughs and leaves, and the animals were no longer the friendly beasts that he and Jongin were so fond of feeding. What scared him most though, were the distant hoots of the owls; a croon spread into the night with the howling winds and singing crickets.

But now he had to force himself to be brave. His promise to his father kept repeating in his head as he held Jongin’s small hand, leading him deeper and deeper into the forest. He didn’t know how many roots he’d stumbled on, but when the next one nearly tripped him off his feet, Minseok merely leveraged his fall and steadied himself. He couldn’t think about the cut that spliced his knee yet, not when Jongin was counting on him to keep them safe.

Minseok was trying to find his pebbles, the ones he’d scattered behind them when they had ventured into the forest to make a trail that led home. The ground was even darker than the sky, mud puckering around his shoes and spattering all over the hem of his pants. The wild underbrush tickled his bare ankles, and Minseok used his feet desperately to shove them apart, to find his little stones.

His lungs were screaming; Minseok didn’t remember ever running this far. It was much further from the usual races he and the other older kids  had when everyone found time to play together. Minseok was a good runner –he’d usually outrun those kids –but running all the way out of the forest was taking a toll on his lungs, on his muscles and bones and his wildly beating heart. The sound of Jongin’s pants filtered into his ears and Minseok felt the bitterness grow even more. Jongin shouldn’t be running this far. Mother would have scolded him for making him do it.

It was then he caught sight of one of the pebbles, small and smooth, lying amongst the fallen leaves and skittering insects on the ground. There were more up ahead, grey dots that spattered the damp earth like scattered stars. Minseok had found his trail.

Taking solace over his achievement (and also mentally applauding himself for his cleverness), Minseok bounded forwards, dragging Jongin with him. The pebbles seemed to stretch on forever, but Minseok knew it was the way home. They were going to be safe! They were going to fall into their father’s waiting arms and cling onto Mother’s legs, and she would cry, maybe even scold them, but all would be well because they were away from the evil witch.

Howls pierced the night, riding over the rolling winds.

An involuntary shiver racked its way down Minseok’s spine and he lost his footing, the rhythm he’d set his pace to. Behind him, Jongin let out a soft cry.

The forest was still; the creatures of the night that sung to them as they tore through the twigs and underbrush had fallen into a fretful silence. But the sound of pounding paws still carried through, underscored by snapping twigs and parting leaves.

“Run, Jonginnie, run,” Minseok whispered urgently, pulling his brother by the hand, forcing him to move, to thaw out of his stillness.

They pounded through the forest again, Minseok taking the lead, diligently following his trail. They had a head start, but it wouldn’t take long for the wolves to reach them. Their father sometimes sketched tales about these great beasts, how they moved as if they were one with the shadows and how their coats glistened under the moonlight around sets of bared teeth. The wolves would eat them if they managed to catch them. Minseok didn’t want to be caught.

As they moved further to the edge Minseok began recognising the trees, the oddly shaped trunks that sometimes bent and twisted. He and Jongin played a lot here, hiding behind the trees, wriggling their way under the roots and playfully pelting each other with dirt and pebbles. He held on more tightly to Jongin’s hand, adrenaline pumping, knowing that home was already so close.

There was whoosh, the sound of padded paws leaving ground, and a wolf leapt in front of them, blocking their path.

Minseok screamed and skidded into stop, desperate to get away from the wolf. The soft impact of Jongin’s head against his back pushed him closer, but Minseok fought to get back, to stay away from the wolf’s open jaws and feral eyes.

The wolf howled and slowly advanced on them, its coat rippling silver over muscle and bone.

Minseok dragged Jongin out of its way just as it pounced.

With a great burst of speed, they tore through the underbrush. They kicked aside stones, leapt over fallen trunks, all the while too aware of the wolf’s angry growls, its effortless grace as it cut through air, hungry to arrest and return them to the witch.

“Hyung!” Jongin cried, his voice shrill over the roaring winds. “It’s getting closer.”

Minseok bit his lip. He knew they couldn’t outrun the wolf; wolves were strong and fast, predators of the wild and the forest’s greatest threat. Their hard, sharp teeth could slice through skin, pierce through flesh. They had claws like knives to sink into his back, digging them deep enough to reach his bone, spurting blood and shearing skin.

Minseok knew what he needed to do.

He dug his heels into the mud and skidded into a stop, jerking his hand out of Jongin’s. Jongin paused, eyes large and unblinking as he stared at him, confused. Minseok tried his best to not look at them when he grabbed Jongin’s shoulders and pushed him away.

“Go!” he hissed to the terrified Jongin. “Follow the pebble trail and you’ll find your way out. Don’t look back –don’t wait. Just run as fast as you can and get out.”

Jongin’s shone with fear, tears pooling on the corners like rain gathering in a gutter. “But Hyung, what about –”

“I said go!” Minseok roared, fearing that the wolf would get too close if Jongin didn’t flee now. “Forget about me and just go!”

Tears streamed down Jongin’s eyes and Minseok wasn’t sure if it was his yelling or the prospect of leaving his only protector in the mercy of hungry beasts that made Jongin cry. Nevertheless, he left, stumbling over the uneven surface of gnarled roots and scattered rocks. Minseok watched him disappear between the trees, his throat constricting.

He pushed away all his thoughts as he turned away, facing the wolf with renewed determination. His brain was working overload as he contemplated his options, some too ambitious (leaping onto the trees and then taunting the wolf from a branch) and some foolish enough that it would promise instant death (riding on the wolf’s back and attempting to steer it away by the ears). Finally, Minseok settled on a broken bough, hefting it between soft hands and wobbling under its weight.

The wolf came at him with a gaping mouth and eyes as cruel as torture itself.

Minseok didn’t know what compelled him, what fuelled his determination and peaked his strength. Perhaps it was the thought of Jongin, sobbing through the forest as he wove between the trees, maybe even tripping over his feet and scraping his fragile knees, that gave him the bravery to swing the bough as hard as his strength allowed him, straight at the wolf’s open jaws.

The crack of wood against bone was deafening, and Minseok shuddered along with the wolf’s anguished whine. He had his eyes shut but he could feel the effects of his attack, the way the wolf fell, crumpled and broken onto the ground from the sickening blow. Behind the blacks of his closed eyelids, Minseok sensed the wolf getting up, its paws scraping against the dirt and gathering it beneath claws as it fought to stand.

Without thinking, Minseok raised the heavy bough and landed blow upon blow onto the wolf, ignoring the way the bone crunched after every hit. He kept going even when the wolf had already lain still, pounding and pounding and pounding until blood ran around his shoes, staining the earth a deep, revolting burgundy.

When he was done, he didn’t look at the wolf; merely chucked the bough away and fled into the forest. His journey was met with silence, as if the animals had all seen what he’d done, his final act of desperation for his brother –his kill.

Minseok didn’t know how long he’d run, but the pebble trail soon came to an end. He saw the beginnings of thinning undergrowth, the progressive separation of old tree trunks and their leaves.

When he burst out into the open, he almost whooped. His journey had ended to a darkening sky, starless velvet spanning wide and ageless above him. Minseok cupped his hands to his mouth and called out excitedly for Jongin.

No answer.

Feeling slightly dampened, Minseok called again, but still, he received no response. Distressed, his cries grew louder, more insistent, dissolving into high-pitched screams that could have torn through eardrums and pounded against closed shutters.

Then he heard a triumphant howl and everything fell together.

Minseok fell to his knees in woeful despair, crying so hard that the night wept with him.